For Camp Potter. Event: History Appreciation — Founders Era. Cabin: Lestrange.

For my dearest Sam, because I was debating on pairings, and she requested GodricSalazar.

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His hands are steepled, pressed against his lips. This is how he looks when he is thinking. When he finally speaks, his words are deliberate.

"You know what I desire, Godric."

You lean forward, across the desk you've deliberately placed between the two of you. This is a professional conversation. You know better than to close the space and allow your personal feelings to interfere with your judgement.

"I want to hear you lay it out, Salazar."

You see the faint annoyance cross his face. If he were one of your students he'd be rolling his eyes at you — but he isn't one of your students. He's your best friend, your… you haven't exactly defined terms but you suppose lover describes it. And he's your coworker, your equal. You are supposed to respect each other but there are days when you wonder if he does.

He drops his hands to the armrests of his chair. "I wish to keep Hogwarts within families of purely wizarding descent."

"Why?"

"Dammit, Godric, you know why!"

Rage flares in silver eyes, but settles quickly into the steady burn of molten silver that is typical.

You remain stubbornly calm. "Explain it to me." It is undoubtably a command and he hates you for it.

"It is dangerous," he hisses, his voice low, a note of fury only someone who knows him well — as you do — would even notice. "They burn people for magic. I know that's not effective, but they won't stay ignorant of that fact for long. They will get smarter, Godric, you know as well as I do. And dropping into their midst and telling them that their child possesses magic is a fantastic idea… if your objective is to get yourself and the child killed! Be smart, Godric, use your mind. Even those of half-Muggle parentage will face the same. Those who are open minded about this sort of thing are far outnumbered by those who like the smell of our burning flesh!"

"And the alternative? The alternative is what? Tell them nothing? Allow them to continue having bursts of accidental magic in the midst of Muggles, confused, not understanding what's going on? Allow them to die all alone without understanding? I will not stand by and let that happen, Salazar!"

"I will not stand by and allow you to throw yourself into the fire, Godric!"

And your name echoes against the stone walls as you both go silent. After a moment, you speak. Your voice is softer than you mean it to be. "Is that what this is about?"

"No. Of course not. It's logical, Godric. This is not a risk we can afford to take."

"Don't. Don't do that."

He looks at you and his eyes ask the question. What?

You shake your head. You know what. Still, you speak, because he won't. "Don't lie to me, Salazar. You may have the rest of the world believing that you're a heartless, emotionless bastard, but I see right through that, so don't even attempt."

He breaks your stare, glances down at the floor to compose himself, looks back up. His gaze is hard, determined. "My motivation does not matter, Godric. The point remains the same. I will not stand by and watch this school be ruined by letting in those of Muggle parentage. I will not."

You can hear the sadness in your own tone as you reply, "And I cannot stand by and watch them be persecuted for something they can neither control nor understand."

"You are a noble man, Godric Gryffindor," he says as he stands. "It has always been your weakness."

"Just as your insistence upon rationality has always been yours." You stand. You cannot help it. Even as he takes steps out of your life, you are caught in his orbit. You catch his hip with your left hand, block his path. You push yourself up on your toes and kiss him fiercely.

It is times like this when you are certain that he is as caught up in you as you are in him — your lives are irrevocably entangled. He responds as he always does: fiercely. The force of his lips is bruising, his hands tugging at the roots of your hair.

You wonder vaguely if you can make him stay just like this but you know him and you know yourself and it wouldn't work, so eventually you pull away.

"Are you certain, Salazar?" you ask breathlessly. His dark silver eyes bore into yours.

"I am certain."

And you nod firmly and pull away from him entirely, and you watch from that position as he walks out of your office and closes the door behind him. You sense intuitively that this will be the last time you ever see him.

You never expected forever — you are sparks and he is the ocean, and never were the two meant to mix. Besides that, keeping a relationship hidden wasn't the way to make it last, and you felt the strain of that at times. No. Yours was a flame that burnt brightly but quickly, and you knew that from the start.

But knowing doesn't numb the ache that starts in your chest as you fully begin to realise that he is gone, and he is not coming back.