The Duel
Many days had passed since Christmas. Razledorf had left unreconciled with Salazar, but Godric, fully aware of the situation, had hugged him before he departed. The betrayal still felt raw to Salazar. He couldn't fathom how Godric could be okay with it.
Godric was ever-present in his thoughts, and it didn't matter how hard Salazar tried, the bonds between them never seemed to loosen. He couldn't help but dwell on Godric's relationship with Gladys—the intimacy and connection they shared. It was hard to explain how painful it felt. To think that Godric and he had known each other for ten years, unable to be closer. Then she had come along. Less than a year she had known Godric, and now Salazar’s relationship with Godric was as nothing, compared to theirs. He banged his fist on the table, in frustration. Years of friendship and hard work felt meaningless. He was left with the meagre scraps. Had he even been the starter? Gladys was the starter, the main course, the sides, and the dessert. In the banquet of love, he was expected to have the crumbs off the floor.
He doubled him over as he tried to hold back tears. His friendship had been everything to him, and now it was gone. He felt crushed and broken. He missed Godric and grieved the loss intensely, a loss that no one else seemed to notice, let alone understand. All that remained was for him to watch enviously as Godric and Gladys shared everything he had dreamed of. He struggled to go on, haunted by the thought of what he would never know. It was soul-destroying.
*
The days crawled by. Then, on the twenty-fourth of January, Salazar was in his dark, musty dungeon office as usual. His face was dry and sallow, and his eyes were heavy. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door—it was Godric. He walked in, looking bright and warm, but with an air of burden on his shoulders. He paced for a few moments, gathering his thoughts, before speaking.
"Do you know anything about these reports," he asked tentatively, "I’ve been hearing?"
"What reports?" Salazar replied dryly, glancing up briefly but continuing with his work.
"About you," Godric confessed, "what you're teaching the children?"
"You'll have to be more specific," Salazar said. "I know it's hard to imagine, but some of us teach the children a good deal."
Godric's ears reddened. "I've heard vile rumours from pupils in my house that you’ve been teaching that those with wizarding parents are somehow better than those with Muggle parents."
Salazar looked up from his writing and stared determinedly at Godric, his jaw clenched.
"Why are you trying to confront these rumours?" Salazar asked pompously.
"To have them denied, of course. I know they can’t be true. No one can seriously think that, can they?"
"Then why have you come?" Salazar retorted sharply. "I have no desire to discuss the matter with you."
Godric's irritation grew. "Gladys is Muggle-born, you know," he said, as though this proved his point conclusively. "Remember? I told you."
Salazar stood up, drawing himself to his full height. "Yes, yes, I do," he said, unable to suppress a smirk.
A look of annoyance flashed across Godric's face as silence fell. "That can’t be where all of this started?"
Salazar did not reply.
"You are not to teach the students in our care anything untrue, or hurtful," Godric said resolutely.
Salazar moved around his desk dramatically, his cloak billowing as he prepared to confront Godric. His eyes flashed as he looked back at him.
"I have no desire to heed your gratuitous and, quite frankly, absurd remarks," Salazar said, raising his hand in objection. "I am not obliged to, nor do I wish to, answer them."
Before Godric could reply, Salazar turned and left the room. Outraged, Godric followed closely behind.
"What is taught in this school is all of our business!" he thundered. "What is wrong with you? Are you mad?"
Salazar kept walking but turned to say, "If it's mad to stand up for wizarding rights, then yes, I am mad."
Godric's brow furrowed. "Who on earth are you defending us from? Who is denying us wizarding rights?" he asked exasperatedly. "And how does tyrannising Muggle-borns help?"
"I don't expect you to understand," Salazar exclaimed aggressively. "Your mind's been clouded, your senses beguiled, your judgement impaired."
Godric looked ready to counter, but Salazar continued, "Are you really going to stand there and tell me that the history of the blood that runs through our veins—the generations of wizards who came before us, who raised us, who forged our traditions, who bore the brunt of Muggle harassment—counts for nothing?" He breathed deeply, then added, "Where would we be without—"
He stopped abruptly, the thought of his father hitting him like a punch to the stomach. His father's betrayal rose to the forefront of his mind. His throat dried up, and he lost his train of thought. Godric took this pause as a sign of his argument faltering.
He stepped in front of Salazar, blocking his way. "We were fortunate, you're right, but Muggle-borns are just as much wizards as we are, and just as deserving of a magical education, if not more!"
Salazar looked at him intently and huffed. His emotions had not abated. He had a great desire to punish Godric, to lash out at him.
"I can't believe you hugged him," he cried.
"What?"
"You hugged him—Father. You knew what he'd done, and you still hugged him. Why?"
Godric looked completely taken aback. This was the last thing he had expected and was completely unprepared for this line of interrogation. He looked up and down the corridor to see if anyone else was there, but it was empty.
"I—I wanted to."
"He had your uncle murdered, Godric," Salazar spat angrily. "If you had forgotten. I know you were a little preoccupied with securing your own happiness, but you should have had the balls to stand up to him!"
"Yes, Salazar," Godric replied, affronted. "But he was my uncle, and I decide how I feel about it."
Salazar swept his hand through his hair, full of emotion. "You're as bad as he is!"
"Is this what it's all about?" Godric asked, exhaling, piecing together Salazar's many peculiarities. "Is this why you've been so off?"
Infuriated, Salazar barged past Godric, trying with all his might to get as far away from him as possible.
"Salazar," Godric called after him as he sped up.
"Go away, Godric. Like you'd understand what it's like to have a father who did that to someone like me, who would have done the same thing to me! I look at you, and all I see is him. Someone who would have done exactly the same thing too. You're as bad as he is!"
Salazar didn't know who Godric was anymore. The boy before him was so altered from even a year ago.
"How can you say that?" Godric exclaimed incredulously. "You’re not being serious?"
"Yes, I am," he replied firmly. "Push come to shove, you'd have done exactly the same."
Godric looked hurt, his big eyes searching Salazar's face pleadingly.
"What your father did to my uncle was wrong, Salazar. I would never have done it. But I also don't believe your father has to be defined by it for the rest of his life!"
"No, you wouldn’t," Salazar snorted. "You have no idea what it's like to be betrayed by your closest friend."
"I don't know what to say," Godric shrugged.
Salazar cursed him internally. Of course not, he thought viciously. You don’t have to think about it. You get to not think about it. His verbal deficiencies were a result of his thoughtlessness, indifference, and privilege, and he found it insulting and exasperating.
"Oh, I don't know," Salazar pretended to ponder, "how about 'Happy Birthday'?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow and folding his arms.
For the first time, Godric looked momentarily perturbed, his confidence slightly shaken. But he quickly regained his composure.
"You know me," he said, half shrugging, half apologetic. "I'm not good at remembering those sorts of things."
No, Salazar thought bitterly. Funily enough, he wasn’t. It wasn’t like they had been close friends for ten years, after all. Why should he think that meant his birthday was worth remembering, let alone celebrating? It was just further proof that he did not care.
Salazar walked on, his only goal to get away from Godric. However, Godric followed, just as determinedly. They reached the Great Hall. The sky was thick, black, and ominous above them. No one else was around.
Godric ran his hand through his hair, uncertain of what to say but compelled to speak. "Well, it's not too late for us to do something?"
Salazar looked back in disbelief. "What?" he said.
"Perhaps we could go to Hogsmeade or something—with Gladys?" Godric inquired tentatively.
Salazar snorted disgustedly. "Always thinking about Gladys! What about me? Am I not enough anymore, alone?"
Godric did not consider the matter long before replying, "No, I just prefer to go in a group."
Annoyance prickled all over Salazar. Anger burned within his chest. He could barely form the words but finally asked, "Why?"
"I don't want to do anything with you alone," Godric shrugged indifferently.
In Salazar's crumbled world, this all fit together too perfectly. But a torrent of questions still flooded his mind. Why not? They had always done things together before Gladys. What was wrong now? Why could he no longer stomach being alone with him? He would have done anything for him. Why could he not do this? So, he’d rather go with Gladys, Salazar thought bitterly. The idea of spending time alone with him was utterly horrifying, was it? His breathing was erratic.
Godric fidgeted awkwardly, “Do you want to be my best man?” he asked.
Salazar gawped. Nothing Godric could have said would have been more surprising. The question dropped in his mind like a glass vase, shattering into a million tiny pieces. He could barely think to ask himself the question - What? Let alone anything else. How could anyone be so arrogant, so oblivious, so self-conceited, as to think that that was an acceptable question after all he had said!? It was utterly incredulous. What was wrong with him? Was he unhinged? Now, at long last, something inside Salazar finally, and irrevocably snapped.
“No,” Salazar replied viciously. “I wouldn't. What on earth makes you think I'd accept such a request? The notion is quite frankly absurd.”
Godric looked wounded and crestfallen.
Why? Salazar thought. Why on earth would a man who didn’t want to spend any time with him want him to be his best man? Why couldn’t he just let him go? What was this absurd attempt to cling on to such a shallow, meaningless, pointless relationship?
“What could possibly have possessed you to ask me that? How could you possibly think I’d say yes after the way you’ve treated me?”
Godric continued looking bewildered.
Salazar carried on, “You think you can treat me however you like, and then I’d still be there for you, grateful to you?” His chest heaved up and down as he scoffed. “Yeah, of course you’re willing to have a friendship - when it suits you, and as long as it doesn’t cost you anything! Why can’t you let it die? It’s like you can’t stomach losing it, but neither can you stomach having it.”
Godric’s face looked stony white, and his hands clenched as he too became enraged. “What do you want from me, Salazar? What should I say? Do you want me to lie? Would that make you feel better? I did like you Salazar, I still do, I -”
“Don’t say it!” Salazar fumed. “Don’t you dare even say it! You knew how I felt, didn’t you? How could you not? All those years. You knew how I felt towards you! But, you didn’t want to jeopardise what you had! You didn’t want to risk losing what was good for you! Well, I know differently now. I feel differently. You’re not brave. You’re not worthy of being admired. I know, deep down, you’re nothing but a coward. You’re weak -” he moved closer. “In days to come, they’ll bang the drum, and tell the tale of England’s chum,” he sniffed, “oh, they’ll write books on you alright - on all of us,” he said, sweeping his arms round, “and they’ll kid themselves that you were brave, courageous, and good, but I know better -”
It was Godric who turned away now, his hands pulling out his hair in distress. Why couldn’t Salazar just behave like any normal, reasonable person?
“I’m weak!” Godric shouted back, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Wow, that’s rich - coming from you! What? You think it’s really hard to be bitter, and depressed all the time? You think everyone should admire you, for your ability to sulk? You expect the rest of us to be sad and bitter too? Well, I’ve got news for you, Salazar! You’re the one who’s not strong enough, not brave enough, to fight to be happy!”
Before he knew what he was doing Salazar had raised his wand, ready to strike. His face contorted in rage. Godric suddenly looked taken aback.
“Imperio,” Salazar shot.
His wand shook in his hand. Godric’s eyes widened in horror and confusion as the words sunk in. Salazar did not know what he was going to do. He just knew he wanted to control him, to make him feel something, anything. His whole body trembled.
“Come,” he commanded, his voice quivering.
Godric started moving slowly forward. The distance between the two boys closed.
“Nearer,” Salazar said.
Godric was inches away from Salazar’s face now. He could feel the warmth of his breath on him. They were almost exactly the same height. Godric looked Salazar up and down, fearlessly, peering straight back into his eyes, unflinchingly, the eyes he had seen so often before. His own big green ones shone brightly.
Salazar closed his eyes, and breathed heavily. What did he want him to do? That was the question. Now he could make him do anything. What would he make him do?
“Enough,” Godric said, and took a few paces back.
Salazar opened his eyes, confused. What had just happened? How had the spell been broken? Godric took out his wand, and held it out awkwardly.
“What did you do?” Salazar asked, unnerved.
“You should have paid better attention in Greece!” he retorted, sounding more playful. Then in a great arc he swung his wand above his head, and enchanted the words, “Revelio solanostro.”
At once a bright gold light emanated from the end of his wand as he spoke the words, piercingly bright against the black night sky. Salazar cowered as he felt its force. He hid behind his arms as he attempted to avoid the blinding light. When the light dimmed he slowly opened his eyes. There, in between the two of them, was a thick golden cord, made entirely of the light. The cord seemed to sprout out of their chests and link them together. It was strangely beautiful and mesmerizing.
“The Great Shirpa was right,” Godric declared, pounding his chest proudly. “And you know what? Our souls are bound,” he said, animatedly, looking down. “Pretty strongly by the look of it too.” His eyes flashed, “And you know what else? Once this bond’s been formed, curses don’t work the way you think they will against the other person. How could they? It’d be like cursing your own soul. The cord needs to be broken first. Well, the Great Shirpa was pretty convinced that it could only be severed if both parties wanted it to be.”
Salazar’s heart burned within him. He flicked his wand, “Finite incantatem,” he said, and the cord vanished.
Then Salazar whipped his wand, left and right. Red flashes crackled through the air. Godric was ready to counter though, and shielded himself artfully. Salazar may not have been able to curse him, but he could certainly do everything else. He wanted to lash out, he wanted to strike back at him. He swiped again - this time a bright blue light emanated from his wand. Godric ducked. Then he produced a sort of green force-field. He stood up, braced himself, and advanced forwards, counter-attacking in quick succession. Salazar was forced backwards, but deflected the oncoming spells adroitly.
They parried, long and hard. Godric paused, and Salazar immediately seized the offensive. The tables in the great hall rose, effortlessly, into the air, and then hurtled towards Godric. Who dived to the floor, and pointed his wand towards them. The tables collided above him, then spun off, and smashed into the stone wall above the fireplace. Godric got up, panting and sweating. Then he spun round quickly. His wand produced a flaming fireball, which encircled him. It looked fierce. Its scorching heat generated a haze, as its flaming tail dripped like molten. Salazar readied himself as he wiped his brow, smelling its smouldering power. Godric gave his wand a flick, and the fiery matter cantered towards Salazar, like a flaming, roaring lion. Quickly, Salazar spun too, and he generated a gushing watery guardian. It slithered and writhed, like a vast snake, in the air. Then it reared its head in preparation, as the fiery beast approached. The snake appeared to swallow up the lion. As the fire struck the water, there was a boiling steaming jet where the two collided. The fire extinguished, the water sped on smashing into Godric like a horizontal waterfall.
He stood up, dripping wet, and enraged. Then he pointed his wand towards the windows, which shattered. The howling wind suddenly burst into the Great Hall. Godric directed the glass shards, with his wand and they hurtled towards Salazar. Salazar shot at them in turn, and the shards disintegrated into fine dust. But, he failed to get them all. His face, pelted by the shards of glass, was barely shielded by his arms, and he was soon dripping blood. His cloak was tattered. He could taste defeat, but he carried on.
Breathless, Salazar clutched his knees. He sent another spell directly at Godric, who in turn spun deftly on the spot. He reappeared behind Salazar, who turned around too late. The spell Godric shot at him hit him directly in his chest, and he fell backwards. Grunting, and doubled over in pain, he spluttered, trying to clamber to his feet.
“Sal!” Godric cried, running towards him.
“No!” Salazar hissed, as he flicked his wand, sending Godric flying backwards.
Salazar’s joints ached all over. His mottled black hair hid his contorted face, as he slowly staggered across the room. Godric looked on in distress, watching him from the floor. He could not bring himself to move. He could not find the words to say anything.
Helga and Rowena suddenly appeared at a doorway, having been greatly disturbed by the noise. Helga was bustling and fretting, unable to understand what was going on. Rowena kept a steely suppressed demeanor.
“What happened?” Rowena asked seriously, “Where is Salazar going?”
“Out,” Godric breathed heavily.
“Out!” Helga gasped, “In this cold and wind! He’ll catch his death! What is going on? What’s the matter?“
“Salazar and I had a disagreement,” Godric confessed, getting to his feet.
“A disagreement?” Rowena said, pursing her lips, “Seems like a little more than that! What about?”
“Salazar doesn’t agree with the way we are running the school,” he said solemnly, “He thinks that we shouldn’t be letting muggle-borns in -”
Helga rasped, tearfully, “That’s awful! Surely we can go after him and reason with him."
"No, I don't think so Helga," Godric sighed, "This is something he needs to work out himself."
Rowena put a comforting arm around Helga. She hoped that this was the end of the vision she had seen.
*
Salazar fled into the cold, wintry night. The bitter chill, which blew against him, brought with it a welcome solace. It alone was an honest companion.
It may not have been Godric’s fault that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t provide the companionship and intimacy Salazar needed. He may not have ever been able to satisfy the unrequited and unfulfilled desires of Salazar’s heart. But, such reasoning had been left behind at the Castle. His feelings towards Godric had been left at the Castle. Now all he felt was the sweet relief of callous indifference. He no longer felt the need or pressure to perform, or to worry about whether there would be a next time. Now he no longer had to feel the pain of his indifference, or the agonizing wait until he could speak to him or see him again. Now it was just him and him alone against the world. Cocooned against it. Absent. Fulfilled. But, this wouldn't be the end of their story.