Author's Note: I'm spinning this story off from my misc doc. I've written a bit for it, with a general idea of what I want to do, but I am mostly just writing it by the seat of my pants. That being said, there's no planned update schedule. Also, don't expect this to be an accurate historical account of anything. And feel free to point out any spelling errors and things like that.

Falling. That's what it felt like he was doing, as the emptiness of eternity pulled at him from every side, unrelenting in its pressure. His eyes were closed, yet his vision was filled with swirls of brightly colored light, magic of the most arcane arcing all around him, transporting him through time and space and through infinite darkness.

With a thud, Harry arrived face down in mud, having travelled a thousand years into the past. It hadn't been a quick trip, nor an easy one, but it was a necessary one. Harry laid down in the mud for a few seconds, perhaps even a few minutes, letting his sore body rest.

He did not have a long reprieve, as there was a sudden commotion nearby, and the sound of shouts and clanking metal. Sputtering, Harry rolled himself up onto his elbows to see what was going on. His whole body ached, and it felt like needles were being poked into all of his muscles.

Blinking several times to get the mud and fatigue out of his eyes, Harry took in the sight around him. He was in the middle of a path that travelled through a bustling town, There wasn't a cellphone, pair of blue jeans or sunglasses in sight, let alone cars on the road, or planes in the sky. There were no skyscrapers, no annoying and rude bikers, and certainly no Starbucks.

What there was though, were a flock of villagers all dressed in ye-olde garments of yesteryear, slowly backing away from him. And slightly farther away, was a small column of steel-clad soldiers, clomping away as they marched towards him, shields at the ready, and hands on their sword hilts.

Harry could hear the muttering of the crowd as the soldiers approached. When he had planned this trip, he had ensured that he'd be able to speak the tongue of the times, but his head was so muddled after such an arduous trip he could barely hear himself thinking, let alone what was being said around him.

The soldiers stopped right in front of Harry. They were large men, muscular as well, and each was clad in a hauberk of ringed metal that jingled as they walked. Over top, they wore a tabard which displayed a large cross, painted blue, the same symbol that was also on their shields. His arrival had not been as subtle as he had hoped.

"Stand up!" Their leader said, addressing Harry. "Stand up at once!"

Harry groaned as he moved, and he slowly reached for his wand. He didn't have time for this. But, as he reached, there was suddenly a soldier behind him, gripping his wrists.

"Make no sudden moves," the soldier said. "If you cooperate, we will make this as clean as possible."

"As clean as possible for what.?" Harry asked, trying to maintain his calm.

The leader stepped forward and leaned in closer to Harry. "Tell me your name boy, so these kind villagers who just witnessed your witchcraft will know whom we've just sent off to his heathen gods."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said stonily.

"Perhaps this will refresh your memory…" the leader said, slowly unsheathing his sword.

Harry, realizing that he wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of this, not in his current state, again reached for his wand, squirming out of the soldier's grasp as he did so. Even as fatigued as he was, he was quick in pulling out his holly and phoenix feather wand and he evoked a banishing charm at the man, only to stare slack-jawed as the spell hit the man's armor, glowed for a second, and dissipated without any effect.

Harry, in his brief period of surprise, was suddenly disarmed when the man behind him quickly plucked the wand out of his hand, threw it to the ground and stomped on it, snapping it in two. Then, just as deftly, a sack hood was thrown over his head as the rest of the soldiers quickly grabbed him and bound him in rope.

"There! You see with your own eyes the foul arts this heathen has dared invoke on one of God's favored. For this, we will purge his soul! To the pyre!"

"Deus vult!" The soldiers chanted, dragging Harry by his arms, who was still struggling in an attempt to break his bonds. With the hood over his head, and wandless, Harry was beginning to panic a bit. This is not what he had planned, not at all.

Unbeknownst to him, not everyone who witnessed what just happened was a mere muggle. Harry was quite certain that the soldiers were plain old muggles, though he couldn't explain why his spell did not work. But, he did not see the man who had been lurking in the shadows.

They dragged Harry along the path, and he could hear both the villagers chanting for his death, and the soldiers recanting prayers in Latin. He understood the words well enough, but it did not fill him with hope. It was clear that these guys were zealots, or crusaders, and in their eyes, he was a heathen. They must have seen him arrive out of thin air, which would undoubtedly unsettle most people.

As they dragged Harry along, the chanting got louder, and the villagers, more boisterous. Then, they started throwing rocks, and that was not pleasant, not at all. He felt a large one bounce off his head, which did not help his current condition.

After what felt like an hour, the soldier stopped, and he felt them lifting him off the ground, placing him on some sort of platform or plinth. That was when Harry knew that things were getting really serious, and he had to act. He didn't fancy getting killed in the name of their god, whether it was by fire, or by beheading or something else.

Harry, gathering his resolve, reached for his magic. There was an aura around him, an aura of repression emitting from the armored soldiers. It was sapping at his strength, and as soon as quickly as he felt his magic coming forth, it was quickly washed away. That wasn't good. He hadn't felt anything like that in, well, ever.

But, with a grunt, Harry called forth his power all at once, overpowering the aura, and in a blink, he felt his body transform. His body shrunk and contorted, his arms turning into front legs. Where there had been a human male wizard, now stood a large spotted cat, a jaguar, the sack hood forgotten on the ground, and the loops of rope tangled at his feet. And a stride later, he pounced on the soldier right in front of him, knocking him down in a surprising burst of strength, and in the next stride, he was away from the soldiers and charging through the town.

In jaguar form, Harry was fast, faster than armored soldiers, faster than villagers. Faster than their horses, even. But he was so sore and drained, that he barely made it five hundred feet before he ducked behind a wooden building and reverted back to his human form, clothed but without the executioner's hood.

Breathing heavily, Harry all but jumped out of his shoes as a sudden clapping sound came in front of him, and a man came into view. He was clad from head to toe in a black robe, his face obscured by shadows. "Impressive," the man said, still clapping. "To escape the Knights of Saint Benedict is no easy feat, especially for an unknown such as yourself. And trust me, I know everyone."

"You're a wizard then," Harry said. He was panting heavily, and he was exhausted. It had taken a phenomenal amount of effort to change into his animagus form while in the presence of those Knights, not to mention the time travel. He was practically dead on his feet

"That I am," the man replied.

Harry nodded and his body eased slightly. "These Knights of whatever… what's their deal?"

The man scoffed. "They hate our kind. But they're nothing but zealous riff-raff is you ask me. If you had waited any longer, I would have jumped in. It's sacrilege to waist any magical blood, no matter the lineage, and I would rather not let them display their work. Too many have been lost to their kind as is."

"Are they magical?" Harry asked. "When they had that hood on my head, it felt like my magic was being drained. And my banishing charm seemed to bounce off their armor."

"Not magical, no," the man said. "I've been trying to figure out how they do it… that's why I was there, watching them, looking for a weakness. They believe their god gives them strength, that it gives them the power to defeat our kind. They'll believe that their prayers were answered when your magic had no effect on them."

"I don't believe any of that nonsense," Harry said. "It looked like magic to me, not some holy power."

"That's because it was magic," the man said. "Enchanted armor, and spell-breaking swords. Thus, you now see the problem at hand. Zealots who hate magic, unknowingly using magical items in the name of their God."

"Yes, I see how that could be a problem. But, I've got other things to worry about at the moment," Harry said. "I feel drained, and I'd rather not pass out in front of a stranger, no offense intended."

"None taken," the man replied. "I will trade a name for a name, then perhaps, a place to rest for the night? And, a new wand? I saw what they did to yours."

"Sure," Harry said. "I'm Harry Potter."

"A pleasure to meet you," the man said, bowing slightly. "I am Salazar Slytherin."

Harry's eyes widened just a fraction, but it was enough that the man noticed.

"I take it by your expression, you know who I am?" The man said, pulling back his hood. His skin was tan, and his hair, long and black, with a trimmed goatee and a needle-thin mustache. His eyes were pale grey with a deep, calculating intelligence. He was a handsome man, and likely, very dangerous.

"I know of you," Harry said carefully, suddenly quite wary.

"I am not surprised," the man said nonchalantly. "As I said before, I know everyone, and now I know you. Now tell me, how did someone such as yourself appear out of nowhere, and then shapeshift into an animal? Those are talents not often seen outside of the most ancient of the clans, and even then, they're not common."

"I had a good mentor," Harry replied.

"Hmpf," Salazar replied, scoffing. "Very well, very well, everyone has their secrets. Come then, you are clearly not from around here, if you do not know of the Knights of Saint Benedict. It is my duty as my father's steward to offer you lodgings for the night."

Harry hesitated in accepting the offer right away. He knew little about the Slytherins of old, and even less about Salazar, but of the things he did know, very little of it was good. And for a reputation to last a thousand years like it had, it was likely something extreme.

"It is good you are mistrustful in these dark times, but there are safety in numbers. The next time you come across the Knights, you might not be so lucky. And I assure you, they will not take this defeat lightly. I will offer you my word that I mean no harm, and my word is worth more than gold."

"Fine, fine, just lead the way."

Salazar pulled his hood up and motioned for Harry to do the same, before he went back out into the main thoroughfare. Harry followed him, though he was sluggish.

"You know, I've never seen anyone escape from the Knights on their own," Salazar said as they walked through a busy path. There was a series of shops on the one side of the path, with a particularly popular inn. Harry could smell fresh-baked bread, as well as stale bear, as they passed by the entrance. Harry was starving, but they could not stop.

"They capture many that you've had to rescue?" Harry asked curiously.

"I'm not the only one watching out for them," Salazar replied. He was awfully talkative for someone who had a dark reputation. "Sadly, we don't get the chance to rescue many. I know of thirty deaths this year alone, and who knows how many we're not aware of. You're the sixth I've saved, but I wouldn't consider yourself fortunate yet."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been marked," Salazar said. He started to speed up slightly, and Harry had to struggle to keep pace. Salazar was smooth and graceful as he weaved through tall the villagers, and Harry was anything but.

"How so?"

"You've been touched by them. They will be able to see you like a lantern in the night. They will be drawn to you, and as they get closer, you will feel your strength sapping away again. It will get worse the closer they get, and it will get worse the longer you have it. They do not appreciate people escaping them, and have taken means to prevent that."

"A curse, then?" Harry asked. "I can barely stand as is."

"Indeed," Salazar said. "Admittedly, it is one that is beyond my talent to cure, as it would take months, if not years, to study the proper curse removal technique. I haven't had the luxury of time to do such."

"Surely you know of someone who can help?" Harry asked. He tried to not sound desperate, but he was in the middle of medieval London, with no friends and no knowledge, and in deep trouble. Salazar was his only chance.

"The woman I knew of who had the skill died not three weeks past. She was an old crone of the Moonwood clan, but she was very knowledgeable about curses. I don't know anyone of her caliber."

"But you do know someone?" Harry asked.

"Like I said - I know everyone worth knowing, and I know someone who might be able to help, if she's willing."

"Why wouldn't she be willing?" Harry asked. "If it's coin, I'm sure I could do something."

"It won't be an issue of coin. It will be an issue that my grandfather burnt down her clan's village fifteen years ago because they refused to pay weregild. We don't take dishonor like that kindly."

"Ah. Well, I see how that could be a problem," Harry said.

Salazar offered no more information, and Harry asked of none. It was not his place, even if the curiosity was digging at him. He had bigger things to worry about, such as making sure he didn't stumble over his feet. He would swear that the Knights were just out of sight, and that even a small stumble would lead to his recapture. He wasn't sure if it was the curse digging at him, or just his own paranoia.

They managed to get away without incident. Whatever magic they were using to track Harry was either slow to act, or perhaps the Knight's just weren't that mobile. They had been wearing heavy armor after all, though a small part of Harry's mind wondered if he had been spared only for someone else to fall into their grasp, and Salazar wasn't there to save them.

It was near nightfall when they finally arrived at wherever Salazar had taken him. They had left the city proper and were off in the smallwood, on a lightly travelled path. There were houses hidden deep in the trees, but the layout was such that Harry doubted the area even had a name. Regardless, Salazar seemed to know where he was going when they stopped in front of a small, nondescript wooden hut that was partially obscured by a great oak tree. He only spared Harry a single glance before knocking on the door.

Harry heard the sound of a chair being pushed back, before the soft sound of footfalls approached the door. Then, a second later, it creaked open, revealing a cloaked figure. At first glance, Harry could tell she was female, though he could not see her face through the shadows of her hood. There was just a hint of long black hair flowing out.

"You," the woman said upon seeing Salazar. "You and your clan are not welcome here."

The woman went to close the door, but Salazar stopped it with her foot, gently. "I'm not here to harm you," he said quickly. "I am here to ask you for your help."

She didn't seem to panic, in fact, she merely tilted her head to the side, as if she was curious about something. She then noticed Harry.

"Who's your friend?" she asked.

"This is Harry Potter," Salazar said.

"I don't know of any Potters."

"Nor I," Salazar replied. "But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is that he's been marked by the Knights of Saint Benedict."

The woman flinched back slightly. "You're mad for bringing him here, then. What if you were followed? You know how relentless they are. They always find their prey."

"They lost our trail nearly four hours ago. We should have some time before they catch up."

"Four hours?" the woman repeated. "He shouldn't even be alive if that were the case, let alone standing."

"He's strong-willed," Salazar replied. "And he had me with him. Well, will you help or not?"

"Why don't you take him to that crone you're clan is so fond of, Broona?"

"She's dead," Salazar stated.

"Ah. Well, sorry for your loss," she said.

"No you're not." Salazar said.

"No I'm not," she agreed. She shook her head. "Fine. Come in. I've never removed a mark before, but from what I know, it's not too dissimilar from other curses. You just have to know the trick."

"You'll be able to do it?" Harry asked, speaking up for the first time.

"Of course I can," she scoffed. "Whether or not I can do it before you pass out, well, I cannot guarantee that. But I can guarantee that it will be painful."

They entered the hut, and the first thing Harry noticed was that it was much larger on the inside than it was on the outside. Spatial expansion charms were a tricky thing for a random witch to be using, especially on something that they planned to live inside of. She must have had utmost confidence in her ability, since a malfunction of the charm would lead to disastrous consequences. Harry's estimation of her immediately rose up a notch.

"Salazar," the woman said. "I want you to light that yellow candle. Make sure it's the yellow one, and not the white one."

She pointed at a large tapered candle that was resting on a shelf amidst an assortment of clutter, including an assortment of different sized candles. If there was a word to describe the house, messy would be it. It wasn't like there was refuse everywhere, instead, there was piles and piles of books, an assortment of half-filled glass vials of varying size, and what must have been a hundred quills, and that was just what Harry could see on the table.

"What will it do?" Salazar asked as he picked up the candle and set it upright. As he brought flame to the wick, a sudden pulse of magic flashed across the room, settling across all of them. It was unnerving, but it did not feel harmful. Salazar didn't even flinch.

"It will protect us from scrying, at least until the flame goes out. It should hamper the Knights' ability to find this place."

The witch scampered about, quickly moving tomes around while searching out specific references. She pulled a worn clay idol out of a bag and placed it on the table, before she quickly went on to her next task, which involved a cauldron and an assortment of alchemical ingredients, only half of which Harry recognized.

Eventually she seemed to have everything in order. "Well, might as well sit down and make yourself comfortable," she said, gesturing to Harry and pointing at a sturdy chair. "This may take awhile."

"Before we start, may I ask your name?" Harry asked. "Knowing who I owe a debt to would make it easier to pay off."

The woman pulled her hood back, revealing her face. She was young, and very pretty. Her hair was as black as his own, and longer than he would have thought. Her eyes were almond shaped and a piercing brown that did not fail to draw his gaze. She smirked, as if she could tell what Harry was thinking.

"You may call me Rowena Ravenclaw."