Long ago, there lived four of the greatest witches and wizards of their age: the brave Godric Gryffindor from Wild Moor, the wise Rowena Ravenclaw from Glen, the kind Helga Hufflepuff from Valley Broad, and the cunning Salazar Slytherin from Fen.

Together, they founded one of the most prestigious magical schools in history: Hogwarts. Yet, that's only one part of a far larger story. Be warned, dear readers, for I cannot promise a happy tale. Only a true one...

The day we begin was a pleasant one, the air blew warm as the sun shone high in a blue summer sky. Salazar, a young man of fourteen, could be found in his normal hideaway that afternoon, sitting up in an oak tree with his head trapped firmly within the pages of a book. A peaceful scene...for the moment, at least.

"Salazar! Salazar Slytherin!"

He started at the shout, catching himself just a split second before falling out of the nook he'd wedged himself into. His book, however, wasn't nearly as lucky, and landed spine up with a thud fifteen feet below.

With a slight scowl, Salazar glanced down to see his mother, Amara, picking up the leather-bound tome. Wisps of chestnut hair had escaped her bun, and the heavy bags under her gray eyes made her look far older than her thirty-five years. Yet, as she raised her face to look at him, he saw that she was smiling, and his scowl lessened. If only just a bit.

"Reading out in the woods again, I see," she called, then shook her head and gave a small laugh. "I thought you might be somewhere around here again. It must be a good story. I called your name three times before you even looked up from the dratted thing."

Salazar merely shrugged and muttered "Well you didn't have to yell quite so loud," under his breath before beginning the short climb down, jumping the last few feet and bending his legs to absorb the impact as he hit the grassy ground. Straightening and brushing off his tunic and trousers, he took his book back and inspected the pages for damage before snapping it shut. Salazar frowned and raised an eyebrow at her grin.

"What?"

"Nothing," she answered dismissively. Amara reached out to ruffle his hair and bit back a laugh as he shook her off.

Her face softened, gray eyes gaining a faraway expression, before shaking herself out of her thoughts and inclining her head towards the general direction of their cottage. "Come on, lad. There are things I'd still like help with before nightfall. You won't get out of chores that easily."

Salazar nodded and contented himself to follow without reply, his book still clutched under his arm. He thought back to the look that had passed across her face. She was always doing that, as if drifting off to a place only she knew, likely not even realizing it. Salazar shook his head.

It was just another day. Like yesterday, all the days before, and many other days to come. That wouldn't change anytime soon.

Godric let his gaze wander around the crowded streets, acutely aware that he looked just as much the part of a lost visitor as he was. Though, in his own defense, it wasn't as if he'd been in the town long enough to know where everything was, and he certainly wasn't seeing any signs.

After a hard two weeks ride and more than one instance of backtracking, it had been a welcomed relief when he finally spotted the town's dark clouds of chimney smoke rising over forest and hills in the distance. Approximately an hour thereafter, he rode into the small village of Florin, leaving his horse with a weary looking stable boy and spending quite a bit more coin than he would've liked before their short conversation was done.

Now that he had arrived, Godric looked around once more, having absolutely no clue where he was headed. He hoped to spot someone he might ask for directions, but anyone who might have known who he was looking for, or at the very least where he could start his search, was lost in their own business as they jostled each other about in the daily rush of the marketplace. Sighing, Godric picked another random direction.

It didn't much matter, he supposed. Asking around wasn't a good idea for a stranger in a new town nowadays, and, even with the guise of a common traveler, Godric had already received more than his fair share of suspicious glances. Times were changing, and it didn't take much to draw unwanted attention. He could only imagine the reaction if they caught him walking around with something more unusual than his more plain looking sword. Like a wand, for instance.

With a grim smile, he kept walking, at this point half convinced he'd ridden all those miles just to turn around and leave. After all, how did he know his old mentor was even in the same town? The man could have moved half a dozen times since his informant had last seen him. Would he even recognize Godric? He had been fifteen when he left, and that was eight years ago. Who knew how much the man could have changed?

Godric sidestepped as a group of children came rushing by, almost ramming into him while playing some kind of game. His smile grew, thinking about another boy who would be about that age.

Before he could continue on his way, Godric's attention was caught by something straight ahead. Swinging in the light breeze above him was a worn-looking sign with a scroll chiseled into its surface. The building it was attached to was rather small, even among the other shops in Florin. The shop wasn't too impressive, but something on the edge of his senses caught his attention. Then he narrowed in on what it was. Godric heard voices filtering through the shop's doorway, and one seemed very familiar indeed. Could it be that easy?

Godric strode inside, a small bell chiming as the door swung open. The moment his foot crossed the threshold he was assaulted by the scent of musty parchment and dust, and a strange sense of comfort washed over him. Memories of long nights and lessons rose in his mind, a candlelit cabin, and more than a few headaches. His lips twitched upwards. Those certainly weren't memories he'd ever imagined thinking fondly of.

As the door shut behind him, Godric's steps faltered. Two men stood in front of him, facing each other beside the counter. At the moment, neither seemed to have noticed his presence. Their gazes were locked in a clash of wills. One was, indeed, exactly the man who he'd been looking for.

Ingvar Slytherin stood expressionless with arms crossed as a man, at least a head taller, glowered down at him. The stranger's body language was tense, his icy blue eyes narrowed, and stance radiating aggression. He couldn't be much older than Godric himself, maybe late twenties, almost thirty, with a head of dark blond hair tied neatly back by a strip of leather, and clothes of a much finer make than what he'd seen of many in the town. Certainly not a farmer or common worker. Within seconds, a picture was formed in his mind, and what it came together as wasn't something Godric liked. He doubted the man came for an afternoon chat.

Ingvar was the first to break the silence, clearly tired of whatever intimidation game the other seemed to be playing.

"I told you to leave, Marcus. You are not welcome in my shop. If you want to hate me, I assure you the feeling is mutual." Ingvar leaned back on the counter with an expression halfway between uncaring and cold plastered on his face, his smile one of warning and not amusement. "I would advise you stop threatening me and my family. I'm not afraid of you, but there are plenty of other spineless cowards for you to waste your breath on. Go bother them instead."

Ingvar's casual stance didn't make him appear any less intimidating. It was if his presence had expanded to fill up the entire room, dwarfing everything around despite his small stature. However much the stranger seemed to think he was in control, anyone who knew Ingvar for more than a few hours could clearly see it was a different case.

"Have it your way," Marcus snapped back. "But don't think for a moment I don't have people monitoring your every move, or that this entire town isn't aware that there's something foul about you and your little family. Rumors spread, old man. I suggest you watch your back."

"As you will, then."

The younger man's face flushed, and he seemed as if he was about to reach over and throttle the older man. It was a long moment before he regained a semblance of composure, upon which Marcus spun on his heel, storming past Godric and out of the shop. The noise of the outside streets momentarily filtered in, then the door closed and all returned to a muffled silence.

As the seconds dragged by, Godric turned from the door to see a set of dark eyes casually watching him.

"Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise. I apologize for the spectacle." Ingvar was standing, hands clasped behind his back as dust swirled in the space between them, with light from the front window angled just right to highlight the grey starting to streak his hair. The old snake was still smiling, but this one wasn't cold, and there was a spark in his eye the younger man hadn't seen in years. "It's been a while, lad. You look taller than I remember."

A sudden feeling of nostalgia bubbled up within Godric, and it was almost as if those eight years had never passed between them, the wall of time melting away. It was so rare to see such honest casualness in a man like him, and the young wizard almost hated to ruin it.

Only almost.

"You're right. It really has been a while...but you really do, you know." Godric shot him a boyish grin and laughed at Ingvar's puzzled expression. "He called you an old man, and you do look a tad old. Maybe even more than a tad, really."

The smile on Ingvar's face vanished, but Godric's only widened.

Just in the nick of time, he spotted the warning gleam in Ingvar's eyes and dove to the floor, grunting as his sword sheath dug painfully into his leg. Not even half a second later, a thick book shoot like an arrow through the space his head had been, and a resounding thud echoed through the shop. Godric cringed, imagining how much that would have hurt.

Hearing footsteps, Godric turned on his back at an awkward angle, going cross eyed as he stared down the length of a slender wand. Ash with a core of unicorn hair, twelve inches if he remembered correctly.

Funny, he mused, what thoughts bubble to the surface at the strangest of moments.

Despite his current position, he knew that even old Slytherin could only hold back a smile for so long. Experience held true.

"You always did say the most foolish things, boy. At least that hasn't seemed to have changed. Out of all your antics, that might have been the most annoying by far."

Godric rolled his eyes in response as Ingvar lowered his wand and slipped it back into a concealed pocket within his sleeve.

"To you, maybe," he said in counter. "But there have been quite a few others that called it endearing."

Ingvar scowled, but Godric saw the small twinkle in his eyes and knew that it was an act. A good one, yes, and one that many wouldn't spot, but still an act. Sometimes, he thought, you just couldn't resist poking at a coiled snake. Even if said snake had a famous temper. Or maybe it was because of the temper. After all, that was what made it so much fun.

"I'm afraid that those young girls you were so fond of showing off for don't count. They would have called anything you did endearing, no matter how idiotic."

At that they both grinned, and Ingvar offered a hand to pull his former pupil to his feet, and into a hug that Godric readily returned. In that moment it really was as if he'd never left. After all that had happened, after all that time, it felt good to be back.

Yet inside, a cold hand tightened around his chest. If only he was just there for a casual reunion, but dark times brought even darker news. Godric couldn't delude himself of that. However, maybe he could imagine, until tomorrow night at the latest.

He only hoped Ingvar would hear him out.

It was almost nightfall when Godric and Ingvar finally came in. The cottage didn't seem all that impressive, with tangles of green ivy creeping up its sides and a leaky roof that allowed water to drop in on wet, rainy days. The inside wasn't that much grander. Its two bedrooms were hardly large enough for a straw mattress and simple storage chest each, the one thing giving any sense of privacy the plain looking curtains hanging from wooden poles Ingvar had nailed into the sides of the doorways.

It wasn't the same cottage, or even the same town, they'd lived in when he'd left, yet everything about it felt just like the one he left behind. Godric had forgotten how good it felt to come in to the sight of Ingvar's collection of books, gathered over the years from who knows where, stacked haphazardly around the main room. He'd forgotten how peaceful the mixture of herbs and spices that Amara collected every morning smelled, wafting through the air as they hung down from the low ceiling rafters by the hearth. Yes, it seemed that he'd forgotten a lot of things.

Amara was sitting at the kitchen table next to the vase of wildflowers she had picked that morning. She looked up at the sound of the shutting door and her face broke out in a grin, and she rose to meet the two men.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Godric Gryffindor that you've just strolled in through the front door with? Ingvar, you should have told me you were bringing a guest. I'd have cleaned up a bit." Laughing, she embraced them both. "I see you've hit your growth spurt."

"So it was already observed by your dear husband a few hours ago," he quipped, returning the hug with a lopsided smile on his face. "It's good to see you, too."

Salazar pulled back the curtain from the left bedroom then, and stepped out into the main space. He'd only been six years old the last Godric had seen him. He was thin and almost fragile looking. Eyes like his father's, alert and perceptive, and far too serious. Almost the exact opposite of what Godric had been at that age. A flash of recognition lit up in those eyes then, but the rest of his expression remained unreadable. Salazar gave a curt nod in greeting before moving to join his mother.

Indeed. It had been a long time. Far longer than it should have been.

The next few hours were full of stories and catching up in front of the fireplace, with Salazar only speaking when prompted to, and even then only as much as required. When the fire burned low, Amara helped to set out a bedroll for Godric, and one by one they all headed off for bed. No one asked that night why Godric had come, and if they had he would have tried to put it off for tomorrow, or the next day, or a week if possible.

He knew the family was all thinking it. Ingvar likely already had guessed, and wished it delayed just as much as Godric did. However, he'd ask soon. Godric knew he would. He and Amara were likely already discussing it out of his ear shot. Godric wasn't used to second guessing himself like this. Being so uncertain. So hesitant.

It was not a feeling he much enjoyed.

A/N:

I hoped everyone enjoyed the first chapter. I've decided to start before Hogwarts, possibly a good few years before, as I'm just as interested in what made the founders who they were as the founding they became known for. The first book lore tended to...conflict with later lore J.K put out, to put it kindly. I'm only going by information in the books, and will not be using anything from Pottermore. I think that later on she reduced a few implied complexities of characters into a very 2D and honestly not quite logical traits.

I thought there could be a lot of complexities to explore with these characters that we don't see much about, and a lot to touch on in regards to how often history gets twisted and bits are forgotten. There doesn't seem to be any completed (long) multi-chaptered founders stories anywhere I've looked, so I thought I'd take up the job myself.

Thank you to Chemical_Pixie and Pixilan from the Harry Potter Fanfiction Talk forums for betaing! (Also, ya'll should totally go check that place out. It's pretty cool.)

~Kat.