Chapter Text
Wherever a student cried, Helga would glare at Godric. Godric would point at Salazar and say what Salazar often reffered as his mantra for life, " It's all Slytherin's fault."
It was decidedly not Salazar's fault. He had proved this with analysis of situation, proofs, facts ( though Helga was not sure, how much of it was genuine) that he did not tamper with Gryffindor's precious hat. He pointed out that how it did not serve his purpose. Now he had mudbloods in his house. Mudbloods!
When they decided to weave the hat for sorting in their absence, they had come to the agreement that while hat would offer all possible options, it would listen to the student's choice in the end. Godric took under him the intense transfugeration work. It took him 15 years to perfect the hat. There was always something to add or some mistake. It worked fine for some years but after they passed away and started watching their belowed school and students, the hat started acting weird. Sorting students regardless of the student's request. It had obviously been tampered with a long time spell so they could not interfere. Godric would brandish his sword at Salazar and accuse him while Salazar himself despaired such destruction of the values of his precious house. Helga just despaired for the little ones when she saw it break their heart. It may break heart in now, thought Rowena as she did not look up from her book, but it will help them some day in a ways they won't know.