# When Magic Remembers
## Chapter 3: The Founders Four
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was nothing like Harry remembered.
Where he expected soaring stone arches and floating candles, he found massive timber beams supporting a thatched roof that still smelled of fresh straw. Instead of four long house tables, rough wooden planks had been set up on trestles to accommodate the workers and scholars who called the half-built castle home. The walls were unfinished stone, still bearing the marks of the masons' chisels, and the floor was packed earth covered with rushes that crackled underfoot.
But despite its primitive state, there was something unmistakably magical about the space. Harry could feel the power gathering here, layer upon layer of enchantments being woven into the very foundations. This would become the heart of Hogwarts, he realized—not just because it was the largest room, but because the founders were pouring their combined will into making it a place where magic could flourish.
"Impressive, isn't it?" said a warm voice beside him. "Not much to look at yet, but Rowena insists it will be magnificent when we're finished."
Harry turned to find himself face to face with a woman who could only be Helga Hufflepuff. She was younger than he'd expected—perhaps thirty-five, with kind brown eyes and honey-colored hair braided with ribbons. Her robes were a practical brown wool, and her hands bore the calluses of someone who wasn't afraid of honest work. But there was something about her presence that immediately put Harry at ease, a maternal warmth that seemed to extend to everyone around her.
"Lady Hufflepuff," Aelfric said, bowing formally. "Allow me to present Harry of Potter's Field, the scholar I mentioned in my letter."
Helga waved away the formality with a flour-dusted hand. "None of that 'Lady' nonsense, please. We're all working toward the same goal here. Just Helga will do." She turned to Harry with genuine curiosity. "Aelfric tells me you study the old magic—the art as it existed before we learned to bind it with ritual and incantation. That's fascinating work. We could certainly use that perspective here."
"I'm honored to help however I can," Harry replied, trying to match her unpretentious manner. Up close, he could see the intelligence behind her kind eyes, the sharp mind that would one day establish the house that valued hard work and loyalty above all else.
"Excellent! The others will want to meet you properly, of course. Godric's out in the training yards—he's been working with some of the younger men on combat magic. Rowena's in what will eventually be the library, arguing with a scroll about ward placement. And Salazar…" Helga paused, her expression growing slightly troubled. "Salazar's in the dungeons again, working on the more… esoteric protections."
Harry's blood chilled slightly at the mention of Salazar Slytherin. In his time, that name was synonymous with dark magic and pure-blood supremacy. But here, now, Slytherin was one of four friends working together to build something extraordinary. How had it all gone so wrong?
"We'll find them all in due course," Aelfric said diplomatically. "For now, perhaps we could see where we might quarter ourselves? The journey was long, and we're both in need of rest."
"Of course! How thoughtless of me." Helga gestured toward a staircase that led up into the castle proper. "We've set aside chambers in the east tower for visiting scholars. Simple accommodations, but clean and warm. And you'll want to wash the road dust off before dinner—we eat together each evening in the hall, founders and workers alike. Godric insists on it. Says a castle's strength comes from its people, not its stones."
As they climbed the winding stairs, Helga kept up a steady stream of cheerful chatter about the construction progress, the challenges they'd faced, and the vision they all shared for what Hogwarts would become. Harry found himself genuinely liking her—there was nothing false about her warmth, nothing calculated about her kindness. She reminded him of Mrs. Weasley, if Mrs. Weasley had been one of the most powerful witches of her age.
The chambers they were given were indeed simple—stone walls hung with woolen tapestries, narrow beds with straw mattresses, and a single window that looked out over the construction in the courtyard below. But they were clean and dry, with warming charms worked into the walls and a pitcher of fresh water waiting on a wooden stand.
"Rest well," Helga said as she prepared to leave them. "Dinner's at sunset—just follow the noise and the smell of food. And Harry?" She paused in the doorway, her expression growing serious. "I hope you don't mind my saying so, but there's something different about your magic. Old, yes, but also… touched by experiences I can't quite identify. If you ever want to talk about it, I'm a good listener."
After she left, Harry sat heavily on his bed and stared out the window at the workers below. Helga's observation had been uncomfortably perceptive. His magic did carry the touch of experiences—dark ones. The Horcrux that had lived in his scar for seventeen years, the deaths he'd witnessed, the killing curses he'd survived. How much of that could someone like Helga sense just by being near him?
"She's remarkable," Aelfric said, settling on his own bed with a weary sigh. "All four of them are, in their own ways. It's easy to see why people speak of them with such reverence."
"You've met them all before?"
"Briefly, when they first announced their intention to build Hogwarts. I was skeptical then—four powerful wizards working together rarely ends well. Too much ego, too many competing visions. But they've proven me wrong so far. They complement each other in ways that seem almost magical in themselves."
Harry thought about what he knew of the founders' eventual fate—the schism that would tear them apart, Slytherin's departure, the Chamber of Secrets with its deadly guardian. "How long do you think it will last? Their cooperation, I mean."
Aelfric was quiet for a long moment. "Hard to say. They're bound together by a common dream right now, but dreams have a way of evolving. And powerful wizards…" He shook his head. "Well, we tend to be a stubborn lot. When we disagree, we disagree thoroughly."
A few hours later, as the sun began to set behind the hills, they made their way back down to the Great Hall for dinner. The space had been transformed—dozens of candles had been lit and hung from the timber beams, filling the hall with warm, flickering light. The makeshift tables had been laden with simple but hearty fare: roasted meat, fresh bread, wheels of cheese, and pitchers of ale and mead.
But it was the people that made the scene remarkable. Harry counted perhaps sixty individuals scattered around the hall—masons and carpenters working alongside scholars and wizards, all of them united in the common purpose of building something that had never existed before. There was an energy in the air, a sense of excitement and possibility that was almost intoxicating.
"Harry! Aelfric!" Helga called from near the high table. "Come, meet the others properly."
As they approached, Harry got his first good look at the remaining founders, and he found himself comparing them to the legends he'd grown up with.
Godric Gryffindor was perhaps the closest to what Harry had expected. Tall and broad-shouldered, with red-gold hair and a beard that reached nearly to his chest, he looked every inch the warrior-wizard of legend. His clothes were fine but practical—leather and wool rather than silk—and the sword at his side was clearly more than ornamental. When he clasped Harry's hand in greeting, his grip was firm and callused, the hands of a man who knew how to use the weapons he carried.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry of Potter's Field," Godric said, his voice carrying the accent of somewhere far to the north. "Aelfric tells me you practice the old arts. Good! We'll have need of that knowledge before this place is finished. The land here is ancient, and some of the protections we're attempting require older methods than most of us are familiar with."
Rowena Ravenclaw was not what Harry had expected at all. The woman who would one day lend her name to the house that valued intelligence above all else was younger than he'd imagined—perhaps twenty-five—with dark hair that she wore in an elaborate braided style and robes of deep blue silk that spoke of wealth and status. But it was her eyes that caught his attention: pale blue and incredibly sharp, missing nothing as they studied him with frank curiosity.
"Potter's Field," she said thoughtfully. "An interesting surname. From the region of that name near Winchester, perhaps? Or is it occupational—your family works clay?" When Harry hesitated, she smiled. "Forgive me. I have an unfortunate tendency to treat new acquaintances like puzzles to be solved. Helga says you study magic in its most primitive forms. That must require tremendous discipline—working without the structure of formal incantations is dangerous for all but the most naturally gifted."
And then there was Salazar Slytherin.
Harry had been dreading this moment, unsure how he would react to meeting the man whose legacy would terrorize Hogwarts for centuries to come. But the reality was more complicated than he'd expected. Slytherin was tall and lean, with black hair and pale skin that spoke of aristocratic bloodlines. His robes were the finest Harry had seen since arriving in this time—silk and velvet worked with silver thread—and he carried himself with the unconscious arrogance of someone born to command.
But there was nothing overtly sinister about him. When he spoke, his voice was cultured and intelligent, and his questions about Harry's background seemed motivated by genuine curiosity rather than suspicion.
"The old magic," Slytherin mused after the introductions had been made. "A dangerous area of study, but potentially invaluable. I've been researching some of the more esoteric protective enchantments myself—wards that require blood sacrifice, bindings that connect to the very foundations of the earth. Perhaps we might share knowledge during your stay here."
Harry felt a chill at the casual mention of blood magic, but he forced himself to nod politely. "I'd be honored to learn from your expertise."
As the evening progressed and the ale flowed freely, Harry found himself drawn into the easy camaraderie that seemed to exist among everyone at Hogwarts. The founders might be legendary figures, but here they were simply four people working together on an ambitious project, dealing with the same practical problems that plagued any large construction effort.
"The ward stones for the outer perimeter are proving more troublesome than expected," Rowena was explaining to Aelfric. "The magic we're trying to anchor into them requires a level of precision that's difficult to achieve with traditional methods. We need something older, more fundamental."
"What kind of older?" Harry found himself asking.
Rowena turned to him with interest. "Magic that doesn't depend on spoken incantations or ritual gestures. Something that springs directly from the wizard's will and connects to the natural forces of the place itself. The problem is that such magic is notoriously difficult to control—and extremely dangerous if it goes wrong."
Harry thought of his encounter with the thralls, the way his magic had reached out and simply dissolved the binding spells that held them together. "What if the lack of control is actually a feature rather than a bug?"
"Explain," Salazar said, leaning forward with sudden interest.
"Well…" Harry chose his words carefully. "Formal magic is about imposing order on chaos, right? We use specific words and gestures to channel power in predictable ways. But what if there are situations where that kind of rigid structure is actually a limitation? Where you need magic that can adapt and respond to circumstances as they develop?"
Godric's eyes lit up. "Like in combat. I've noticed that my most effective battle magic comes not from carefully planned spells, but from instinctive responses to immediate threats. The magic seems to know what needs to be done even when I don't have time to think it through."
"Exactly," Harry said, warming to the subject. "And if you're trying to anchor protective wards into a place that has its own natural magical currents, maybe you need magic that can work with those currents instead of trying to override them."
The four founders exchanged glances, and Harry could see the wheels turning in their minds. These were brilliant people, he realized—not just powerful wizards, but genuine innovators who were willing to question conventional wisdom in pursuit of their vision.
"It's worth exploring," Rowena said finally. "Though it would require someone with the skill to work that kind of unstructured magic safely. The risks…"
"Are considerable," Salazar finished. "Blood magic operates on similar principles—drawing power directly from life force rather than channeling it through artificial constructs. But the potential for catastrophic failure is enormous."
Harry felt another chill at the casual way Slytherin discussed blood magic, but he pushed the feeling aside. This was a different time, when the boundaries between light and dark magic were less clearly defined. Many techniques that would later be classified as dark arts were probably considered perfectly respectable scholarly pursuits.
Still, it was troubling.
The conversation continued late into the night, ranging across topics from magical theory to the practical challenges of castle construction. Harry found himself genuinely enjoying the discussion—it had been years since he'd been able to talk about magic with people who understood it at this level, who were pushing the boundaries of what was possible rather than simply following established practices.
But as the evening wore on, he began to notice subtle tensions beneath the surface camaraderie. Nothing overt—the four founders were clearly friends and allies—but there were hints of deeper philosophical differences.
Godric favored direct action and bold gestures. When they discussed the threat posed by Herpo the Foul, his instinct was to gather an army and march north to confront the problem head-on.
Helga preferred building strong defenses and creating safe havens for those who needed protection. She wanted Hogwarts to be a sanctuary, a place where people could live and learn without fear.
Rowena approached everything as an intellectual puzzle to be solved through careful study and innovative thinking. She was fascinated by the theoretical implications of Herpo's magic, even as she worked to counter it.
And Salazar… Salazar spoke of fighting fire with fire, of using Herpo's own methods against him. He showed no distaste for dark magic, only concern that it be used effectively.
"The fundamental problem," Salazar was saying as the conversation turned to the broader conflict, "is that we're handicapping ourselves by refusing to use the most effective tools available. Herpo has no such scruples—he uses blood magic, soul magic, necromancy, whatever serves his purposes. How can we hope to defeat him if we limit ourselves to 'acceptable' methods?"
"Because the methods matter as much as the results," Helga replied, though her tone remained mild. "If we become monsters to defeat a monster, have we really won anything?"
Salazar's smile was thin. "Easy words, my dear, but they assume we have the luxury of choice. When faced with absolute evil, sometimes absolute measures become necessary."
"And who decides what constitutes necessity?" Godric asked, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. "Who chooses which lines we're willing to cross?"
"Those with the wisdom and strength to make such choices," Salazar replied smoothly. "Those capable of seeing the larger picture."
The tension in the air was suddenly thick enough to cut, and Harry found himself thinking of future events. Was this how it started? With small philosophical differences that gradually widened into unbridgeable chasms?
Rowena seemed to sense the growing discord as well. "Perhaps we should table this discussion for another time," she said diplomatically. "We're all tired, and these are weighty matters that deserve careful consideration."
The group began to break up, founders and workers alike heading to their quarters for the night. As Harry prepared to leave, Salazar caught his arm.
"A word, if you would," the pale wizard said quietly. "I'd like to hear more about your studies in the old magic. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow and discuss some of the techniques I've been researching."
Harry nodded, though something in Slytherin's manner made him uneasy. "Of course. I'd be happy to share what I know."
As he and Aelfric climbed the stairs to their chambers, Harry found his mind churning with impressions and concerns. The founders were remarkable people—brilliant, dedicated, and genuinely committed to creating something that would benefit all of magical society. But they were also strong-willed individuals with very different ideas about how to achieve their goals.
How long could such a partnership survive when the fundamental values of the partners were so different?
"Troubling thoughts?" Aelfric asked as they reached their doors.
"Just trying to understand them all," Harry replied. "They're not quite what I expected."
"Few people are, when you meet them as individuals rather than legends. The question is whether you're prepared for what you might learn about them—and about yourself—during our stay here."
Harry thought about that as he prepared for bed. Meeting the founders as real people rather than mythical figures was indeed troubling. It made their eventual schism seem not just inevitable, but tragic. These were good people—all four of them—but they were being pulled in different directions by their core beliefs and the pressures of the time they lived in.
And somewhere in the north, Herpo the Foul was building an army that would soon test all their convictions.
Harry settled into his narrow bed and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of a castle that never truly slept. Somewhere in these halls, four friends were planning the greatest magical school in history. And somehow, he was going to help them build it—even knowing how the story was destined to end.
The weight of that knowledge was almost crushing. But as he finally drifted off to sleep, Harry found himself thinking not of the tragic ending he knew was coming, but of the hope and determination he'd seen in the founders' eyes tonight.
Maybe the ending wasn't set in stone after all. Maybe that was why he was here—not just to witness history, but to help shape it.
The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new discoveries, and perhaps new opportunities to influence the course of events.
But tonight, Harry Potter slept peacefully in Hogwarts castle for the first time in over a thousand years, surrounded by the sound of magic being born.
-----
The next morning dawned clear and cold, with frost covering the construction materials scattered around the courtyard. Harry woke to the sound of hammers and saws as work resumed on the castle, but also to something else—the distinct sound of spell-casting from somewhere below.
He dressed quickly and made his way down to the Great Hall, where he found Helga supervising the breakfast preparations with the same cheerful efficiency she'd shown the night before. The hall was less crowded than it had been at dinner—many of the workers had already been fed and sent to their tasks—but the founders were all present, huddled around one end of the high table in what appeared to be intense discussion.
"Ah, Harry!" Helga called out as she noticed him. "Perfect timing. The others are discussing those ward stones Rowena mentioned last night. I think your perspectives on old magic could be quite valuable."
Harry joined the group at the high table, accepting a bowl of porridge and a cup of what might charitably be called ale. The founders looked like they'd been up for hours already, and from the tension in their voices, the discussion hadn't been entirely pleasant.
"The fundamental issue," Rowena was saying as Harry settled beside them, "is that traditional ward anchoring requires a level of magical precision that becomes exponentially more difficult as the scale increases. We're not talking about protecting a single building, but an entire valley. The standard methods simply aren't adequate."
"Which is why I've been suggesting alternative approaches," Salazar added, his tone carrying a hint of frustration. "Blood wards, for instance, create far stronger and more lasting protections than anything achievable through conventional means."
"Blood wards also require human sacrifice," Godric said flatly. "Which I will not countenance, regardless of their effectiveness."
"Not necessarily human," Salazar replied smoothly. "Animal blood can serve for basic protections, though admittedly human blood creates stronger—"
"No." Godric's voice cut across Salazar's words like a blade. "We will not build our sanctuary on a foundation of death, regardless of the source. There must be another way."
Harry cleared his throat carefully. All four founders turned to him, and he suddenly felt the weight of their combined attention. These were four of the most powerful wizards alive, and they were looking to him for answers to problems that had stumped them.
"What if the issue isn't the type of magic, but the approach itself?" he said slowly. "You're thinking about imposing protections on the land, forcing it to accept your will. But what if instead you worked with what's already here?"
"Explain," Rowena said, leaning forward with interest.
Harry gestured toward the window, where the ancient forest stretched away into the distance. "This place is already magical—you can feel it in the air, in the stones, in the very ground itself. Instead of trying to overlay new protections, what if you found a way to… enhance what's naturally present?"
Salazar's eyes narrowed. "You're talking about awakening the land itself. Making it a conscious partner in its own defense."
"Is that possible?" Helga asked.
"Theoretically," Rowena replied, her brilliant mind already racing ahead to the implications. "Though it would require magic of a sort that hasn't been attempted in centuries. The old druids claimed to work such enchantments, but the knowledge has been lost."
"Not all of it," Harry said quietly, thinking of the thralls and the way his magic had responded to them. "Some of the old knowledge is still there, sleeping in the magic itself. You just have to know how to wake it up."
The four founders exchanged glances, and Harry could see the excitement building in their eyes. This was the kind of challenge they lived for—pushing the boundaries of magical knowledge into unexplored territory.
"It would be dangerous," Salazar warned. "Awakening that kind of ancient power… if we lost control of it, the results could be catastrophic."
"Everything worthwhile involves risk," Godric said with a grin. "And if Harry is right, this could give us protections far beyond anything Herpo might expect."
"When do we start?" Helga asked, her practical nature already moving to implementation.
Rowena was already making notes on a piece of parchment. "We'll need to study the natural magical currents of the valley first, map them and understand their patterns. Then we can begin small experiments to see if the theory holds up in practice."
As the founders began to plan their radical new approach to protecting Hogwarts, Harry felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. He'd set them on a path that diverged significantly from the magical traditions of his own time. Would the consequences be positive or negative? Would this new approach help them stand against Herpo's darkness, or would it lead to unforeseen dangers?
But as he watched the four brilliant minds work together, building on each other's ideas and pushing each other to greater heights, Harry found himself believing that whatever came of this endeavor, it would be extraordinary.
After all, these were the founders of Hogwarts. If anyone could pull off the impossible, it would be them.
The question was whether the impossible would be enough to save them all.
-----
*Author's Note: Chapter 3 introduces us to all four founders as real people rather than legends, establishing their individual personalities and the philosophical differences that will eventually tear them apart. We see Harry beginning to influence events through his suggestion about working with natural magic rather than imposing artificial protections, which sets up a major subplot about developing new magical techniques.*
*Key character moments: Helga's maternal warmth and perceptiveness, Godric's straightforward nobility, Rowena's brilliant analytical mind, and Salazar's pragmatic but troubling willingness to use any means necessary. The seeds of future conflict are planted while maintaining the current spirit of cooperation.*
*Next chapter will likely focus on beginning the experimental magic work and further developing Harry's relationships with each founder individually.*