Helga sat her horse like a man, her slender legs astride the leather saddle instead of draped neatly over the pommel. Salazar thought the position suited her well, echoing with masculinity, but touched with her subtle feminine wiles. A man could destroy himself pondering over the idiosyncrasies of a woman like Helga Hufflepuff…most of England already had.

Coming to the edge of the woods, Salazar had his first view of an ungainly, stone structure. It was an incoherent mass of crumbling towers, fractured walls and narrow, black windows.

He sighed to himself, unable to mask his disappointment.

So this was Hogwarts Castle.
 

“There are many methods through which a man might be controlled,” Helga said. “I shall teach you three. The rest you must learn for yourself.”

For the first time, Ailbhe raised her eyes to meet Godric's and he realized, despite her obvious bravery, that she was still young and pale and frightened.

But then Salazar reached down and shook her. “And the Captain-General?” He pressed. “Has he marshaled his men?”

Ailbhe emitted another shuddering sigh, her breath coursing out into the air and forming a thin pattern of vapors. “No, my lord,” she said. “Hogwarts is yours for the taking.”
 
 

And where there was peace, there flowed unrest. A relentless river. A stream that cut canyons through solid rock. Salazar knew this and rejoiced in the very knowledge of it, for soon he would ford the stream, dam up the river and channel that same instability against her.

Against Helga.
 
 
 
 
 

The old man sat by the fire.