AN: Here goes nothing!
The first time Godric met the man was when he was strolling in the forest, fleet-footed and silent with a bow nocked but loose in his hands. Godric knew that the sword he wielded was too conspicuous at the best of times, and too short ranged at the worst, and of course his wand was hidden in case he came upon another hunter.
The collection of huts that were beginning to resemble a teaching institute had many mouths living inside, (but not enough, too many lost already to fear and hiding and growing into strengths that they did not understand), and he would need to hunt multiple boar and deer to satisfy their hunger. For those that can and choose to eat meat, that is. For those that have decided to dine on greens alone, he'll leave them to Helga and her flourishing garden.
The slim rucksack on his back has just recently been enhanced with one of Rowena's newest spells, one that would allow it to carry much past its appearance size, and Helga had charmed it to open only for him. His touch in the bag's engineering was the least subtle, as the bag itself was tanned dragonhide (the skin having been shed by a young drakling) to prevent all manner of accidental tears, or the occasional perforation when in a village with too many pickpockets.
So far, Godric has bagged three healthy bucks and managed to bring down an overzealous boar, all shoved into the dragonhide bag after making sure that there were no other hunters nearby. He would never get over how such a small opening could swallow such a large animal, but magic is magic, even if the bag seems to let out a satisfied sigh every time. Thankfully the bag was also charmed to only allow as much weight to be apparent to look reasonable, otherwise his back would be broken by the end of fall.
Hunting. That was what Godric was supposed to be doing, at least until he got to a riverbank to refill his water skin and heard voices.
Voices might not even have been the right word, considering how some of the sounds slithered past his ears like dry scales over stone and contained syllables too foreign for his throat to pronounce. Whatever it was probably wasn't human, nor wizard (but wizards are humans, Godric thought, a brief bitter respite before acting, except sometimes with how the non-magical acts, it feels as though they aren't even the same species)
Then a chuckle accompanied by a small splash of water, followed by more hissing through the dense foliage, and Godric pulled the arrow back and dropped the faint disillusioning charm that he's had on the entire day. At this point, it felt more like removing a tight tunic and helmet then the weightless magic that it was, but if he was to face his opponent, then it would not be under the guise of magic, useful as it was, but with an arrow that could strike true regardless of distance.
Besides, if the faint ripple through his magic that came from dropping the disillusionment charm wasn't a giveaway to his possessing unusual talents to a fellow magic-wielder, firing off multicoloured spells from the wand holstered to the inside of his sleeve surely would have revealed his talents even to a muggle. In these trying times, even the accidental revelation of being a magic-user could produce profound consequences, such as being broken and sent to some unreachable hell for labour.
It appears that he didn't need the caution, as the man standing knee-deep in the river was conversing with a serpent that could easily swallow a nundu for a main course, and still go for Helga's special pastries.
It also appears that his weapon of choice was particularly useless, with how the man looked back in a flash of green, and vanished.
Godric didn't need the cold metal settled over his jugular to know that the man was behind him.
"Speak, mortal, and give me one reason why I shouldn't dirty my hands with your blood." For someone threatening him, the man sounded particularly amused.
And of course, Godric being the man he was, opened his mouth to a nonsense that probably greatly confused the man currently holding him hostage.
"Is there any possibility that you could introduce me to the smithy that crafted this dagger? Or perhaps to whomever enchanted it?" Godric's eyes roved over the hilt and what bare blade of the dagger he could catch a glimpse of. A faint glint of reflected light could be discerned from the notches of runes. "Of course, you don't have to, what with it being yours and all, but such craft should be well known and this is the first of its kind that I've seen."
When the hand on the dagger twitched, Godric hurriedly tacked on "the runes, this is the first that I've seen runes of this kind. My friend"–Rowena– "specializes in some forms of rune work, and shows us enough that I would at the minimal recognize any that I see. Perhaps you could introduce them?" Of course, all of Godric's rune knowledge came from Rowena being exasperated, with the excuse of "so the lion without common sense doesn't trigger any particularily fatal curses when exploring."
Hopefully the lure of there being others like him would work, because as far as Godric knew, even magical folk couldn't transport themselves efficiently enough to truly connect with others of their kind despite the recent charming of the flying broom, which, was pretty much the same speed as a slow horse-drawn wagon and quite a bit more dangerous. Hence the school that they are starting.
In time, their institution could perhaps attract even more of their kind to the little village of Hogsmeade, bless Hengist and his love for building. And even further down, the growing settlement could even become a safe hub for those that needed to be... away from non-magicals.
If the man behind Godric could actually instantaneously traverse through space like thus far demonstrated, maybe he would even be amenable to parting with a bit of his knowledge in exchange for information on the growing school. Instantaneous travel seems like a fantastic way to avoid muggles, and an even better way to escape from any perilous situation. Unfortunately, that would be dependent on the man willing to at least in part, teach them how it is done, which is not something many witches and wizards consent to doing in these days, what with even the better known healers now being scorned by the public.
Blast it. Maybe he'll just try to bribe the man with Helga's confectionaries?
"I would have you know that I carved this particular set of runes myself, and the offer to be introduced to another runesmith is rather… appreciated. It has been a while since I've studied the crafts of this region." Came the soft voice from behind Godric. For someone that is apparently capable of hissing like a snake, the man himself sounded surprisingly human. "However." The dagger darted away from Godric's throat and smoothly split the string of the bow, a hand snatching the nocked arrow in the same motion, and the elasticity snapping back the wood with a loud crack. "Point any weapon at my son again, and that will be every single one of your tendons over the course of the last six days of your life."
There was once again the sensation of bare metal pressing against the skin of his neck, and if Godric hadn't beared witness to the action, he hardly would've believed that the dagger left in the first place.
Godric, however, only registered the threat in the back of his mind, his focus on the beloved bow that he had been carrying around since the first hunting lesson that his passed-father had taken him on. The strength of his bow was unparalleled, what with all the enchantments and other little charms it had been imbued with over the decade of use, but the string was also enchanted to neverbreak.
He blinked at the broken bow in his hands, faintly glad that the sudden release of tension had not caused the limbs to snap off, and once again wondered at the history of the man standing behind him. There was a low shimmering anger in the back of his mind despite his rationalizing the last five minutes as mainly his own fault, the voice sounding unsurprisingly like the lecturing tone of Rowena.
When Godric spoke however, it was noticeably more aggressive than his intentions. "You broke my bow."
"And?" Came the reply, Godric could nearly hear a brow arching up along with his own hackles. "It would do you well to know that I do not appreciate my child in any sort of danger, which you placed him in by pointing your weapon in his general direction."
Well now, the man sounded quite irritated, and if Godric wanted to be able to bring him back to the school, it would not work if he didn't want to. So Godric quashed his anger and disbelief at a beloved broken weapon down somewhere that would only be released when sparring against spelled straw dummies, and sighed. Seems like Helga's common sense and manners did rub off onto him despite Rowena's belief to the contrary.
"I understand that I am in the wrong and that my actions have caused you distress, and I apologize for those actions. However, would you and your son-" here Godric turned the slightest bit so the enormous serpent that had tried to inch out of the way was back in the center of his field of vision, and nodded at it-him, "like to visit an institute where our kind can live in relative peace?"
The large serpent warbled something and seemed to shrink a bit, before the man behind him said "my son would like to know why you deserve our trust, and your name. In exchange," a low hiss in several intonations that left gooseflesh crawling up Godric's arms, "we will give you the names most know us as."
Ignoring the voice in the back of his head screaming caution and advising a false name being more appropriate, Godric said: "my name is Godric Gryffindor, and I am not deserving of your trust. However, I do believe that one day my actions will earn me your trust, and that it will be unwavering."
The sound of silence was deafening in the autumn clearing, as if the gods had even nature hold its breath.
Then a chuckle, a lifted blade, and a flash of green from the edge of his vision and the man reappeared in a slow prowl ten feet in front of Godric, (between the snake and himself, a corner of his mind noted), arms out in a flourish and sheathed dagger on his belt. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Godric Gryffindor, you may call me Salazar Slytherin, and this would be my son, whose name is nigh unpronounceable and thus would like to be called George."
The man, neh, the young adult if appearances were anything to go by, was blatantly lying. This was something that Godric could tell, and that he knew that "Salazar" could tell that he knew, the smirk tugging on the other person's lips was evidence enough.
"Well then, Salazar Slytherin, would you like to follow me to Hogwarts?"
Salazar's slow steps stumbled, and Godric smiled to himself.
Gets them every time.
AN: whelp. That happened.
Anyways, this is what it says on the tin, a probably non-chronological drabble series where Loki is Salazar because I really want some of these characters to interact, and Loki seemed to be a good fit in this time and place. I'm also playing around with the timelines a bit, and screwing with some ages and stuff as well.
Hope you guys had as much fine reading this as I did writing it, any tips on improvement are welcome!
Please leave a review on the way out, thanks for reading!
~Cadriona Morningwing
Uploaded March 27, 2018