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FIC: On a Sure Foundation, Part 2
Title: On a Sure Foundation
Rating: NC17
Pairings: Godric Gryffindor/Salazar Slytherin, Albus Severus Potter/Scorpius Malfoy, Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Warnings: DH canon compliance...to a point, hurt/comfort, frottage, wanking, bloodplay (of sorts), sex magic, orgasm denial, cock ring, rimming, object insertion, semi-public sex, mild bondage, spanking, and unauthorized shenanigans in the Library.
Summary: In Albus Severus Potter's Seventh Year at Hogwarts, he discovered something magical, something scary and exhilarating, something he isn't sure he can tell anyone else about-- oh, and that odd manuscript of Salazar Slytherin's was kind of neat, too...
Notes: This was written as a gift for themostepotente, for merry_smutmas 2007.

Part 1



He dreamed...or dreamt of dreaming. There was neither time nor space, nor anything but endless grey, stretching out before him, behind him, above and below him. His thoughts were wrapped in it, muffled and stilled, until even his sense of self was damped and slowed.

He could not tell when he dreamt or when he only thought he dreamt, and his dreams were blurred, as if the parchment had been washed and the ink let run. One image faded into another, and all were lost in timelessness.

A flash of green caught his attention, and he dreamt Lily spoke to him...only Lily's hair was dark and shorter...and her eyes behind Potter's glasses were sad and regretful...

* * * * * * *

They had met years ago, at the Battle of Ethandun, both of them young and eager to prove themselves in the service of their respective masters. Fortunately, they had been on the same side of the fighting, casting curses and guarding spells to protect their masters as they fought the Wizard Halvard and his dragons. A great explosion - a spell gone wrong, some said, while others claimed it had been concentrated dragon-fire - had ripped the earth apart before them, immolating men, beasts and equipment, and blasting others far away from the battlefield.

Salazar had come back to consciousness lying on rocky ground, with his head pillowed on Godric's lap. Gryffindor worried his lip and bathed Salazar's brow with a potion meant for restoring strength, until Salazar managed to raise a hand and indicate his mouth, trying to make it clear the potion was to be drunk, not rubbed on the skin.

They had been thrown far behind the enemy's lines, and there was scant hope that any of their own people would come seeking them. Salazar's head still swam and his guts roiled from the pain, and there had been only a few flasks of healing and strengthening potions between them. They dared use only the smallest magics, lest they be discovered, but Godric's battle magics were strong, and as Salazar would later learn, in dueling whether with wand or sword, he had no peer, even then. He had stood guard through the nights, slaying all manner of fell, magic-born beasts that came hunting them, and cared for Salazar until he was able to rise and care for himself.

Soon, it had seemed natural, as they were alone, in a distant, cold and inhospitable land, that they should huddle together beneath their scorched and filthy cloaks and share the warmth of their bodies through the bitter nights. And when Salazar woke, in the hours before pale dawn, to find Godric panting and trembling beside him, nothing could have been more natural than to reach over his friend's hip, wrap his own hand around Godric's fist and feel the blood coursing through his hardened member. Their hands had moved together, fingers interlaced, and Salazar had felt his own blood racing as he rubbed his thumb over the head of Godric's staff, swirling the welling fluids there in mystic patterns. When Godric had tensed and gasped, and blood-warm liquid had flooded over their twined fingers, Salazar had groaned and thrust his hips against Godric's warm, solid bulk and pulsed out his own completion as well.

They had said nothing of it in the daylight hours, confining the subjects of their discourse to the battle, magical theories, tales and jests, and always, to plans for finding their way back to their own masters.

But as the pale sun had set each evening, they had returned to their shared pallet of pine boughs covered with the pelts of the beasts Godric had slain, and again huddled together. They had taken to holding each other and learning what touches brought gasps of surprise and delight, how to touch and tease and heat the blood, until they were both panting and groaning and thrusting hot, slick flesh against flesh - and then biting back shouts and spilling their seed between them.

Eventually, they had decided upon a plan and had made their way back to safety, leaving a grisly trail of slain beasts and magic-made servants behind them. Godric had lost a sword he had been fond of, and they each bore several new scars, but they were otherwise whole and unharmed, and their masters had rejoiced to see them return.

* * * * * * *

"The kids are taking it fairly well, I think," Harry told Severus's photo. "Lily sent long, well-written letters to both of us, saying that she didn't want us to feel guilty, because, after all, people do change over twenty years or more, and it's perfectly natural to want different things when you're in your forties than you did in your twenties." He grinned wryly as Severus rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know, you didn't make it to your forties. Sorry. Anyway, Lily closed with a rather subtle hint that if we felt the need to work out our guilt through gifts, she could do with a new telescope and a new racing broom. Sometimes I think the wrong kid got sorted into Slytherin." He laughed a bit.

Severus's image gave a slight smile and looked expectantly at him.

"Al sent one letter to both of us, which pretty much just said he thought it was about time we'd made up our minds, and he hoped we weren't going to indulge in too much drama over the whole thing. Pragmatic boy, your namesake," he noted.

Severus arched an eyebrow.


"I wanted to name him Severus Albus, you know, if only because it sounds better, but Ginny wouldn't have it." Harry shrugged. "You'd like him, I think. He must be a lot more like my mother than I ever was. All I got were her eyes. He's got the studious habits and the quiet courage. The ambition's mine, I suppose. You never said whether mum was terribly ambitious, but I suppose if she was, it wasn't strong enough to get her into Slytherin." Harry ran a finger around Severus's frame. "I'm sorry that things didn't work out better for the two of you. It just seems like you never got a fair break, did you?"

Severus spread his hands and shrugged.

"Yeah, and now you're here in a photograph, listening to me babble on and on and on. Anyway, enough of that - more gossip! Ginny's moved out, as you know. She's got a nice flat near team headquarters, and I think she's going out with their star keeper. Very nice girl, although a little scary. Gin says they're just spending some time together, and nothing's serious yet, but I don't know. It seems pretty serious to me, the way Marga looks at her.

"Oh, James finally wrote, too. Completely ignored the divorce news, except to ask whether he should plan on staying here or at Mum's flat when he comes home over winter hols. As you may have noticed, my children are all terribly upset by their broken home," Harry said, quirking his mouth. "Did I tell you that Millicent Bulstrode is Head of Slytherin House now?"

Severus looked gratifyingly surprised.

"It's her first year as House Head, but after she taught the upper level potions classes for the past few years, none of the kids would dare to give her any backtalk. Al says she's much better than old Delphelas, who finally retired. Al says she's not exactly a comforting presence, but she looks out for them all and makes sure they toe the line. Can you just imagine? Bulstrode, of all people!" Harry smiled and yawned. "It's getting late. I've got an early start tomorrow; I should turn in. Good night, Severus," he said fondly, patting the frame gently. He doused the lights and headed for bed.

It was odd, he thought, how much comfort he found in talking to a framed photograph that couldn't even talk back to him. A time or two, he had considered commissioning a wizarding portrait of Severus for his study, but he'd always put the idea aside, as if giving into it would be verging from eccentricity over into obsession.

He stretched out in bed, relishing the smooth sheets against his skin and the warm comfort of his thick featherbed. In moments, he was fast asleep.

He was back in the Shrieking Shack, only this time Severus had fallen to the floor, clutching his neck, and Harry was struggling with Nagini, trying desperately to hold her off. He cursed her in Parseltongue, but she laughed at him, a horrid sound, and coiled back, preparing to strike. As she darted forward, he threw himself to one side and came up with a wand; he wasn't sure whose. AVADA KEDAVRA! he shouted, and a blaze of green light leapt from the wand to strike the serpent, even as she was turning back to strike at him again. She lunged, but was dead before she hit the floor with a heavy, dull thud.

Harry dropped to his knees, panting and shaking with reaction, and then he saw Severus, still trying to staunch the flow of blood from his neck. Harry hurried to his side and pulled Severus into his arms, gently pulling his fingers away from the gory wound. He murmured a spell - not certain what it was, only that it was right, and saw the blood slow, then stop, and the gaping flesh smooth over, healing before his eyes.

"Look at me," Severus gasped, and Harry bent down, looking him full in the eyes, and kissed him.

* * * * * * * * *

In the years that had followed, they had seen little of one another, but they had written to each other often, all through their years of study and as each came into his full power. Their letters were full of warmth and comradeship, as befitting two warrior-mages who had fought side-by-side and come through such battles as they had known. Salazar had told himself that whatever else they had shared had been only a thing born of necessity and youth. A boy spilled his seed at the barest brush of a passing breeze, and they had been little more than boys, he recalled. And battle heightened a man's responses, as any man who had ever fought could attest. Blood heated and rushed everywhere, even to the blind snake that stirred between a man's legs. A man who survived a battle sought the first warm wench available and made haste to spill his seed, lest he have no opportunity to do so ever again. And if there were no wenches to be had...well, there were alternatives, as he and Godric had proved. That, surely, was all it had been, and well enough for that.

A conclave had been announced, many years later, and all wizards and witches interested in learning what their brethren had discovered, or in demonstrating their own achievements, had come to Caer Peris, for a week's gathering. The common folk had thronged to the place as well for a great harvest and trading faire, and the old city had been filled to bursting with people. As Salazar had brought his winged horse in over the stable yard of the castle, there had scarcely been room for him to touch down. He had handed the reins to a wizened little creature and headed into the Keep, where he had joined the press of magical folk, all chattering and waving hands in excitement at the events to come.

And then he had seen Godric. From across the crowded hall, filled with so many people a man could scarcely breathe, he had looked up and seen the broad shoulders, the red-gold mane, now matched by a flowing beard, and the warmly glowing green-flecked eyes. As lodestone drew iron, he had found himself drawn across the room, until he stood before Godric, and his mouth had opened and foolishness had spilled out.

"I had not thought to see you, ever again," he had said.

Godric had smiled and wrapped long arms about him. "Ever is a very long time, my dear old friend," he had said, crushing Salazar against him.

And Salazar had been lost.

* * * * * *

"Scorpius, look at this," Al said, trying to get his friend's attention. Scorpius was deeply intent on an early manuscript on runic healing, attributed to Salazar Slytherin, from the Slytherin House collection.

Professor Bulstrode had been more than happy to grant access to the rare documents, which had been locked away in the Slytherin dungeons time out of mind. She said it was high time someone had researched the work of Salazar Slytherin, and she was proud he had chosen to do so. She did cast protective and tracking spells over the documents before handing them over, however, and smiled sweetly when she informed Al that if the documents were damaged or misplaced, his testicles would rot and drop off. He had practically felt the organs in question shriveling between his legs and took her at her word. He had been exceptionally careful of the documents in question!

"Mm?" Scorpius didn't look up.

"Oy! Look here!" Al insisted. "See this? There's some sort of runic code running through this treatise. Look - you see the illuminations here, and here?"

Scorpius swung his legs down from the arm of the chair and bent over the document Al was reading. "Hm. Have you charted them out, yet?"


"No. I think we'd better do it together; you read off and I'll chart," Al said, spreading a fresh sheet of parchment out on the table between them.

It took them quite a while, as it was a lengthy scroll, but finally they had all of the runic references plotted out and annotated. Scorpius looked over Al's shoulder at the chart and frowned. "If I'm reading that right...he's referring to a chamber somewhere down around the foundations of the castle."

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Al asked.

"No...look, see this? This indicates that the other Founders must have been involved in building it, or at least all made use of it. Something about a...temple, maybe? A place of ritual...being bound to the school and the school to them..." Scorpius's voice trailed off.

"I've never heard of anything like that, and I have read Hogwarts, A History! Do you suppose we could find it?"

Scorpius shrugged. "If it's still there, I don't see why not. There aren't many indications here, but if we head down the central stairs and keep going down, we ought to find some indications."

"Are you game?" Al asked, grinning.

Scorpius regarded their chart for a moment. "It would be something no other students have done in centuries, I'm sure. We'd definitely get extra points; we might even get published!"


Al laughed. "Aunt Hermione will be so proud," he joked, "and Lily will be perfectly green with envy. So, when shall we start?"

"Saturday morning? I'll finish my Transfig assignment tomorrow, and if you can get your Potions lab work done Friday, we should have the weekend free."

"Suits. I think I have something in my trunk that might help, too."

* * * * * * * *

The work at the caves went well enough, and Salazar was pleased to see that Godric held up under the strain, though he meekly nodded and took to his bed upon their return, clearly glad of the opportunity to rest.

Over the next few weeks, they carved out the mountain beneath their chosen site, sculpting chambers and passages, forming the rock into stronger stuff, magically embued with power to hold up the weight of a great castle and sustain it for years, centuries to come. Salazar took the two boys as apprentices and was pleased with their progress, and soon all four powerful mages and their students had formed a strong working team, each contributing according to their skills and powers.

And the castle rose before them. The peasants dressed stone and worked wood and hauled raw materials back and forth from village and croft to the castle grounds, but Godric and Rowena and Helga and Salazar wove their magic together and commanded stones to stack and bind, to arch and flow as needed. The outer walls grew higher and stronger; the main Keep sprouted towers on its corners, and the foundations leapt up to embrace the stone footings, anchoring the entire structure securely to the heart of the earth.

Now that Godric's strength had fully returned, he spent his power heedlessly, transfiguring stone and wood into the inner structures of the castle, shaping chambers for study and training and sleeping, and pouring extra magic into it all, hoping, as he confided to Salazar, that the castle would become almost a living thing, sensitive to the needs and wants of its masters.

Rowena smiled at their ceaseless debates over the interior floor plans, then stepped into the center of the castle one morning and cast a spell none of them had ever seen before. The stones had all trembled, and then one great staircase had swung free of the wall and pivoted, shifting its landing from the north to the west side of the Keep. They stared at her, gaping like country fools, then Helga had laughed and the rest joined in. It was a compromise, but one they could all accept.

Helga had conferred with the centaur tribe from the forest that bordered the east side of their land, and came to an agreement with them regarding access and hunting, and then she had whispered to the trees and they had slowly crept backwards, leaving a broad swath of land clear down to the lake shore.

Salazar spent days opening passages from the castle itself down into the chambers they had sculpted in the stone mountain beneath it, and expanding those chambers and passages into more useful spaces. Always a cautious man, he extended tunnels here and there, providing ways for those who knew of them to move secretly within the castle, as well as in and out of it.

In the midst of their labours, Godric announced he had received a challenge and must go forth to answer it. Salazar fretted for three days, then heaved a sigh of relief on the fourth, when Godric came riding back through the great gate they had erected across the road into the bailey. His relief was short-lived, however, as Godric's face was pale and drawn, and he stumbled slightly when dismounting.

It was fever. A tiny, festered wound showed on Godric's upper arm; a bite from some noxious insect or serpent, Salazar hazarded, no doubt a little parting gift from Godric's challenger.

"You left him dead, I hope," he said bitterly, as he lanced the swelling.

Godric nodded wearily. "He was a fool, and too dangerous a fool to leave behind me," he said.

Salazar gave him a cup of bitter herb-wine. "It should bring down the fever." He went out to his warming chamber and opened the rush basket where his latest pet, an emerald charm-tongue, lay coiled in sleep. "Awake, my lovely," he called gently to her in the language of serpents.


"Sleepy! she protested, but her brilliant green tongue flickered out and she slowly raised her jeweled head. "Food?" she asked, hopefully.

"In due course, my pet. For now, I have need of your aid," he told her, taking her heavy length in to his arms and carrying her into the bedroom.

Godric was pale and sweating, but his ruddy eyebrows arched in surprise at Salazar's pet. "Lie still," Salazar told him. "She'll not harm you. Her gift is to counter venoms of all types," he said. "This one sickens from a bite, my lovely one. Take the poison from him, gently."

The snake, gleaming with markings of emerald green, deep crimson and jet black, flowed out of his arms and onto the bed, sliding over Godric's arm, her tongue tasting the air as she went. Unerringly, she sought the lanced wound at his shoulder and nudged it with her blunt nose.

"Still, now," Salazar cautioned him. "She is going to bite you, but it is necessary."

He had no sooner finished speaking than the snake struck, blindingly fast, and drove her short fangs into Godric's arm, around the small welt. He hissed, but held still, eyes wide as he watched. She sucked at him, the pain intense but brief, then released her hold and looked to her master for approval. Salazar held out his arm and she slithered back to him, wrapping herself around his wrist and submitting to his gentle caresses.

Godric watched in amazement. "It is truly a rare gift you have with serpents, Salazar," he said, wonderingly. "Thank your bright lady for me, if you will. I will gladly fetch her a plump rat, or a young coney, if such is to her taste, as soon as I am allowed out of this bed."


Salazar smiled as he petted the snake, and nodded to Godric. "I will convey your offer," he said, then slipped back into the sibilant tongue to speak to her. "Well done, lovely one," he hissed, "my nest-mate is very grateful, as am I. He offers you the gift of a fine rat or tender rabbit, once he is well enough to hunt again."

He laughed as her eyes sparkled with greed, her former sleepiness forgotten. "She says she has not had a coney in far too long, as I cruelly keep her locked away here, far from rabbit warrens. I think she likes you, love." He bit his lip as the endearment slipped out, but Godric did not remark on it.

"A fine rabbit it shall be, then, tender and plump, even if I have to steal one from Rowena's falcons!" Godric felt his arm, then his forehead and smiled. "The swelling is gone, and already I feel the fever diminishing. My thanks, indeed, love," he said, and his eyes were warm.

Salazar felt his guts twist, not unpleasantly, and hastily returned the snake to her basket. When he came back to the bedroom, Godric had stripped off his robe and lay back against the fine linen sheets, holding out his arms.

"Come here, love, and comfort me," he said, smiling.

"You're well enough to need no comforting," Salazar said wryly, but he shed his own robe and slipped into the bed.

"Then come to my arms and be comforted," Godric said softly, wrapping his long arms around Salazar's thin form and pulling him close. "Why do you fear to love me, Salazar?" he asked quietly, his broad hands gently stroking, caressing skin already anxious for their touch. "Do you doubt me so much, after all these years?"

"I...when we were young, it was...only battle-fever, so I believed," Salazar admitted, sighing and resting his head on Godric's broad chest. "And when we came together again, so many years ago, I thought only that it was...a diversion for you. I knew you had women, before and since, and I forbore to place more importance on what was between us."


"My subtle serpent," Godric said, kissing him and collecting his stirring rod into one big hand, "you ponder too much and too deeply."

"Do I?" Salazar asked. He pulled back to look at Godric, though the hand caressing his manhood was hard to ignore. "You have never cared to speak of such things, before."

"No," Godric agreed, "and perhaps I would not have, now, but that I saw your face when I returned today, and again when you called me 'love,' just now, and I thought perhaps it was time and more than time for such words to be spoken freely between us." He tightened his grasp on Salazar's shaft and stroked it firmly. "Not just words for the bedroom," he said quietly, "or for the still, dark hours of the night, but for all hours of the day, and all days of the year." He shifted, pressing Salazar back into the bed and straddling him, continuing to stroke him at an even, steady pace.

Salazar swallowed and then groaned, tossing his head back as Godric bent to lick the base of his throat and gently nip at the soft skin there. His loins ached with need, but Godric would not be hurried.

His left hand splayed on Salazar's chest, then slowly drew down, tracing his ribs and belly, sliding over his hip to cup his buttocks and squeeze them, while his right hand continued its slow pace, up and down, up and down, up and down on Salazar's shaft, until he thought he would go mad.

Godric slipped a finger between his nether cheeks and murmured a phrase they both knew well. Salazar groaned again as he felt himself loosened and filled with slickness. He thrust his hips up, trying to drive the pace faster, but instead, Godric slowed until his hand merely circled the root of Salazar's rod and pressed firmly against his sac.

"I love you, Slytherin," Godric breathed into his ear, as he felt his legs pushed up and back and the hot, broad head of Godric's hard shaft pressed beneath his bollocks and slid down the cleft of his buttocks, then wedged into his anus. "Not just when I am in your bed, or you in mine, but always."

Salazar snarled and thrust his hips forward, capturing Godric's staff in one swift motion and burying it deep. He groaned again, and gripped Godric's corded forearms hard. Godric pressed in, as far as he could, then paused.

"Move, idiot!" Salazar snapped. "Sing me your psalms later, if you must, but now MOVE!"

Godric chuckled and began to thrust, as he resumed stroking and matched the rhythm of hand to hips. Salazar threw his head back and let his body fit the tempo, let his mind drift and gave himself over wholly to sensation.

Sweat beaded them. The chamber was filled with the harsh, ragged sound of their breathing, and the wet, rhythmic sounds of their coupling, the slick slap of flesh on flesh and the squelch of fluids that ran from them as they moved together. Salazar's world narrowed down to the weight of Godric between his thighs, the fullness of his manhood filling him over and over, and the firm grip of Godric's hand on his hard, aching member.

Godric rubbed his thumb over the tender head of Salazar's shaft, then sped his hand on it and thrust his hips faster and harder. The tempo faltered, and Godric was slamming into him wildly, sweat flying from his sodden hair and a babble of words spilling from his lips. Salazar arched up, wrapped his legs around Godric's thighs and pulled them together with all his strength, biting down on Godric's good shoulder as he did.

Godric let out a great shout and his body shook as he spent himself. Salazar felt Godric's hand spasm on his own rod, snapped his hips upward, hard, and spent himself all over Godric's belly and his own. They clung together for countless moments, hearts racing and eyes seeing nothing, until at last Salazar eased his mouth and gently kissed the great welt he had raised on Godric's shoulder, then dropped bonelessly back on to the bed.

With a long, ragged sigh, Godric slipped free and slowly unwrapped his fingers, then slumped to the bed beside Salazar. Salazar wet his lips and reached for his wand. "Abstersi," he muttered, and the tingle of magic cleansed them both of sweat and other fluids.

Godric reached out and brushed long black hair from Salazar's face. "It is still true, Salazar. I love you. I have for many a year. And I give you my word, it is safe for you to love me, if you so choose."


Salazar sighed, then half-turned toward Godric. "You think, because I have schooled myself against saying it, that I do not love you? You say, 'Love me! It is safe!' and yet you run off to duel any fool who challenges. You head into battle without a thought for those you leave behind - and you reach for your sword when your wand would do better! How can it be 'safe' to love you, Godric? Shall I tell you daily how much I care? How my heart burns at your glance? How I can neither sleep nor eat when you put yourself at risk for such foolishness? Shall I love openly, that I may be properly pitied by all, the day you are borne home on a litter, for me to put you on your pyre?"

"Salazar--"

"No! Do not try to assure me, Godric. I know you, and I know myself. You have my love; you are a fool if you have not known it all these years. But leave me my protections and my devises; one day, they may be all that are left me." He sighed. "Enough of such talk. For now, let us rest."

Godric echoed his sigh and gathered him close. "I would ease your worries, if I could," he said quietly.

"I know," Salazar mumbled, as he drifted off to sleep. "Love you, foolish lion."

"And I you, my serpent."

* * * * *

He stirred, still deep in dreams, or in what passed for dreams, in this existence where time and space both seemed vague and formless.

He dreamed of earnest green eyes and of regret, and of small confidences and great loneliness. He wondered why Lily's eyes looked out at him from a man's face, and then he remembered the boy, Dumbledore's sacrificial lamb. He wondered if he would dream the boy's death, or if Lily's sad green eyes would merely reproach him forever, but instead, the eyes smiled at him, and he dreamt of children's laughter and a smiling red-haired girl who was not Lily, and of Lily's eyes in Harry's face.

Harry...but Harry was dead, wasn't he? He wanted to apologize to Lily for what they had done to her son, but her eyes regarded him compassionately from Harry's face, and it was Harry's voice that apologized and said he wished things could have been different.

He drifted in and out of dreams...but Harry's eyes and Harry's voice were an anchor and kept him safely tethered, so he never quite lost himself.

* * * * * * *

The problem had gnawed at him, in every idle moment, and more so whenever Godric placed himself in harm's way. Salazar was not a man to give fickle Fate her way without a fight, and so he searched and studied and strove, until at last a plan gained shape. It was not perfection, but it would, perhaps, give him at least a measure of peace.

"Godric, I have an idea," Salazar told him one morning. "We have woven all manner of protections into the foundations and fabric of this place, making it as safe a fastness as wit and power can devise. I believe I have a way to harness that protection for those of us bound to the school."

"Oh? And what form would this protection take?" Godric asked.


"There is a rite we must perform, that will link us to this place, so that the castle knows we are its own, and then I will shape amulets for each of us that will draw us home again at will, whenever there should be need."

Godric raised his eyebrows. "That is an ambitious undertaking," he said mildly. "Have you discussed this with Rowena?"

"No...no, I would rather make the attempt alone...or just the two of us, at first, lest it should fail. Should it succeed, I will give Rowena and Helga their own amulets and the necessary rituals, and they may try it for themselves."

Godric eyed him speculatively. "You would not object to my presence, then?"

Salazar feigned reluctance. "Well...no. Your help would be welcome," he admitted.

"When shall we essay this ritual, then?"

"The summer solstice approaches; a good time for such things, by arithmantic reckoning. My preparations should be ready by then."

Godric nodded. "Very well. Tell me how to aid you, and so I shall."

* * * *

Continued in Part 3