# When Magic Remembers
## Chapter 16: The Schism Begins
*Hogwarts Castle, April 17th, 1002 CE - Seven months after the administrative restructuring*
The shouting could be heard three corridors away.
Harry focused his distributed consciousness on the source of the disturbance and found Godric and Salazar facing each other across the conference table in what had been the collaborative meeting room but was now primarily used for disputes. Both men were on their feet, their faces flushed with anger, their wands held in white-knuckled grips that suggested the argument was dangerously close to turning physical.
"You had no right!" Godric's voice carried the kind of fury that Harry had only heard from him once before, during their confrontation with Herpo. "That student was under my protection, in my program, following protocols I established!"
"Your protocols nearly got him killed," Salazar shot back, his usual icy composure replaced by something harder and more volatile. "Advanced combat training without proper theoretical foundation is not education—it's negligence. I had a responsibility to intervene."
"By humiliating him in front of his peers? By declaring him unfit for continued study? By undermining months of careful confidence-building work?" Godric's sword was at his side, but his hand kept drifting toward its hilt. "You destroyed that boy's faith in himself, all to make a point about your precious theoretical requirements."
"I prevented that boy from attempting magic he wasn't prepared for, magic that could have killed him and anyone else in the vicinity. If that damaged his confidence, perhaps his confidence was misplaced to begin with."
Harry had been dreading this moment for months. The administrative restructuring that was supposed to resolve their coordination problems had instead created new ones, as each founder developed their own approaches and standards within their areas of responsibility. What had once been philosophical differences managed through compromise had become operational conflicts with real consequences for students and staff.
"Enough," Harry said, his voice emanating from the stones themselves with enough authority to cut through their anger. "Both of you, sit down. Now."
Both men remained standing, glaring at each other across the table. Neither was willing to be the first to back down, to show what they perceived as weakness in front of their opponent.
"Sit," Harry repeated, and this time his voice carried harmonics that resonated through the castle's foundation, a reminder of the power he could wield if he chose to. "We will resolve this like civilized people, not like children fighting over toys."
Reluctantly, both founders resumed their seats, though the tension between them remained thick enough to taste. Harry could sense Rowena and Helga approaching from different directions, drawn by the commotion and probably hoping to mediate before the situation escalated further.
"Now," Harry continued, "explain to me what happened. All of it. From the beginning."
The story that emerged was complex and depressing in its familiarity. Thomas Blackwood, a sixteen-year-old Gryffindor with exceptional natural ability but limited theoretical knowledge, had been participating in Godric's advanced practical training program. The program was designed to prepare students for real-world challenges they might face as adult wizards—combat magic, emergency healing, protective enchantments that could mean the difference between life and death.
Thomas had been progressing well, showing both skill and judgment in his practical applications. But during a session involving advanced transfiguration for defensive purposes, something had gone wrong. The spell had backfired, creating a cascade of magical energy that had threatened everyone in the training hall.
Salazar, monitoring the session through the castle's security systems, had intervened immediately. He had stabilized the magical reaction, prevented any injuries, and then—crucially—declared Thomas unfit for further advanced training until he completed additional theoretical coursework.
"The boy was attempting magic that requires a thorough understanding of the interaction between transfiguration principles and defensive ward structures," Salazar explained, his voice carefully controlled. "He had the practical skill to cast the individual components, but he lacked the theoretical knowledge to understand how they would interact with each other. The result was predictable and preventable."
"The result was a learning experience," Godric countered. "Thomas made a mistake, yes, but he was learning from it. That's how practical education works—you try, you fail, you analyze what went wrong, and you try again with better understanding."
"And if the cascade had spread beyond the training hall? If it had destabilized the wards protecting the entire castle? How many students would have paid the price for Thomas's 'learning experience'?"
"The safety protocols were in place. The risks were contained. You're exaggerating the danger to justify your interference."
"The safety protocols failed, Godric. That's why I had to intervene personally. Your training methods are creating situations that exceed the castle's ability to contain them safely."
Rowena arrived as the argument was reaching another crescendo, her analytical mind immediately assessing the situation and identifying the core issues. "This isn't really about Thomas Blackwood," she said, taking her seat at the table. "This is about the fundamental incompatibility between our different approaches to magical education."
"What do you mean?" Helga asked, settling beside her with the weariness of someone who had been mediating too many of these conflicts lately.
"I mean that Godric's practical training methods require students to push boundaries and take risks, while Salazar's safety standards require them to have complete theoretical mastery before attempting anything potentially dangerous. These approaches can't coexist without constant conflict."
"They can coexist if we maintain proper communication and coordination," Godric insisted. "If Salazar had consulted with me before intervening, we could have addressed his concerns without undermining Thomas's confidence."
"And if you had consulted with me before allowing students to attempt advanced magic without proper preparation, we could have prevented the entire incident," Salazar replied.
"The specialization isn't working," Helga said quietly. "We thought that giving each of us primary responsibility for our areas of expertise would reduce conflicts, but it's actually making them worse. We're developing incompatible standards and approaches within the same institution."
Harry had come to the same conclusion, though he had hoped that the founders would find ways to work around their differences. Instead, the administrative restructuring had created competing fiefdoms within Hogwarts, each operating according to different principles and priorities.
"The problem," Minerva said, appearing in the doorway with her usual perfect timing, "is that you're trying to maintain a unified institution while pursuing fundamentally different educational philosophies. At some point, something has to give."
"What are you suggesting?" Salazar asked.
"I'm suggesting that perhaps the time has come to acknowledge that Hogwarts has outgrown the collaborative model that created it. You're no longer four friends working together on a shared project—you're four administrators managing different aspects of a complex institution. And those different aspects may require different institutions to function properly."
The silence that followed was deafening. None of the founders wanted to acknowledge what Minerva was implying, but all of them could see the logic in her observation. Their different approaches to magical education were becoming less compatible with time, not more.
"You're talking about dividing Hogwarts," Rowena said finally.
"I'm talking about recognizing that you may have created something too large and complex to be managed according to a single set of principles," Minerva replied. "Different students have different needs, different learning styles, different goals. Maybe trying to serve all of them within a single institution is the source of your problems."
"Absolutely not," Godric said firmly. "Hogwarts represents the principle that magical education should be available to everyone, regardless of their background or approach to learning. If we start dividing students based on their learning styles or family traditions, we're abandoning everything we set out to accomplish."
"Are we?" Salazar asked quietly. "Or are we finally acknowledging that one size does not fit all, that different students require different approaches to reach their full potential?"
"What you're describing is segregation," Helga said. "Creating separate institutions for different types of students, different classes of people. That's the opposite of what we intended when we founded Hogwarts."
"Is it? Or is it the natural evolution of what we started?" Salazar leaned forward, his pale eyes intense with conviction. "We created houses because we recognized that students with different personalities and goals needed different approaches to education. All I'm suggesting is that we extend that logic to its natural conclusion."
"By creating separate schools for pure-bloods and Muggle-born students?" Godric's voice carried a note of accusation. "Because that's what you're really talking about, isn't it? You want to establish an elite institution for students from established magical families, while the rest of us handle everyone else."
"I want to establish an institution that can preserve and advance the most sophisticated forms of magical knowledge without being constrained by the need to accommodate students who lack the background or preparation to engage with that knowledge meaningfully."
"You want to create a magical aristocracy," Rowena said bluntly. "An elite class that controls access to advanced knowledge based on criteria that conveniently favor people who already have advantages."
"I want to prevent the loss of magical techniques and understanding that took centuries to develop," Salazar replied, his voice rising with frustration. "Every year, we accept more students who have no connection to magical tradition, no understanding of the principles that govern magical practice, no respect for the knowledge they're being given. We're diluting magical education to accommodate the lowest common denominator."
"We're expanding magical education to include people who would otherwise never have the opportunity to develop their abilities," Helga countered. "We're making the magical world stronger and more diverse by drawing on the full range of human potential."
"We're making the magical world more vulnerable by training people who don't understand the responsibilities that come with magical power," Salazar shot back. "Look at what happened in Northumberland. Look at the incidents that are occurring throughout Britain as our graduates apply their training without understanding the broader context of magical-Muggle relations."
"Those incidents are the result of political pressures and social changes that none of us could have anticipated," Godric said. "They're not evidence that our educational approach is fundamentally flawed."
"Aren't they? When students graduate from Hogwarts and immediately begin challenging established authorities, disrupting traditional relationships, proposing radical changes to systems that have maintained stability for centuries—doesn't that suggest that we're failing to teach them wisdom along with knowledge?"
The argument continued for hours, ranging across fundamental questions about the purpose of education, the nature of magical society, and the responsibilities of those who wielded significant power. But Harry could sense that they were no longer really debating policy—they were defending worldviews that had grown increasingly incompatible over the years of working together.
Salazar had become convinced that magical knowledge was too dangerous and too precious to be shared indiscriminately, that it needed to be preserved and protected by those who understood its full significance. The others remained committed to the principle that magical education should be available to anyone with the ability and motivation to benefit from it, regardless of their background or heritage.
These weren't differences that could be resolved through compromise or creative problem-solving. They were fundamental disagreements about values, about what kind of society they wanted to create, about what the magical world should become.
"I think," Harry said finally, his voice heavy with the weight of future knowledge, "that we need to acknowledge that we've reached an impasse. We can continue having these arguments indefinitely, but we're not going to convince each other to change our core beliefs."
"So what do you suggest?" Helga asked.
"I suggest that we stop pretending we can maintain a unified approach to magical education when we no longer agree on what that approach should be." Harry paused, gathering himself for what he knew would be a painful admission. "Maybe it's time to consider whether Hogwarts has served its purpose and whether what comes next needs to be something different."
"You're talking about ending Hogwarts?" Rowena asked, her voice carrying a note of shock.
"I'm talking about evolving it into something that can accommodate our different approaches without requiring us to compromise our principles beyond recognition." Harry sighed, a sound that seemed to come from the very stones of the castle. "We've proven that collaborative magical education can work. We've trained hundreds of talented wizards, advanced magical knowledge, strengthened the magical community. But we've also reached the limits of what can be accomplished through collaboration when the collaborators no longer share a common vision."
The silence that followed was thick with implications. For the first time, one of the founders had openly suggested that their partnership might not be sustainable, that the institution they had created together might need to be transformed or even dissolved.
"What would that look like?" Minerva asked quietly.
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Maybe Salazar establishes his own institution focused on advanced magical research and the preservation of traditional knowledge. Maybe the rest of us continue Hogwarts as a comprehensive school that serves students from all backgrounds. Maybe we create a network of specialized schools that can work together while maintaining their own identities and approaches."
"Or maybe we find a way to make the current system work," Godric said, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced of that possibility.
"How?" Salazar asked. "By continuing to have these arguments every time one of our approaches conflicts with another? By constantly undermining each other's authority in front of students and staff? By pretending we're still partners when we're actually competitors?"
"By remembering what brought us together in the first place," Helga said softly. "By focusing on what we share rather than what divides us."
"What we share," Salazar said with bitter precision, "is a building and a history. What divides us is everything else—our values, our priorities, our vision for the future."
The meeting ended without resolution, as too many of their meetings had recently. Each founder returned to their responsibilities, managing their areas of the school according to their own principles and hoping that the conflicts could be contained within acceptable limits.
But Harry could sense that something fundamental had shifted. The suggestion that their partnership might not be sustainable had been spoken aloud, making it real in a way that private doubts never could. The possibility of separation, once acknowledged, would be difficult to ignore.
Over the following weeks, the founders' interactions became increasingly formal and distant. They still met regularly to coordinate administrative matters, but the easy camaraderie of the early years was gone. They had become colleagues rather than friends, administrators rather than partners.
The students sensed the change, as students always did. The houses began to seem less like friendly rivals and more like competing factions. Inter-house cooperation, which had been a source of pride in the early years, became less common as students picked up on their founders' tensions.
"It's affecting the entire school," Minerva observed during one of her regular discussions with Harry. "The founders' relationship sets the tone for everything else. If they can't work together, why should the students?"
"Maybe they shouldn't," Harry said quietly. "Maybe we've been asking too much, trying to maintain unity when the underlying foundations have shifted."
"Are you giving up on them?"
"I'm accepting reality. Salazar isn't wrong about the challenges we're facing, just as the others aren't wrong about the importance of inclusive education. But trying to serve both approaches within a single institution is creating more problems than it's solving."
"So what happens next?"
Harry considered the question, drawing on his knowledge of future events while trying to account for the changes their actions had already created. "I think Salazar leaves. I think he establishes his own institution, probably somewhere remote where he can pursue his vision without interference. The others continue with Hogwarts, but it becomes a different kind of place—still excellent, but more focused on the comprehensive educational approach they prefer."
"And the magical world?"
"Becomes more diverse and more divided. Different institutions serving different communities, different approaches to magical education coexisting but not necessarily cooperating. It's not the unified vision we started with, but it might be more realistic given the actual diversity of magical society."
Two months later, the inevitable finally happened.
The triggering incident was almost mundane—a dispute over whether a particularly talented but poorly prepared student should be allowed to continue in advanced classes. Salazar said no, citing safety concerns and the student's lack of theoretical foundation. The others said yes, arguing that talent and motivation should be given opportunities to develop even when formal preparation was lacking.
Under the old collaborative system, they would have found a compromise—additional tutoring, modified requirements, some creative solution that addressed everyone's concerns. But under the new specialized system, Salazar's decision within his area of responsibility was final, and the others' objections were seen as interference in his domain.
"I won't be party to the continued degradation of magical education," Salazar announced during what would be their final meeting as four founders. "I won't stand by and watch centuries of accumulated knowledge and wisdom be sacrificed on the altar of egalitarian idealism."
"Then don't," Godric replied, his voice carefully controlled. "No one is forcing you to remain here if our approach to education is so offensive to your principles."
"Are you asking me to leave?"
"I'm pointing out that you have alternatives. If Hogwarts doesn't meet your standards, you're free to establish an institution that does."
The words hung in the air like a challenge and an invitation simultaneously. Salazar looked around the table at his former partners—Godric with his stubborn idealism, Helga with her universal compassion, Rowena with her belief in open inquiry. All of them committed to principles he could no longer support.
"Perhaps I will," he said finally. "Perhaps it's time to acknowledge that some visions of magical education are simply incompatible."
"Salazar," Helga said softly, "don't do this. Don't let our disagreements destroy what we've built together."
"What we've built together is already destroyed," Salazar replied. "We've just been too attached to the memory of our partnership to admit it."
He stood, gathering his papers and materials with careful precision. "I'll be gone by the end of the week. The castle and the school are yours to manage as you see fit. I hope you find the results more satisfying than I have."
As he moved toward the door, Harry felt the weight of history settling over them all. This was the moment that would define Hogwarts for centuries to come—not the bright collaboration of the founding years, but the bitter division that would shape every subsequent generation's understanding of what the school represented.
"Salazar," Harry said, his voice carrying the authority of the network guardian and the sorrow of someone who had hoped for a different outcome. "Where will you go?"
Salazar paused at the threshold, not turning back to face them. "Somewhere I can preserve what you seem determined to abandon. Somewhere the old knowledge will be protected and passed on to those worthy to receive it."
"And if the magical world needs us to work together again? If some crisis arises that requires all our capabilities?"
"Then you'll have to manage without me. As you've made clear, my approaches and standards are no longer welcome here."
He left without another word, and the door closed behind him with a finality that seemed to echo through the entire castle.
The three remaining founders sat in silence for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts about what they had gained and what they had lost. The collaborative experiment that had created Hogwarts was over. What came next would be something different—perhaps better in some ways, perhaps worse in others, but definitely changed.
"So," Godric said finally, "I suppose we need to figure out how to run a school with three founders instead of four."
"We'll manage," Rowena said, though her voice lacked its usual confidence. "We always have."
"Will we?" Helga asked quietly. "Or have we just proven that even the closest partnerships can't survive fundamental disagreements about values and principles?"
It was a question that would haunt Hogwarts for generations to come. But for now, they had practical matters to address—reorganizing the curriculum, reassigning responsibilities, explaining to students and staff why one of their founders had suddenly departed.
The guardian of the network watched it all from his distributed consciousness, feeling the weight of knowledge and the sorrow of inevitability. He had hoped that his presence, his future knowledge, his ability to guide and advise might prevent the schism that had torn apart the founders in the original timeline.
Instead, he had simply witnessed it unfold according to different specific details but the same fundamental pattern. Perhaps some divisions were too deep to bridge, some differences too profound to reconcile.
Or perhaps the very attempt to maintain unity in the face of irreconcilable differences had made the eventual break more bitter and complete than it needed to be.
Either way, the age of the four founders was over. What came next would be shaped by the choices of those who remained, and by the consequences of what had been lost.
The story continued, as stories always did, but it would never again be quite the same story they had begun together all those years ago.
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*Author's Note: Chapter 16 depicts the inevitable breakdown of the founders' partnership, showing how good people with shared goals can still find themselves unable to work together when their fundamental values diverge. The chapter explores themes of institutional evolution, the limits of compromise, and the painful reality that some relationships cannot survive the pressures of success and growth.*
*Salazar's departure is portrayed not as simple villainy but as the tragic result of irreconcilable differences about education, tradition, and social responsibility. His concerns about magical safety and the preservation of knowledge are legitimate, even if his proposed solutions are problematic.*
*The chapter marks the end of the collaborative phase of Hogwarts' development and the beginning of the more traditional institutional structure that will define the school for centuries to come.*
*Next chapters will likely explore the immediate aftermath of Salazar's departure, the establishment of his separate institution, and the long-term consequences of the schism for both Hogwarts and the broader magical world.*