A tiny figure, hunched in an attempt to make itself appear even smaller, darted out of the path of a stumbling man. It darted forward out of the way of a stampeding rider-less horse, and frantically searched for a place to hide from the ruckus. It stumbled and fell when a large group of men rushed past, uncaring of anything but what they were fleeing from and possible safety ahead. It lifted itself from the mud and continued on at a more sedate pace.
The child, for that was what the being was, pressed on even with a twisted ankle. Smoke clouded the child's already poor eyes and caught in the child's throat. The smell of smoke was almost completely overwhelmed by the acidic, coppery smell of blood and severed flesh. Trumpets blaring and people's dying screams faded to background noise in the general confusion. Light flashed from the fires that burned the thatch village roofs, from flying spells, off of armor and swords. Light flashed again.
There. There, just ahead and a little to the right. Salvation. His friends. His new family. The child's joy was short lived. A monstrous shape was bearing down on them, the armor-plated being that would unwittingly destroy the child's heart, the child's solace. It was uncaring of the fate of the lives it was about to destroy. As the sword whistled down it was the only noise the child heard, despite the battle. The child drew upon his power, his will, his soul and put his everything into saving his family, but his magic did not answer. The sword fell, and when he watched helplessly as they died it felt as if his heart had been torn out, his soul shredded.
"Nnnoooooo!" Sal sat up breathing deeply, sweat pooling on his forehead. That was not what had happened. Hel, Row, and Ric were all still alive and well. His magic had not failed him when he was five and they had fallen into the middle of the largest battle between wizards and mundanes in history. Nor had it failed him the time when he was fifteen and a dark wizard had tried killing all of them. His magic, no – he, Salazar Slytherin, had never failed his friends, and just because they lacked the usual freedom they had enjoyed since they were four years old and first met did not mean that he should worry about events long past. He snorted. Events very long past, the battle that he had dreamed of had happened more than one thousand years ago, so there was no reason for him to dwell on the memories.
He washed all traces of the nightmare off his body in the shower. The shower was a wonderful invention, as was plumbing; it meant no more cold baths in the Great Lake. If he was not such a terrible poet he would write an ode to the joys of hot running water. He leaned his head against the tiled wall and thought about the predicament the four had landed in. The second meeting with the Dumbledore had not gone well. Due to their youth and the fact that they had not yet taken standardized Ministry tests, the four had been offered a place as students. At seventeen the four were old enough to be considered adults in the wizarding world, so the Headmaster could not force them to accept. Agreeing to the offer had seemed like a good idea at the time.
However, problems had arisen almost instantaneously, because the current Ministry of Magic had way too much say in the running of Hogwarts. A thousand years ago the four founders had prevented the Wizards' Council from doing the same, but it seemed that Heads since had not been so resourceful. There was no way for the four to gauge how far the outside world had progressed or how much of a threat this current Dark Lord Voldemort really posed. They could not slip out and talk to the goblins about their financial status. Instead, they had to attend class.
The only discipline that had evolved to be unrecognizable was History. That class was taught by one of Godric's top history students, but he was a ghost. It was an outrage, the students were not learning anything about what being a wizard meant, and if Binns had been teaching for over seven hundred years most of Hogwarts' alumni had not learned wizarding history, only one part of it. No matter how important knowing about other races was, history should not solely focus on goblin history. Salazar had taken to charming Potions journals to look like the textbook of whatever class he was attending. He had Rowena to update him on any new spells and the past thousand years of Muggle and magical history. Salazar was itching to go and see what books were available on battle magic. Hogwarts had never been a school of warcraft, so it was a good thing that the library did not hold many new tomes on defencive and offensive spells. Yet, it was a passion of both Salazar and Godric and they were having to content themselves with very limited resources.
Furthermore, students were not permitted to leave school grounds, and sitting through classes that they had once taught was tedious. The quartet had adapted to many situations, but they had never been forced to suffer boredom. They had survived seventeen years of - shit! - Row was only sixteen. It was a good thing that everyone believed that she was the same age as the rest of them. The staff were treating her like she was of age. If the Ministry was, as Salazar suspected, simply an evolved form of the ancient Wizards' Council then it probably still held the same corruption and bigotry that existed in the past, and Salazar did not trust the members to not harm her for their own gain. Having a guardian assigned to a witch that had been supporting herself since she was able to walk would be foolish. Row being assigned a guardian, after all she had lived through, would be insulting.
He could not even legally challenge the lot of them to a duel to the death. Row had mentioned something about an International Ban on Dueling which was codswallop in Sal's opinion, but he had not been around during the time of the ban so he could not object to it being enacted. He would have to study the law to see if there were any situations where he could legally defend his, and his family's, honor. And he would not tell Godric about any loophole, because damn that man was always getting into enough fights without encouragement. However, he would tell Hel; he had to spend a week in the Hospital Wing last time she had been irked at him. Yes, he would definitely tell Hellgirl.
Breakfast was odd. Eating in the Great Hall among hundreds of chatty children was routine. The questions both intellectual and insulting were expected, and had been asked by students in the 990's. Salazar expected there to be stares and whispered conversations as he passed, and they did not truly bother him. Being separated from Row, Hel, and Ric did. The four had always eaten together, and he missed it. The icy blue gaze of the current Headmaster did not help Salazar settle. He could have sworn he had felt something like a tentacle brush against his mind the first day they had met. The quartet had studied some of the newly created branch of mind magic in the past, but Sal had a very difficult time mastering the simplest exercise of "sweepen yer problims ot of yer mind" as the manuscript had suggested. Salazar had been a natural at the opposite, the "slipin threw the mind of anoter threw ther ken". He made a note to himself to research modern mind magics and master the art.
Salazar poked at his runny eggs and glanced up past the empty seats on either side of him to Godric. Ric was shaking the entire hall with his boisterous laughter, and enjoying himself among the Gryffs. In fact, eating away from his friends might have been the reason he was uneasy. All of them were immersed in discussion with the students, but every time Salazar had tried to start a conversation he got fearful sideways glances that made him snappy and irritable. Once a third year Gryffindor he had tried to ask about the creatures in the Lake had squeaked at him, dropped her bags and fled. It was like having everyone think he was an insane dark wizard intent on conquering the world. Fear twisted in Salazar's gut. Maybe his friends were going to abandon him to save themselves the hassle of being acquainted with someone who was so feared. Maybe they would come to their senses and live their own lives. No. He had to stop thinking like that. He had thought that he had recovered from periods of depression and self doubt years ago. It was just the sideways looks getting to him. His friends would never abandon him; they were family.
A whispered conversation had risen in volume, and about half of the seventh year class standing immediately drew the attention of the entire hall. Salazar had been eyeing the group since they sat down and knew that they had been discussing the benefits of approaching him. He was surprised that it had taken them so long to decide what the best option was. Perhaps the decision had been made by the arrival of the morning post, and either a letter from home or something in the news. It was likely not anything of note in the paper, Salazar decided, because he had scanned through his copy of the rag and found nothing of interest. The lack of real news was one thing that grated, and Salazar was beginning to feel a pressing need to find out what was happening outside the school grounds.
The seventh years had stopped arguing and now were approaching him with false bravado. None of them were having much success hiding their fear except the leader of the small gang. Draco . . . What was his last name again? Something foreign. Yes it was something French. Salazar had been surprised at the diversity in the wizarding world, because it had not been less monotone in the past. Bad Faith. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy hid his fear well, but it still shone through his eyes. It surprised Salazar, and when he talked to Hel she agreed that it surprised her as well, how immature the students were. Even the legal adults were children compared to first years entering Hogwarts when Salazar taught. Perhaps it was the fact that England of the past was fraught with danger. Foreign invaders and fearful Muggles left many of the students orphaned and forced them to grow up quickly.
The students of this time were truly children. Not for the first time Salazar regretted sorting them by character, because as the group stood in a loose semicircle, none of them were brave enough to speak. He could use a lion or two among his serpents, though he had hoped to find a true dragon: cunning and bold. Salazar lifted one eyebrow, a gesture that had taken him four hours practicing over a reflective pond to perfect, and waited a little longer. The students shuffled their feet and avoided his gaze. Right before Salazar was about to speak, the gang's leader Malfoy spoke.
"Merlin! The lot of you are pathetic! Lord Slytherin, we came over to invite you to dine with us. If you don't want to, that's alright as well. But we thought it was impolite to force you to dine alone. Please excuse our discourtesy in not asking earlier, sir."
"T'would be," Salazar stopped to remind himself to speak in modern English. The language potion he had brewed the night after arriving would help him with the proper diction, but only if he remembered to use the knowledge the potion granted him. "I would be delighted to join you for what remains of breakfast." Salazar saw his friends silently questioning him across the hall, and he gave each of them a reassuring glace while he followed the seventh year snakes toward their usual seats.
When they had sat down a brown haired girl with an upturned nose asked, "Have you been enjoying class?" Salazar was hard pressed not to laugh at their opening conversation topic.
He let a wry smile cover his face. "I am finding it difficult to immerse myself in classes I have instructed. The last time I sat in a classroom was when I was assisting Godric in educating his first year Defense class on the affects of the Sponge-Knees curse and the Jelly-Legs Jinx."
"We weren't ever taught those in class. What do they do?" The girl again.
Salazar was hard pressed not to laugh, but others were not so polite. Still snickering, a tall black boy blurted out between deep breaths, "They do what the names say they do. And they are basic jinxes anyone who made passed the O.W.L.s in Defense would know. I guess that shows why you didn't get an O.W.L. in Defense." He paused. "That reminds me of something I wanted to ask. The Ministry standardized tests were not created until after the Ministry, so how did you decide what to teach?"
Salazar gave an internal sigh, more questions. "Row first proposed the idea of forming a haven for magical learning after the Great Battle of 985, and it evolved over time. We spent much of our spare time discussing what we would teach and how we would teach while traveling in search of instruction in various magic disciplines. We all knew what we wanted to teach before we even considered building Hogwarts."
"I was awarded an O in History of Magic, and that battle was never mentioned. What exactly happened at the Battle of 985?" the same unnamed boy asked.
Salazar frowned. "Binns has been worse for wizard kind than I first assumed." He was about to start speaking again, but paused. "What was your name again? I am certain that I have not heard it mentioned."
"He's Zabini, Blaise," the girl who had failed Defense offered with what she must have considered a winning smile. "And I'm Pansy Parkinson."
Salazar nodded in thanks and continued speaking, "Zabini, I regret to inform you that you have been a victim of a travesty in the educational system of Britain. The Great Battle of 985 was the deciding point for wizarding kind; it changed many people's minds and made them think that permanently separating ourselves from Muggles and their lives was the best option. It was a turning point in history and the reason the Wizards' Council cited for seceding from the Muggle world. It was also the last time that the wizarding district was attacked by mundanes, and was when we created Diagon Alley. Anyone looking can find a detailed description in the journal of Queen Maeve which I know is still in sitting in the archives, since I just used it yesterday to reference a portion of a spell formula."
"She's got a chocolate frog." One of the two trollish bodyguards grunted. "You knew 'er?"
Flashback
The child stood with his hands still outstretched toward his friends. The fires burning around them were still burning, the dying were still screaming, but his friends were safe. He gazed stupidly at the now mangled body of the armored assailant. He was broken out of his daze by a kind voice asking, "Son, hath thou been injured?"
He startled when a gentle hand squeezed his shoulder and it withdrew. He turned and blinked up at the lady dressed in fine clothes despite the fact that she was standing in the middle of a war zone. "Son, t'was an impressive display of power you just gave. And ye without a wand."
"Wand?" He asked unintelligently, not quite understanding her speech.
The next time she spoke he forced himself to understand the same way he had made the sword not kill his friends. "Little one, doth thy not know of thy gift? Thy gift of magic."
"Ya mean when my pals and me make stuff happen with our minds."
She frowned at him in incomprehension, and cast a translation charm before asking him to repeat himself. "Precisely that, child. Ye say that all of thee hath the power." He nodded at her.
"Doth thou wish to learn to use thy gift, children?" The question was directed at all four of them, because Row, Hel, and Ric had cautiously approached while the two had talked.
The four exchanged wary glances, and indicated that yes they would like to learn. "We shall journey away from this awful scene, and proceed to my abode. Thou mayst call me Madame Queen or Madame Maeve. What doth thy call thyselves?"
"I am Charzar, these are my friends," he paused to allow the warmth that still spread through him at that word to pass, "Raven, ah Goodric, and Helgirl."
"Well young Salazar, Rowena, Godric, and Helga, if thy would follow me."
Flashback
Salazar only answered the boy's grunted question with, "She was an amazing woman."
Zabini leered at him. "So you fucked her."
"No! Gods no, she was much too old for me. She taught me many spells and potions. Even some of the more mundane remedies that Muggle medics used at the time. We had a purely platonic relationship, and it is an assault on her honor to imply otherwise."
Malfoy leaned across the table and spoke for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. "So you are not that old? Right? You don't look much older than the rest of us, and I have a difficult time believing you are much older."
"I do not know how old you are, but I will reach my eighteenth year before the eighth moon of this year."
"But, that makes you younger than me and most of the seventh year students! You can't have actually taught at such a young age it is impossible!"
"Many children are spoilt and coddled, and take years to grow up. I had learnt most of the spells that are taught here by the time I was seven. That was what was normally expected of wizarding children of that time."
"How do you speak so clearly?" Parkinson blurted out during the silence that followed.
"I brewed a complete translation potion."
Malfoy started, "You couldn't have. The potion contains an ingredient that is a class A non-tradable item and from a highly poisonous snake. The venom cannot be bought anywhere. I wanted to take it instead of sitting through hours of Latin, but my father said it was impossible."
"You are referring to the titillated Basilisk venom, correct? I am a Parselmouth so I acquired the venom the last time I met a Basilisk, and some of my more volatile ingredients are still usable, like the venom I used to make the potion. Perhaps, I can write up a recipe for general use. I would have to do a few experiments with owl feathers and thestral hair, but I don't have time to do that now."
"Oh, yes of course, Parselmouth, I had forgotten." Malfoy blinked twice and looked thoughtful for a moment. "I could help." The blond boy tried to not appear too excited. "Anything to get out of sitting for an hour listening to Mr. Jenkins, my language tutor, drone on and on." Before Salazar could reply, the late bell rung and all the seventh years sitting around him darted off to classes they were already late for.