Basilisk-born

by Ebenbild

What if the Dementor attack in 5th year had ended with Harry losing? What if someone had stepped in to save him? And what if Harry ended up in the past with a chance to be more than he ever was before? A story about a forcibly time travelled Harry and its consequences... Manipulative Dumbledore, 'Slytherin!Harry', Time Travel!

70. Chapter 69: 1981-1995 Sacrifice

Disclaimer: I'm too young to be Rowling so there is sadly no way Harry Potter is mine…

Thank you for all your reviews! I loved them!

A/N: So, this is the last chapter of the past. I hope I managed to add everything in the past that I will need to finish the story without loose threads... *sweatdrops*

By the way, if you're disappointed, or maybe close to tears that this isn't the next chapter in the present, but the last in the past, blame Claude Amelia Song (By Claude Amelia Song: CAS says sorry. Evil laughter). I asked a few chapters ago in what order I should post the last few chapters, and got the answer "past, present, present, past and then the rest of the present ones". So, it's not my fault (don't worry, she's blaming herself just as much after the last chapter so don't judge her too harshly!) ;-).

Beta-read by DebaterMax (for plot and grammar) and Claude Amelia Song (for plot). Thank you very much!

Anyway, on to the chapter…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1981-1995

SACRIFICE

sSs

When Sal woke up, he was lying on the floor of the Chamber.

He was alone, except for the unconscious boy he had rescued.

A boy, whose name Sal finally knew…

He had never met the boy before, but the way he looked made sure that Sal recognized him anyway.

He looked just like a younger version of his brother and Sal's friend.

And while Sal had only heard of Sirius Black having a brother, he knew the boy's name, nevertheless.

Regulus Black.

At that moment, a rustle of feathers could be heard to his left and he turned his head just in time to see his grandfather change into his human shape.

His grandfather didn't look good.

His face looked a lot more avian than it had ever before, with feathers on his cheeks and neck. His hands were also feathered.

"Grandfather," Sal whispered, and his grandfather slumped.

"You're awake," the phoenix said, relief colouring his voice.

Sal frowned.

"Grandfather?" he asked, concerned.

His grandfather sighed.

"It's been two years since I found you," he said. "It's 1981."

"1981?" Sal asked, confused.

It had been 1981 when the whole ordeal started… but with the whole… what had happened?

Sal frowned.

He remembered memories.

His own and those of a stranger.

It was a bit jumbled in his head, but he was sure that the stranger had been Peverell's and Rowena's father…

Sal didn't remember everything that he had seen, but he was pretty sure that he basically saw the life of Peverell's father from his… conception? – that was an odd thought – to Peverell's birth and childhood.

He reached for his head when a headache made itself known.

And then, feathered hands reached for his own.

"How are you, egg of my egg?" Fawarx asked.

His eyes were scanning Sal and Sal winced.

"What day is it?" he wanted to know.

"It's the fifth of November," his grandfather immediately answered.

Sal gritted his teeth.

Too late.

He woke too late.

At this time, Sirius was already arrested and most likely in Azkaban and baby Harry–

His thought was interrupted when Regulus's vitals stopped.

He cursed and forced himself to his feet.

It seemed that when he woke his grip on the wards that kept Regulus alive had loosened and the poison inside the other man whose spread had been slowed down to a trickle thanks to the wards had lurched forward again and tried to claim the man once more.

"Salvazsahar!" his grandfather admonished him, but Sal just freed himself from his grandfather's hands.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But I went through too much trouble to let him die now."

And with that, he hurried to Regulus Black to stabilize the man.

It wouldn't be the last time that he was forced to do that.

Thanks to the fact that Sal hadn't been able to attend to Regulus for the last two years, Regulus had fallen into a coma.

Sal might have been able to keep him alive thanks to the tether between them, but he hadn't been able to prevent the poison slowly working through the man's body.

He gritted his teeth when he recognized that fact.

"It's going to be a long recovery for you," he said to the comatose Regulus Black. "If you ever wake up again, that is."

He wouldn't be able to leave him for now – at least not for a longer time.

Not, when he wanted Regulus to survive.

The poison had been slowed down thanks to the wards surrounding him, but that didn't mean that it had stopped spreading.

Sal would have to find a counter, and until then, the best he could do was keep the wards active and Regulus asleep.

"It's going to be a long search," Sal sighed.

"Salvazsahar," his grandfather said sadly. "Do you really think…"

"I saved him, grandfather," Sal pointed out. "The last thing I should do now is to abandon him – not to mention that my oaths demand of me to do everything I can to help him… which I haven't done until now."

He looked up and into his grandfather's eyes.

"It's going to take months, maybe even years – and even then, I won't know if he'll wake up," he confessed. "But even if he doesn't, at least I tried."

Something told him that Regulus would wake someday.

The answer from his grandfather was a sigh.

"You're not going to give up, are you?" he asked resigned.

Sal smiled wryly.

"Since I didn't give up while dying, I think now that I'm alive and actually able to move, it's just right that I give it another try," he countered.

Fawarx sighed.

For a moment, grandfather and grandson looked at each other, searching each other's gaze.

"Will you stay?" his grandfather finally asked.

For a moment, Sal looked thoughtfully at Regulus Black.

Would they stay?

He mentally reached for the wards in the Chamber.

They were the same as always.

He couldn't say what state the rest of Hogwarts' wards were in from here since the Chamber had a separate set of wards – which was needed considering it was a place to hide in case the rest of Hogwarts' wards fell – and he doubted he would be able to check on Hogwarts' wards if he didn't want to be found within the next decade, but… at least in the Chamber, they were safe.

He looked around the Chamber.

"How are the rooms?" he asked and nodded towards one of the snakes that hid the entrances of the emergency rooms Sal had added centuries ago when Hogwarts still belonged to its Founders.

"They're ready for use," Fawarx replied.

Which meant that they had actual beds and facilities…

Sal looked at his grandfather and while the phoenix didn't show any emotion, Sal could see the longing in his eyes.

He wanted Sal to stay.

Maybe he even needed Sal to stay.

And no matter how long they hadn't seen each other, they were still family…

Well, Hogwarts' Chamber of Secret was as good a place as any…

"Alright," Sal decided and reached for Regulus to pick him up. "We will stay."

And while Fawarx just inclined his head, something in his shoulders loosened.

Sal saw it.

No, no matter how inconvenient it might turn out, Sal didn't regret agreeing to stay.

"There are things I will have to do," he finally said. "It won't be now. Most likely, it won't be for a few months, but I will have to do them as soon as Regulus is half-way stable."

His grandfather nodded.

"But you will return?"

Sal hummed in agreement and then walked towards the nearest snake. The door hidden by it opened without any trouble.

The room was outfitted as a dorm-room with five loft beds.

Sal took the one closest to the door to put down Regulus on the lower one of the beds.

After, he removed the upper bed with a wave of his wand and shrunk it before putting it on one of the shelves where a few other shrunk loft beds were sitting.

After, he reworked the wards that tied him to Regulus a bit, to ensure that they were steady and then started to look the other man – barely more than a boy – over.

Regulus was in a good condition.

It was surprising considering that nobody had actually looked after him for the last two years, but then, Regulus had also been in a modified stasis over that time.

Sal grimaced a bit at the implications of that, but shrugged them off, in the end.

The stasis might slow down recovery as well since spells like that liked to linger – which wasn't a problem for short-term stasis, but in this case, it hadn't been one.

"I guess we'll see how long it'll take you to wake up," Sal told the man. "It's something to worry about in the future – not now, when the potion in you is still active."

After all, it was done, and there was nothing he could change about it now.

He would have simply had to work with what the circumstances offered.

xXxXxXxXxXx

It took him a few hours to ensure that Regulus was stable and under stasis wards again.

Sal didn't like the fact that he had to keep the man even longer in stasis at all, but with the poison spread as far as it was, there was no way to stop it anymore without a proper counter… which Sal didn't have.

"He looks like he's sleeping," his grandfather commented and Sal sighed.

"It's going to be a few long months," he said and rubbed his eyes. "I need to distil the poison in his blood and then either find or make a counter."

"My tears," Fawarx offered hesitatingly, but Sal shook his head.

"If they didn't help me while I was trying to keep him alive through the bond, they won't help him," Sal answered tiredly. "Not to mention that I tried those first while stabilizing him. Using mine, though – that shouldn't make that much of a difference."

His grandfather inclined his head.

"It wouldn't," he agreed and sighed.

Sal smiled grimly.

"It's not going to be an easy fix, no matter how much I wish for one," he agreed with a sigh and then shook his head.

"Do you need anything?" Fawarx immediately asked him.

"Potion supplies," Sal answered immediately. "I think there was a lab down here near here, so I should be equipped with most… even if the things are about a thousand years out of date… but I need ingredients. Those won't have kept, at least, most of them won't have."

His grandfather nodded.

"Give me a list and I'll see what I can do," he agreed.

Sal raised an eyebrow at the other man.

"You're a phoenix," he pointed out. "In your usual appearance, it will be hard to interact with anybody and as you are now…"

He hesitated.

"I will stand out," the phoenix finished for him calmly. "I will go to the goblins and other Firbolg for ingredients. I'm well aware that most wizards in this day and age would be more likely to stare at me than to trade with me."

Then, Fawarx's mouth twitched in half-concealed amusement.

"And if I don't manage to get something," he continued. "We have a competent potion's master here at school. He might end up a bit suspicious of the students somewhat if his ingredients, but a little supply-theft won't hurt him."

Sal snorted, but he guessed his grandfather was right enough with that and conceded that point.

He sighed and then looked at the comatose Regulus.

"Are you alright?" Fawarx asked him softly.

Sal grimaced.

"I'm not sure," he told the other man with another sigh and looked around the room. "It still feels all so unreal."

"Unreal?"

Sal nodded.

"Everything," he said. "The man responsible for the war we had over the last few years is gone… and with him went some dear friends of mine – and not one of them can be returned to me."

"They died?" Fawarx asked, his voice full of understanding.

"Some did," Sal agreed tiredly. "Others…"

He shook his head.

"One of them was brought to Azkaban," he said slowly. "And as much as I want to find a way and get him out… I can't break the treaty I have with the Dementors. At least, I can't for now. Not without them breaking it first."

He grimaced at that.

"Didn't they work with the other side in this war?" Farwarx asked slowly.

"They helped me once against a Headmaster of Hogwarts in the fifteen hundreds," Sal replied with a pinched look on his face. "There was a boon open for them to take from back then. At that time, I swore that I would be lenient with them once if they dared to enter the magical kingdom of Britain again. I can't go and enter their lands now, after their last coming to magical Britain was covered by a boon."

"And you're not willing to break the contract?" Fawarx asked slowly.

"And let them roam the realm of my father as they wish as a consequence of that?" Sal countered and then shook his head grimacing. "No. I would break my solemn oaths if I put the life of a man, I know will survive them above the lives of thousands."

He shook his head.

"As much as I hate it, I'm Prince of this realm," he said and looked into his grandfather's fire-eyes. "Just like I am Healer and Guardian of the innocent. And no matter what, in this case, it's the safety of many… 'Even if you have to kill someone or let someone die to ensure the safety of others is part of my oath… against the safety of one. I can't. I wish, I dearly wish, but I can't. Not, without breaking my oaths."

And it hurt.

It hurt to know that he couldn't go and save Sirius Black – a man he had come to like, his friend…

But Sirius was already in Azkaban.

Sal didn't need to confirm it, he remembered it from the time he had lived in the future.

Sirius was in Azkaban – and little Harryjames at the Dursleys.

Sal clenched his fists.

Why had he grown up at the Dursleys?

Why had he never come and visited his younger self?

He knew it had nothing to do with the warning about seeing oneself.

He had proven that one wrong in his third year in Hogwarts, after all.

And again, when he had seen baby Harryjames.

As long as he wasn't recognized by his past self as their future self, there was no danger when it came to seeing oneself.

So why hadn't he come?

He shook that thought away.

"Regulus first," he said to himself. "Everything else can come after."

"You don't look too happy," his grandfather observed calmly.

Sal rubbed his face.

"I still can't believe that the war is over for now," he said truthfully. "And I'm not sure I'll like the consequences of it. They might not have reached us right now, but they most likely will someday in the future."

His grandfather looked at him in consideration.

"You know something," he observed.

"The current dark lord isn't dead," Sal said calmly. "He will come back again, someday."

"The current Headmaster suspects the same," the phoenix replied.

Sal's eyes darkened.

"I thought as much," he agreed and then shook his head. "It doesn't really matter right now. I know how he kept himself alive and I know how to destroy him. I took the knowledge of his protections from death from his mind… but I can't act on it right now."

He sighed and turned towards Regulus.

"I can't act on much right now," he said quietly.

The phoenix hummed.

"That will change," he said calmly. "It will take time, but it will change."

Sal sighed but agreed.

"Do you want a newspaper?" the phoenix offered and for a moment, Sal was tempted to know what was going on in the world right now.

In the end, though, he shook his head.

He knew he would have to look over them later when he could, but looking at them now and feeling guilty for things that he couldn't have prevented… no, it would just distract him from what he needed to do to save Regulus Black.

"I saved him," he said and looked at the younger Black. "And as long as he needs my wards to stay alive… as long as he stays alive beneath my wards… my oath is bound to his life. With starting to treat him, I swore I would do everything I could to keep him alive – being distracted by things I can't change as long as I am bound to him will do me no good."

In the end, it would take him a year to find a counter to the poison.

And only after that, he would be able to step out of the Chamber of Secrets again, to take a look at those things he had ignored while keeping Regulus Black from dying.

"It's now a game of wait and see," he told his grandfather thirty-two hours after he had administered the antidote. "Either he will wake or he won't. I can't even predict how long it'll take… but most likely, it will be at least another two to three years until his body is recovered enough to even hope that he might wake. Most likely longer since I can't predict the effects the prolonged stasis spell had on his system."

"What are you going to do now?" Fawarx asked.

Sal smiled grimly at his grandfather.

"Watch over him," he replied. "And do some things I wanted to do but couldn't since he wasn't stable. He's stable now and the stasis wards are gone. He's still tightly monitored by me, but at least, I can leave now and take a look at some things I let slide until now."

His grandfather nodded slowly.

"So, you're leaving," he said.

"For some short times, only," Sal agreed, his eyes fixed on his grandfather who had gained even more feathers over his transformations over the last year.

The other man barely looked human anymore.

"I'm going to return," Sal promised quietly. "I will return and if you want me, I will be there for your last."

His grandfather smiled sadly.

"I don't want you to watch me lose myself to the flames," he said calmly and his eyes turned towards the main Chamber. "Your grandmother and I… I think it should be just us when I go. I don't want to make you suffer by watching me go."

Sal returned his grandfather's sad smile with one of his own.

"Hold out for me for a few years, please," he begged.

"I will," his grandfather agreed and reached for him to pull him into a hug. "I will wait for you to catch up with time – and I will wait beyond until you're settled."

"So, you know," Sal said tiredly.

His grandfather laughed softly.

"Your grandmother and I always suspected," he said and then reached for Sal's arm. "But I knew when I saw you revive after dying on that horrible night a year ago."

"You mean last Samhain," Sal said.

"Yes," his grandfather replied and then pushed up Sal's sleeve to expose a very old scar.

Sal watched Fawarx while his grandfather's face turned thoughtful.

"You survived her bite," the phoenix said, his eyes meeting Sal's. "You're her grandson – and yet, you survived her bite."

Sal shook his head.

"I wasn't her grandson back then," he pointed out. "And it was your tears that saved me."

His grandfather's fingers caressed Sal's scar.

"It doesn't matter if you were not yet our egg's son, you were her grandson already – at least to her mind," he said sadly. "That she bit you is proof enough. That you lived…"

His grandfather shook his head.

"You shouldn't have," he said. "My tears shouldn't have done anything. You were her grandson. Bitten by her, you should have died, no matter what."

"I didn't," Sal countered softly. "You saved me."

"The beast inside you–" his grandfather started to say, but Sal interjected before he could say more.

"I can't remember ever having a beast inside me. I have heard about it, but I have never felt it… never had to fight against something inside me which wanted to overwhelm me, control me. I'm not sure what happened, and I don't know for sure if the bite is at fault, but whatever you think should be clawing in my mind… it's not there."

He saw surprise in his grandfather's eyes at that.

"There's nothing that wants out inside of you?" his grandfather asked.

"Nothing," Sal affirmed. "At least nothing that I've ever felt."

For a moment, there was silence between them.

Then his grandfather shook his head.

"You might not have survived the bite fully, then," he said and there was sadness in his voice. "A part of you might have died back then."

"More than one part has died of me over the millennia," Sal replied calmly. "And for all I know, I was never whole in the first place. I died for the first time when I was but a year, after all."

For a moment, his grandfather searched his face after that declaration.

There was a realisation there that made Sal suspect that Fawarx had connected the dots and drawn the right conclusion.

He smiled at his grandfather softly.

"There are things I need to do," he reminded him. "I will have to start taking care of them."

His grandfather nodded, his eyes still roaming over Sal's face.

"I will tell you when I go," Fawarx finally said, his voice calm.

I will tell you when I go and decide to die.

Sal knew that his grandfather would never say those words, but that was the promise implied anyway.

He nodded and the phoenix stepped back, away from him.

"Take care, egg of my egg," Fawarx said softly before he returned to his phoenix body and flashed away in a bout of fire.

Sal snorted.

"You could have at least taken me with you beyond the wards," he complained fondly – not that the wards stopped him.

With that, he ensured one last time that Regulus would be safe for the next few hours before he apparated from the Chamber to Diagon Alley, without even bothering to go to Hogwarts proper. It wouldn't do, to be found, after all…

xXxXxXxXxXx

"Clan-brother! Have you fought today?"

Nardog was in the middle of weighing amethysts when the traditional greeting in Gobbledegook reached his ears. It had been a long time Nardog had heard a greeting like that. Even the goblins themselves just used this greeting on formal occasions now. Hearing it here meant either the speaker was very old or he had something very important to say.

Nardog looked up.

The first thing he registered was that the speaker wasn't a goblin.

It was a wizard.

For a moment Nardog had the urge to bare his teeth at the human for misusing such an important phrase – then he stopped in surprise.

No human should know this phrase. It was just used between goblins so how…

"I had a blessing challenge," he finally answered in the traditional way, intrigued by how the wizard in front of him would react. Traditionally a goblin would offer another battle to conclude this greeting.

The human withdrew a dagger from his belt, putting it down in front of the goblin with its peak pointing at Nardog.

Nardog was impressed.

An old, formal challenge for a mock-battle from a wizard was impressive – very impressive. Most of the younger goblins would struggle challenging someone with such elegance.

Nardog showed his teeth, a sign, that he would come back to the challenge later, and that it was now time for business. The human reacted instantly.

"I am here to claim the Lordship of House Grim," he said without hesitating.

It was the goblin way to honour those who fell in combat, so they were honouring House Grim by having their current circumstances known by most every goblins after its Heir was orphaned in the last Wizard's War was something they had no qualms about doing. Not to mention its connection albeit narrow one to its Clan Leader ancestor. But those facts were only known by Ragnok and his closest advisors. It was the last thing they could do.

Because of that, Nardog didn't need to look up any information on the House to answer.

"The Lordship of House Grim goes to its heir. The babe is currently two years old, as such, his newly named guardian and proxy Mr. Albus Dumbledore will have access to his money until the babe is of age." Nardog answered, marvelling why a wizard who knew as much of goblins as the one in front of him would demand something like that.

The man should have known better.

Gringotts was bound to their laws and no decent goblin would dare to steal – especially not from an innocent child.

"Newly named?" the man asked surprised.

"Just a week ago," Nardog replied calmly. It wasn't as if that wasn't official information, so he saw no reason to deny an answer. "It apparently took some time until the wizarding government got around to it."

Nardog sneered at that.

It spoke of the incompetence of the highest decree that it had taken a year for the wizards to sort out the guardian of an important child of their own.

Then Nardog raised one of his impressive eyebrows to demand an answer from the wizard in front of him why he thought he could claim the Lordship of House Grim.

The stranger immediately reacted to the silent demand – which just showed how well-versed he was in goblin customs.

"While the child is undeniable Heir to Grim, the right of Lordship by blood is mine," the man said calmly, his lips twitching a bit. "From the two of us, I am the older one, after all."

Nardog just stared at the man.

"Do you have proof?" he asked finally.

"Just my blood," the other man replied calmly.

The way he looked at Nardog was the unspoken goblin version of "I am willing to prove my claim with the one thing that can't be forged.

Nardog could respect that offer – even if he was unimpressed by the implication that Gringotts didn't know their clients.

Nevertheless, wrong or not, the man had a right to contest a claim by trying to prove that it was wrong with his blood.

It just normally wasn't done.

"And your name, stranger?" he asked, while he reached for the potion to prove heritage.

The man hesitated.

Then, he slowly nodded towards the rune sequence built into every desk of the tellers around the hall.

"Activate it, and I will tell you," he said calmly.

Nardog felt some surprise.

While the man had displayed goblin-clan-customs, Nardog still had thought the man was more like the wizards.

To ask for an activation like that just for a name spoke more of a goblin-nature than the wizard-one Nardog had expected. Only goblins were that cautious with their names – especially their full names.

Nardog inclined his head and activated the runes.

He had to admit, watching the man's eyes light up when he clearly assessed the rune work's activation was something else. The man hadn't drawn a wand or moved, and yet, Nardog was sure he had noticed the magic picking up and somehow… judged it.

The way his eyes returned to Nardog and his head inclined just slightly, told the goblin that the assessment was 'decent'.

Nardog glared and the man's lips twitched for a moment, clearly unbothered that he had implied that he could do better towards Nardog.

Nardog had never had a customer that could actually talk that well without uttering thousands of unnecessary words.

Against his will, he was slightly impressed.

Nevertheless, the man hesitated for another moment.

"An oath," he said calmly, and Nardog wanted to scowl, while at the same time congratulate the man for being more cautious than even the oldest of goblins.

Nevertheless, he spoke the oath.

This was the least he could do for a man who was clearly more than he appeared to be – one who actually knew how to conduct himself in company, unlike all those other wizards.

"Not a word from my lips," Nardog said. "Not a letter from my hands. Not a thought from my mind. In my honour, so mote it be."

Nardog knew that this wasn't the way of the wizards to offer oath, but the goblin way. While Nardog was willing to offer oath, he definitely wasn't willing to lower himself to the standard oath for wizards – not even for a man who knew goblin customs.

This time, when the man inclined his head, it looked downright regal.

Nardog should have guessed he shouldn't be surprised that the other man knew how goblins offered oath and therefore was agreeable to their version.

"I am Salvazsahar Pendragon-LeFay," he said calmly, his green eyes boring into Nardog's eyes, proving part of the claim immediately.

Nardog's eyes widened.

"Pendragon?" he repeated his eyes searching the man's face while he could still hear the ringing of truth in his head. The ringing was the wards that confirmed that the man had at least told the truth as far as he knew it.

The man's lips pressed together.

"Not a name I go by, normally," he said. "And not one I have uttered ever before."

Nardog shivered.

If the name had been true, he wasn't surprised by that.

If it was true, then Ragnok-King would have to be notified.

The goblins, while never direct subjects to the Kings of the land, still had a tight bond with them. And while the same couldn't be said for the prince and heir until he took the throne, just the knowledge that there was an heir was something Ragnok-King would need to know.

Then the man shrugged slightly.

"Though I guess for you, Morganaadth is the more important one to know, when it comes to my name," he added calmly as if he hadn't just made Nardog's life difficult enough.

Morganaadth.

Morgana's son.

A goblin name.

No wizard had a goblin name, and yet, the man claimed one anyway…

And what a goblin name it was - Morgana's son… Nardog shuddered at the implication.

And if he was saying the truth and not just believing that he was saying it… then… then… no, Nardog wasn't sure he wanted to deal with the sure headache that would follow.

On the other hand… it would be a challenge, and no goblin would ever step down from a challenge, no matter how headache introducing it turned out to be…

Then the man gestured towards the potion in Nardog's hand.

"I guess, you wish to confirm my claim?" he said calmly and Nardog forced himself to put aside the man's ridiculous claim to go through the motions needed.

"No matter your name, stranger," he said, forcing himself to add the 'stranger' to his words even if he feared that this kind of impoliteness might cost him if the claim of the man held true. "That still doesn't explain why you believe yourself available for the Lordship of Grim."

"The young Heir's mother was a born, yet on her side unacknowledged LeFay," the stranger replied calmly.

Therefore, as long as the child wasn't of age, the heir of LeFay if he was of age, also had the right to claim Grim as a Lord-proxy.

Yes, Nardog was impressed by the wizard who managed to speak in the true goblin way without all those unnecessary words other wizards needed.

"Indeed," Nardog said, agreeing to the man's reasoning and then sat down the potion in front of the stranger before producing the parchment that was the other component of the ritual.

"You are aware that this counts as a ritual," he pointed out.

Wizards, Nardog knew, were stupid enough to fear rituals of any kind – but especially one using blood.

The man just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Nardog, basically telling him without words what he thought of the warning.

Nardog wondered if it was bad service to start to like one of his customers…

When the man produced another knife to cut himself, Nardog was even more impressed.

Having one knife for a ritualic challenge was well and good – but having another one of the same quality spoke of a knowledge in combat with knives at the very least.

Nardog couldn't remember having ever seen a wizard-warrior before.

He wasn't even surprised anymore when he noticed that the man ensured that six drops of blood fell into the potion and not one drop more.

Enough for a thorough reading, but yet, not enough to use the blood-potion for anything nefarious.

A cautious fellow who would fit very well within the goblins.

"Not very trusting, are we?" Nardog snarked when the stranger handed back the potion to be poured onto the parchment.

"I trust you wouldn't give up your honour," the stranger replied while showing teeth. "We are still in challenge, after all."

Which basically translated into: 'No, I'm not trusting at all, but I trust in your customs that the little trust I extend to you will be well placed.'

The man should have been born a goblin.

Nardog was almost willing to petition to accept the man into his birth-clan just to ensure the man in front of him wouldn't continue to be wasted to the wizards.

Nardog poured the potion.

And of course, the first one to appear was the one name that was the most important.

Nardog inclined his head to the man in front of him, this time in deference.

"Morganadth-Leader," he said formally, acknowledging not only the position of the man in front of him as a clan-leader but also his goblin name. "I am Nardog and willing to serve this one in any way this leader needs me to."

The man returned the formal acknowledgement by showing his teeth in agreement.

Then, Nardog's gaze returned to the parchment.

The next moment his eyes snapped back up at Morganaadth.

"You are the babe in question," he said in surprise. "The young Heir of Grim."

He searched Morganaadth's face.

"How?" he asked. "You are Morganaadth, Morgana's son. You are the Heir of Pendragon, the Prince… and yet, you should be a babe of barely two-years-of-age!"

"I am and I should," the other man replied. "And the babe still is what he should be as well."

Morganaadth's cool green eyes assessed Nardog calmly.

"I will take back my place as the babe in question in another thirteen years," Morganaadth continued. "And I will send him back to grow into the man I am."

Nardog's eyes widened.

"There were rumours," he said, his eyes still searching the Prince's. "The Immortal Prince… that's you, aren't you, Morganaadth-Leader?"

The man… being… closed his eyes for a moment before he inclined his head slightly in agreement.

And Nardog had to admit that he had never thought to ever meet the Prince of the Land, nor had he ever thought the Prince to be a time-traveller whose journey had not yet begun and would not yet end.

"I am honoured, Morganaadth-Leader," he finally declared towards his elder.

It was the only thing he could say or do in face of the show of trust the other man had given him right now.

"And honour-bound," the other man replied, clearly pointing out to Nardog that his trust had only gone so far.

Nardog agreed with an inclination of his head.

"What can I do for you, Morganaadth?" he asked.

"I am here, to disavow Albus Dumbledore as my younger self's regent," the man replied calmly.

Nardog was a bit surprised at that, but as the Lord of Grim, the man had every right to disavow the regent decided by the Wizengamot.

Nevertheless, this wasn't something Nardog could change.

He was just a lowly goblin in customer service.

He had nothing to do with vault-holders – even less with vault-holders like Morganaadth.

"I will tell it to your account manager," he said calmly, ready to stand up and get the other goblin to care for his venerated customer.

Maybe one day, Nardog would have the rank to have vault-holders like the Clan-Leader as well… he could dream, at least.

"No need," Morganaadth replied calmly, before adding something that stumped the goblin. "You are my manager."

This time Nardog stared openly surprised at the wizard in front of him.

"I beg your pardon, Morganaadth-Leader, but I am not," he finally managed to say. "Sliffax is. I cannot take over his post…"

"He treated me without the necessary respect," Morganaadth answered as if he was talking about the weather while Nardog's world turned inside-out. "I greeted him and he bared his teeth at me. I won't work with a goblin unable to accept me as a fellow clan-brother. As the leader of my Clan, I'm allowed to choose my account manager. I wasn't willing to work with him, so I looked for another."

Nardog blinked absolutely flabbergasted. His gaze went down to the dagger in front of him, still challenging him to a mock-battle. Then he looked back up at the green eyes of the wizard.

A test.

The first greeting had not just been a greeting, it had also been a test – a test, and Nardog had passed while Sliffax failed.

Then Nardog remembered his urge to bare his teeth at the stranger.

And as much, as he wanted to agree and take the offered place, he was a goblin of honour – he would not take what he hadn't earned.

"I cannot be your manager, Morganaadth-Leader. I wanted to bare my teeth at you when we met – I failed your test all the same so the honour to be your manager should go to someone more worthy."

"You might have wanted to be rude," Morganaadth said while shrugging. "The important point is: You weren't. I will not ask again."

And this time, Nardog bowed, accepting his post without another thought.

He had done the honourable thing – and if the Clan-Leader in front of him was willing to take him no matter his first reaction, who was Nardog to deny a Clan-Leader their choice?

The man bared his teeth in acknowledgement, clearly amused by Nardog's unease.

This would be a terrible challenge.

Being account manager was one thing – being account manager to a Clan-Leader… worse, the Prince of the British magical world… that would be something that could either be Nardog's chance to shine… or his utter ruin.

Nardog was looking forward to it.

"You wish to be your own regent?" he asked, returning to his task without showing how utterly terrified he felt of the challenge he would have to overcome in the next decades.

Morganaadth bared his teeth to show the negative.

"I can't," he said calmly. "Not without drawing undue notice to my person."

"Then what do you wish to do?" Nardog asked.

"Albus Dumbledore can be a proxy in absentia," Morganaadth answered.

That basically curbed the other man's access to the vault and ensured that every decision he made in the name of Grim would be written down and stored in the vault so that the real regent or the Heir could look it over after the fact – and maybe even change his vote.

Nardog raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"The babe needs care," he pointed out calmly.

"He can have his trust," Morganaadth immediately answered. "In child-function and with a reasonable spending limit."

Nardog hummed in agreement.

"You are aware that the proxy can be claimed if there is no other proxy named?" he pointed out calmly.

Morganaadth hummed thoughtfully.

"I'm not too aware who counts as a suitable relation in this time and age," he said.

Nardog reached into the magical dimension of the desk and had to suppress his joy when the Book of Grim that contained anything related to the Grim accounts immediately appeared.

This was a function only account managers could access, so just the fact that Nardog could show him his change in status – something that still sounded unbelievable to the goblin.

Nardog put down the book in front of him and opened it.

It took only a minute to find the necessary information.

"The Blacks are the most recent," he said calmly.

"And not an option," Morganaadth replied. "Too many are related to the Blacks… it's too risky."

Nardog hummed in agreement and looked further.

"Lovegood is also a possibility," he offered. "Their connection isn't recent at all, but the only other person who could claim through that line would be Ollivander."

Morganaadth looked amused.

"So, Pandora's marriage with her Lovegood was successful," he said.

"They have a daughter," Nardog replied. "Luna."

Morganaadth inclined his head.

"I might have to come by Pandora's place sometimes," he said thoughtfully. "Just to ensure that the girl's potential godfather doesn't suggest that she goes dragon hunting before her third birthday."

Nardog raised an eyebrow at that non sequitur.

Morganaadth replied with half-amusement, half-horror.

"I fear, if Xenophilius Lovegood didn't have another godfather to offer, it will be my son who has taken that place," he said. "The last time I left him alone with my daughter, his younger sister, he tried to send her after dragons. As much as I love him, I trust him to do the same with his goddaughter."

Nardog snorted in amusement.

"He sure is a wild one. Isn't he?" he commented and felt even more amused when Morganaadth just bared his teeth at him in a show of 'You're right but I'm definitely not telling you that.'

Oh, yes, Nardog liked his new vault-holder.

"The proxy?" he asked, nevertheless, returning to the previous question.

"Lovegood is a good choice," Morganaadth answered immediately. "I doubt Xenophilius Lovegood will officially try to take the seat and I doubt the same when it comes to Pandora or her father, Garrick Ollivander – and if any of them do, they won't hurt the House Grim. They're all reasonable people."

And it clearly didn't hurt that Morganaadth knew Pandora and Garrick personally.

Of course, nonetheless it was a surprise that Xenophilius decided to take up the seat thirteen years later – and even more that he decided to attend the Wizengamot-meeting as proxy and regent of Grim.

But then, the Lovegood descended from the elves… and as much as the Centaur were known for their knowledge of the future, some High Elves were even more aware of it than them.

Not that it mattered in 1982.

Nardog just nodded and put down the Lovegoods as a proxy to House Grim.

"Anything else, Morganaadth?" he asked.

"I need you to buy up as many shares of the Daily Prophet as you can," Morganaadth replied immediately. "I have some parts of it already, but anything else under any of my names and different accounts will just help me further along."

Nardog pulled out another parchment to note it down.

Over the years, he would ensure that Morganaadth would have the majority on the shareholder-board of the Daily Prophet, even if it was through different names.

It would only help when Sal would finally reach out to the people as Oliver Twist.

"There's also the fact that I will need all the paperwork about Dumbledore's decisions as a proxy when I return in thirteen years," Morganaadth added calmly. "I need to look through it to ensure that I can live with his decisions, or if I need to change any before I will return to the Wizengamot in January."

Nardog noted that down as well.

The paperwork would accumulate in the vault anyway, but if Nardog knew, he would ensure that everything was filed and secured for Morganaadths return.

Thirteen years later, Sal would sit and look through everything, most of it being dismissed as unimportant, some of it put on the back-burner for after Dumbledore's removal… and a single ruling withdrawn quietly.

The withdrawal of his vote against Arcturus Black'sappeal for his Heir would ensure that Sirius Black would have an easier time getting a trial than he would have otherwise.

Not that it would ever become public knowledge that Sal's withdrawal was the thing that toppled the vote in favour of the appeal and therefore made it easier for Sirius Black to get his trial.

"What about your birth parents' will, Morganaadth," Nardog asked. "It hasn't been read. There's nobody who can ask for a reading right now but you or Proxy Lovegood."

"It will have to wait," Morganaadth replied with a grimace. "If Albus Dumbledore asks for a reading, you are welcome to follow his wishes… if he doesn't then I will take a look at their will after I return in thirteen years."

He would have the will to look through. Albus Dumbledore never got around to the reading of wills.

Sal would find himself reading through those who were named as possible guardians in amusement.

Alastor Moody, the most amusing choice.

Reading that his Aunt Petunia also had gotten a bit of money from her sister, was less amusing but Sal could deal. He was old enough to accept that this had been his mother's will and so he was willing to give his Aunt what his mother left her.

"There's one last thing," Morganaadth said and then pulled out a letter and handed it to Nardog. "This is about the Heir Black. It's signed in my blood and claimed by a healer's oath to ensure no falsehood. He's in a coma and not yet able to come himself, but this needs to go to his account manager. It contains information for the House of Black and its Head Arcturus Black."

That letter would ensure that the accounts of Black would be tightly shut down after Arcturus Black died nine years later. After his death, only Regulus and Sirius Black would have access – and one of them was in Azkaban, while the other one was believed to be dead. It would keep the Ministry from meddling and would also keep away distant relations who hoped to get a bit of fortune while the new Lord Black was in Azkaban.

It would also ensure that Sirius would keep his potential Lordship.

And while Sal could have gone to Arcturus himself, sending it through Gringotts was the next best solution. It didn't mean that he wouldn't go and see Arcturus and Pollux Black, it just meant that the official business between the Healer of the Heir Secundus of Black and his Head of House would keep happening through Gringotts for the next few years until Regulus would wake up a few years later.

Nardog took the letter and inclined his head to show that he would hand it over with haste.

"Anything else, Morganaadth?" he asked.

"Just a letter to Ragnok-King," Morganaadth answered with clear amusement on his face.

Nardog nearly sagged in his chair.

While the change in account manager had clearly been accepted, having to tell that one of their own had offended a Clan-Leader hadn't been high on Nardog's list to do.

Having a letter from said Clan-Leader would at least mean that Nardog wasn't forced to search the words to find the right way to explain.

Morganaadth's amusement just showed that he knew that as well.

He handed over the letter and Nardog took it carefully.

"I will go to Ragnok to express your wishes, Morganaadth," he promised.

Nardog still did not look forward to the prospect of visiting the chieftain to tell him he had taken over the Grim-accounts. It would not go well – but he could not back out. Morganaadth had the right to get rid of Sliffax. He also had the right to make poor, simple Nardog his account manager…

"I am indebted to you," he said, nevertheless, while stowing the letter in his west.

"Do as I told you and you will repay it tenfold," Morganaadth answered and bowed to him.

This time Nardog wasn't even surprised anymore at the other man's unprecedented manners.

He also bowed.

It was the sign that business had been concluded and that they'd return to the still open challenge to a mock-battle.

Nardog took the dagger, then he held it out with the peak still showing to himself. It was a polite current refusal and a promise for a mock-battle in the future.

Morganaadth smiled showing that he agreed and took his dagger back.

Then he turned to go.

But Nardog wasn't finished.

"What would you have done, if I'd have accepted the challenge?" He asked, interested.

"I'd have gone with you to fight," Morganaadth answered sincerely. "I don't offer lightly – and even if I am a healer first, I have fought more than one battle in my life."

And then he simply left.

Nardog blinked. It would definitely take some time to get used to a man who saw a goblin as an equal…

Then Nardog turned his thoughts back to business, stood up, and closed his counter.

It took some time until he was able to meet Ragnok and when he finally entered the golden room where the chieftain greeted the other goblins and his guests, Nardog had to encourage himself to enter.

"Nardog," Ragnok-King's booming voice greeted him. "What is your business with me?"

There was no formal greeting – Ragnok-King's time was measured in gold.

"A letter, Ragnok-King," Nardog answered. "And a change in position."

Ragnok-King raised an eyebrow.

"You know that all accounts have their managers. I won't change your position – even if you were the next in the line."

"I know, Ragnok-King," Nardog answered. "But you didn't. Sliffax changed it."

Now Ragnok-King raised the other eyebrow, too.

"I wasn't aware of such a thing."

"He mistreated his client. The client declined his service after that," Nardog answered while holding out the letter to the chieftain.

"A client can't change his account manager without my consent."

"He is a Clan-Leader. Sliffax refused to answer to the traditional greeting," Nardog could hear Ragnok-King sucking in the air. He knew that his words would shock the chieftain. Refusing a traditional greeting was insulting the offering person to the highest degree.

"Who? To whom do I have to apologize?" Ragnok-King asked warily.

"His name is Morganaadth," answered Nardog sincerely. "He's Prince of Britannia and the new Lord Grim."

"Lord Grim?" Ragnok-King asked, with a frown that showed his clear disbelief at Nardog claiming Morganaadth as a Pendragon. He knew that the name implied that this was a son or descendant of Morgana LeFay, so hearing that he was the Prince when Morgana's son hadn't been the heir, left him reeling. Not to mention, there was something about the name that left him unsettled… but he couldn't recall what it was.

"How can he be Lord Grim?" the chieftain asked, dismissing the uncomfortable feeling in his gut that told him there was something more to Morganaadth that he should know.

Again, Nardog held out his hands with the letter, this time Ragnok-King took it and studied the signet. A few moments Ragnok-King just stared at it, then his face went ashen and his fingers shook when he finally opened the letter.

His 'uncomfortable feeling' was proven correct.

Nardog saw that the chieftain was reading quickly, as if waiting to read it line by line would kill him. And then Ragnok-King sighed and the tension left his body again.

"I will reprimand Sliffax, Account Manager Nardog," he finally said, the letter still clutched in his hands. "He will never insult someone like Morganaadth again."

Nardog nodded, then hesitated.

"Is there something else, Account Manager Nardog?"

"I… I was just wondering… what has troubled you so much when you saw the signet?" Nardog finally stuttered.

"I saw this signet before" the chieftain answered. "It is Morganaadth's personal one. When I was a mere boy – some four hundred years ago – Morganaadth had returned to us to help us in our war against the wizard law. The older goblin feared and worshiped him at the same time. The younger ones instead…

"One of the younger clan-leaders insulted his expertise and refused to follow his commands in a critical situation, and Morganaadth did what every clan-leader would do: he challenged him to a battle to regain his honour. I was allowed to watch. It was the first battle I ever saw a goblin losing without the use of magic on the rival side. The goblin gained gruesome wounds and Morganaadth just turned away from him and let him bleed to death."

Nardog shuddered. It sounded incredibly gruesome – but it was Morganaadth's right to turn away. The opponent had known that one of them would die in this battle – he had taken the risk when he accepted Morganaadth's challenge…

"It was his right," Nardog finally said.

"It was," Ragnok answered calmly. "But Morganaadth was our healer. We were all used to the fact that he'd try to rescue us. Nobody ever thought of him as a warrior, able to turn away and let someone die. The gruesome part wasn't that the goblin died. The gruesome part was that everyone – even the challenger – thought that Morganaadth would rescue him and Morganaadth showed him that he'd withdraw his help, when someone would withhold his rights and endangered others in doing so. He's a Healer, yes, but he pointed out to us that he's also a Guardian – and as a Guardian, he can and will let someone die if he sees said someone as a danger to the rest of his charges."

"He did it intentionally to show that he doesn't need to help them, didn't he?" Nardog asked in understanding. "He showed them that he was someone they wouldn't like to have as an opponent."

"Oh yes. And he showed them well. There was no-one after that, who would even think about challenging him…"

"… until Sliffax." Nardog ended Ragnok's sentence.

"…until Sliffax" Ragnok answered. "Morganaath wasn't pleased, but he was content, that there were other goblins who wouldn't think of insulting someone who wasn't a goblin by blood. So, I have to thank you, Nardog. It would have been worse if you wouldn't have been."

Nardog's ears twitched in embarrassment, then he bowed and left.

He knew that Ragnok had dismissed him with his last sentence. Dismissed and blessed. Nardog didn't envy Sliffax. Ragnok wouldn't let someone be in a high position who endangered the bank's honour like that.

Sliffax wouldn't live through the night.

Nardog dismissed the thoughts about Sliffax and the dangerous person who was now his client in the back of his head. He had to look over his new post. It would be a challenge to manage an account – especially an account belonging to a legend like Morganaadth…

xXxXxXxXxXx

Sal's next outing was a few weeks later.

Theoretically, he already knew how it would end, and yet, he needed to go anyway.

He needed to know why.

Why had he never come to his younger self?

Why had he never visited?

He shook his head and apparated instead to a formerly well-known location.

It was odd to see Privet Drive again.

Even in the darkness of the night, Sal could tell that there hadn't been a lot of changes from now to the Privet Drive he remembered best from thirteen years in the future.

He shook his head at that observation.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

Sal flinched and turned in surprise.

Behind him, his grandfather stood, looking at Sal with his tired eyes full of flames.

Sal closed his eyes.

"Grandfather," he greeted the phoenix in his 'old man' disguise. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking out for you," Fawarx said calmly. "Just like I always tried to do."

Sal shook his head.

"Shouldn't you be with the Headmaster?" he countered.

In his humanoid form Fawarx shrugged his feathered shoulder.

"It's one o'clock in the night. He's sleeping," he said. "I doubt the Headmaster will miss me for a few hours."

Sal sighed but had to agree with that assessment.

His grandfather looked around thoughtfully.

Sal followed his gaze.

"It's odd," he mused more to himself than to the phoenix next to him. "Even now, after millennia, I don't like this place."

As a child, he had despised it, but now, after all those years, the only thing he felt was a slight aversion to it.

Nevertheless, it surprised him that there was that much feeling left for a place he hadn't seen in such a long time.

"You weren't happy here," Fawarx said, more a statement than a question.

"I wasn't," Sal agreed and then shook his head. "But it's still just a place. I'm surprised that I feel much of anything for it."

He looked around and then shook his head.

"I guess, some things you will never like."

His grandfather hummed and when Sal walked down the street towards the house of his Aunt and Uncle, he followed after him.

About a hundred or a hundred fifty feet away from the property, a ward came up, shielding it from Sal.

Sal frowned.

"That shouldn't happen," he said with a frown. "I know my child self is protected by the wards through my mother's blood… but those wards shouldn't react to me!"

He reached out towards them.

The moment, he touched them, they sizzled, burning his hand.

Sal flinched back.

His eyes were fixed on the ward with confusion on his face.

He knew the ritual Lily had most likely used.

From everything he had taught her, from everything he had learned about her, and from everything he remembered Dumbledore saying in the future-that-was-yet-to-come, Sal should have been able to enter.

He was blood.

He was the one who should have been shielded by the wards.

And yet, the wards didn't recognize him.

"Are you alright?" his grandfather asked and when Sal looked towards the phoenix he noticed that he was looking at Sal's hand.

"I'm not worse for wear," Sal answered and shook out his hand, his face thoughtful. "I'm just not sure what happened… I have no idea what's keeping me out…"

Fawarx frowned and reached out towards the wards as well.

Sal's eyes widened when his grandfather's hand went through the wards… just to vanish into feathers the moment it went through.

His grandfather pulled his hand back as well.

"It seems I can't enter in my human form as well," he said thoughtfully. "In my normal form, though, I seem to be able to get it…"

Sal's frown deepened.

"Something is definitely wrong then," he concluded.

He gritted his teeth at that thought and then flicked his wrist to release one of his wands.

With the wand in hand, he cast a muggle-repellant before he forced the wards to reveal themselves to his experienced eyes.

The wards… wards that had been so beautifully crafted by Lily… had been forcefully tied to the Dursley family on top of little Harryjames.

Sal clenched his fists.

"Dumbledore," he growled, his wand hand, still with the wand in his hands, went up to pinch his nose. "You cumber-ground! You actually went and decided to meddle in a ritual of that power… and for what?!"

He shook his head and tried to subdue his desperate wish to hit the older-looking-wizard over the head once or twice.

"I can't believe you went and twisted Lily's wards into THIS!"

"Twisted them into what?" his grandfather asked, concerned.

"This… this abomination!" Sal pointed at the wards in front of him forcefully. "I doubt he did it with malicious intent… or even deliberately… but…"

He shook his head and looked at his grandfather.

"He twisted them," he whispered, his free hand clenching to a fist. "He took them and twisted them up! Made sure that everything of… 'dark nature'... wasn't able to enter."

Fawarx raised an eyebrow at that.

Sal snorted at the disbelief in his grandfather's face.

"No matter my inclination," he elaborated. "I use blood magic and rituals. It doesn't matter what I do with them, I count as 'dark'."

Fawarx had a look of understanding on his face.

"Just like the blood magic I use for my own transformation," he said with a sigh.

"But unlike me, you are a phoenix," Sal pointed out. "No matter that small bit of natural blood magic you use, you still count as light. You can enter, even if it's just in your natural form."

Sal sighed.

"I, on the other hand, am not going to be able to enter," Sal said unhappily. "The wards need to weaken for me to make the attempt… and only when Harryjames is gone… when I am Harryjames, then the wards will recognize me as the one who needs to be protected."

It was a bitter realisation.

"And even then… there might be repercussions," Sal thought darkly.

"Repercussions?" his grandfather asked, concerned.

Sal grimaced, "The wards are strong, and even worse: they are strongly twisted," he said. "It'll most likely ensure that I won't be able to think clearly after entering them when I finally can. They will press on me and… I guess I will have to get used to that pressure. Until I do, I might act a bit out of character for me."

Fawarx frowned.

"Nothing too different," Sal assured him calmly. "And the worst will be directly after entering the wards. Afterwards, I will slowly return to normal, so don't worry."

Then, his eyes lit up in dark humour.

"Well," he said amused. "At least Lily's sister and husband, my Uncle and Aunt by blood will be the ones who will be suffering from my first reaction to the wards. I doubt they will tell anyone, even if I say things that aren't that typical for fifteen-year-old Harry."

Then he shook his head, his mind still going through everything that was yet to come.

"Not that it'll matter," he said to himself darkly. "I doubt I will be able to play the Harryjames they know and love."

"Does it matter?" His grandfather asked calmly and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "You don't want to be the same child you were, after all. As far as I understood, you plan to return to Hogwarts to change everything. Being the same wouldn't help you if you want to shake everything up."

Sal sighed.

"People will still question why I'm different," he pointed out before grimacing. "I guess it's good that young Harryjames will have watched Voldemort's resurrection and has just lost Cedric will cover most of my personality changes. People are known to change after an experience like that, after all."

And as much as Sal wanted to, he knew he wouldn't be able to step in and stop it.

"I guess there's a reason why that has to happen?" his grandfather said with a sigh.

Sal grimaced.

"I need Voldemort alive so that I can actually kill him," he said with a sigh. "And it's not as if I could step in. I can't remember the date it took place and I don't know the graveyard it happened in."

He sighed.

"I guess, I could find out," he acquiesced. "But even if I'd know, I'd most likely wouldn't be able to react for other reasons."

After all, the past was the past and no matter what Sal had done, in the end, everything he knew about had happened the same way he knew it would happen.

Sal threw a disgusted look at the wards.

"Even if it's in the most unexpected way," he added.

His grandfather followed his gaze and grimaced as well.

"I see," he agreed with a sigh.

Sal sighed and then shook his head, before he removed the magic from the wards that made them visible to have them fall into invisibility again and then removed the muggle-repellant.

"I guess," he said aloud. "There's nothing I can do here."

Not even approach the young boy somewhere else since the wards would surround the child no matter where he went – like a bubble that Sal wouldn't be able to breach, like a second skin, burning those who touched Harryjames in ill-intent or were marked by the dark like Sal.

"Nothing at all?" Fawarx asked softly.

Sal shook his head.

"It's going to weaken every year Harryjames is at Hogwarts," he said. "But by then, it'll be too late. At Hogwarts, little Harryjames will already be monitored by the Headmaster."

And Sal wasn't willing to play his cards before he was ready.

"I understand," his grandfather said and looked at the wards. "Then I will take your place."

Sal turned and looked in surprise at his grandfather.

The phoenix smiled a slightly bitter smile.

"I might be unable to take him and unable to show myself to him," he said softly. "But I can ensure that he stays half-way healthy and I can look out for him in Hogwarts."

And Sal remembered the phoenix coming to his aid when he fought against the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.

He winced.

"Doing so might cost you dearly," he cautioned.

His grandfather just looked at him in understanding before reaching for Sal's arm and tracing the scar Sal had thanks to his fight with the basilisk through Sal's clothing.

"I know," Fawarx said. "And I'm willing to pay the price to keep you safe."

Eyes made of fire met eyes of poisonous green.

"You're the most precious thing in the world for me right now," his grandfather said. "My grief will be terrible the day her body dies as well, but for all my love for your grandmother, Aleahkys is already lost – you on the other hand, aren't. If that is my fate, then I will kill her for you, and when everything is over and you – you, my Fledgling, not your little self – are safe, then I will go and join her."

Sal felt a single tear run down his cheek at that.

He nodded and with a last, sad smile, his grandfather changed back into his phoenix form and flashed away.

Sal turned back to the wards for a moment.

No, no matter what Sal had wished, child-him was out of reach for him…

"Until we see each other again, Harryjames," he promised the wards. "Don't worry. I will come and protect you from the Dementors. I will come and send you to safety."

With that, he apparated away, back to his comatose charge.

xXxXxXxXxXx

The next time he left Regulus was another few months later.

It would be the first of many visits to these friends over the next six years.

When Sal apparated to the Lovegoods, he was met at the door by Pandora.

"Hello, stranger," she greeted him, her eyes full of laughter and sadness.

"Pandora," Sal answered her greeting in return.

"I feared you died," Pandora said and then stepped back. "Not one of us has heard anything of you for the past two years."

Sal grimaced.

"No," he said. "I was a bit preoccupied."

"Planning the next Resistance?" Pandora joked.

And while Sal would have loved to agree with her just to see her face, he knew better.

"I'm currently stabilizing a coma-patient," he said truthfully. "It took me a year to ensure that he's stable enough that I can actually leave his side and he will take at least another two or three until I can even hope of him returning to the waking world."

Pandora sighed and then stepped aside.

"Of course, that's what you've been doing," she said softly, and led him towards the living room.

She took a little girl from the crib in there and handed her to Sal.

"Meet Luna," she said.

"Ana's goddaughter?" Sal guessed.

Pandora's lips twitched.

"I'm not surprised you guessed that," she said, confirming what Sal had feared.

He snorted.

"Tell me if he goes and tries to get her to go dragon hunting without you," he said amused.

Pandora's lips twitched.

"He predicted you'd say that," she said amused.

"He knows me," Sal answered with a shrug. "Have you seen my wayward son recently?"

Pandora just smiled at him while Sal cradled the child to his chest and carded through the baby's blond tuft of hair.

"He said something about northern Europe," Pandora said calmly and gestured for Sal to take a seat. "I wasn't actively listening. It's not as if I could go with him to cause havoc right now."

Sal snorted.

"I'm not sure if I should feel thankful for that or dread in what kind of trouble Ana will get when you're not with him," he said amused.

Pandora just hummed, her eyes roaming over him thoughtfully.

"Have you seen the others?" she asked.

"I haven't seen anybody but you," Sal said.

Pandora nodded thoughtfully.

"You should go and visit the others," she decided.

Sal threw her an amused look.

"I wasn't close with a lot of them," he pointed out calmly, indirectly refusing to visit all his old acquaintances from the Resistance.

"Arcturus and Pollux, then," Pandora countered.

Sal hummed in agreement.

"I might go and see them," he agreed. "At least to tell them that I have something that belongs to them."

"Oh?" Pandora asked.

Sal snorted.

"My patient is their grandson," he said truthfully.

"Sirius?" Pandora asked. "I thought he ended up in Azkaban. Arcturus is trying for an appeal as far I know."

"Regulus," Sal corrected her gently and when she looked at him in surprise, he sighed. "It's a long story…"

She nodded and Sal's gaze returned to the baby in his arms.

The little girl had latched onto his sleeve and was currently in the process of stuffing it in her mouth, chewing on it.

"Are you sure you want Ana for a godfather?" Sal asked Pandora thoughtfully, but also a bit amused. "The little girl in my arms already looks like trouble – I fear what will become of her if Ana has that kind of influence on her."

Pandora laughed.

"I'm sure that with Ana's help, she'll at least turn out the right-hand woman of a queen," she answered jokingly. "What else?"

Sal rolled his eyes fondly at Pandora.

"Maybe the right hand of a king?" he offered just as playfully.

"That might be the other option," Pandora agreed, her eyes sparkling. "But then, what else could I wish for my child?"

Sal laughed.

"Exactly, what else," he agreed amused. "And now, tell me, Pandora, how is life, otherwise?"

They would talk the rest of the afternoon, sitting in Pandora's living room with tea and biscuits and Sal with little Luna in his arms.

It would be the first visit like that, but there would be many to follow. When she died unexpectedly in an accident when Luna was nine, it would be a great loss for Sal and Ana both.

The visits would taper off after that, but wouldn't fully stop until young Luna Lovegood was old enough to go to Hogwarts – and while Sal was careful to ensure that his appearance was his typical one of a twenty-something-years-old, Luna would still recognize him the moment they met again after he returned to Hogwarts as Harryjames.

Years later, Sal wondered if Luna had recognized him or if she had actually known he would come and therefore hadn't even needed to recognize him at all.

xXxXxXxXxXx

In the end, Sal would go and do what Pandora had advised him to do.

"Sal," Arcturus looked even older than the last time Sal had seen him. It was about three months after Sal's visit at Pandora's and they were meeting in a café in Diagon Alley. "I thought you might have fallen like the Prewett twins."

Sal shook his head and sighed.

"No," he said. "I was a bit preoccupied."

"Rescuing my grandson?" Arcturus immediately asked.

Sal inclined his head.

"How is he?" Arcturus wanted to know.

This time, Sal sighed.

"I'm surprised you came alone. I thought that at least Pollux would be there to hear my words as well," he said calmly.

"He's currently distracting his daughter, Regulus' mother," Arcturus said and when Sal raised a surprised eyebrow, he added. "Walburga is… difficult. Neither he nor I doubt that she'd immediately ask for her son to be returned to her if she knew."

"She'd kill him like that," Sal said, concerned. "He's healing, but I'm still looking after him and partly stabilizing him. The poison that caused his condition might have been neutralized, but that doesn't mean he's fully healed."

Arcturus grimaced.

"I guessed as much," he said with a sigh. "We also fear that she'll try and get Regulus back under her thumb if she knew he was still alive."

He shook his head.

"Pollux and I talked and we decided it would be best if she'd believed him dead," he told Sal calmly. "Pollux will ensure that the tapestry is changed so that no matter his condition, he will be shown as dead on it."

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"He wasn't shown as alive before?" he asked surprised.

Arcturus raised one of his shoulders.

"He was shown as dead in 1979," he explained. "After, Walburga has refused to enter that room. I guess that he might show up alive now, so Pollux will ensure that he won't."

"He showed up as dead?" Sal asked, surprised.

Arcturus snorted.

"Some kind of side effect to your wards or some such," he said amused. "It happened before. We learned to deal."

Sal blinked in surprise.

"Huh," he said thoughtfully. "Might have been the stasis one. If I manage to cast it, it's keeping people from dying even if they should have. It's not an eternal solution, but normally it's good for the short term."

He grimaced.

"Being too long in stasis is partly an issue with Regulus right now," he elaborated. "He's healing, but the stasis… well, I fear that he won't wake up from his coma thanks to that ward for at least another few years. It's kind of unpredictable thanks to the ward, no matter how far along he is with healing."

Arcturus nodded and closed his eyes.

"How high are the chances that he'll still die?" he asked carefully.

Sal looked thoughtfully out into the street.

"He's healing," he said slowly. "Now I'd say it's about a 40% chance that he'll still die. Ask me again in a year and I might be able to give you the all-clear. Until then… this is the best I can do. The longer he survives, the better his chances."

Arcturus nodded and then returned Sal's serious gaze.

"Thank you," he said.

Sal just inclined his head.

It wouldn't be the last time he saw the other man – just like he ended up seeing Pollux sometimes, but over the years, Arcturus would remove himself further and further from the wizarding world. In the end, after his try to get Sirius a trial failed, Sal would be the only one who was still allowed to come by and visit.

When Arcturus, a few years after Pollux, died in 1991, Sal would grieve deeply for the man.

But by then, Regulus would be awake again and Sal and Regulus would have developed a friendship.

xXxXxXxXxXx

In the end, Regulus would be stuck in a coma for six years after Sal pulled him out of stasis.

"Who are you?" was the first thing he asked when he saw Sal sitting at his bedside, watching him.

"My name is Salvazsahar," Sal replied calmly. "I pulled you out of that cave before you could die."

Regulus had frowned at that.

"How did you know I was there?" he asked confused.

Sal smiled amused.

"Let's leave it at 'unusual circumstances all around' for now," he said. "I had to put you in stasis for a while and you were in a coma even longer afterwards. Let's get you healthy before we do anything else."

For a moment, Regulus looked at him in confusion.

Then, something like remembrance showed in the younger Black's eyes.

"The locket!" he whispered. He reached out for Sal to grasp his sleeve. "I was in the cave because of the locket. It's… the Dark Lord made a Horcrux. The locket is a Horcrux! It's… I need to destroy it!"

"I know about the Horcruxes," Sal replied calmly and the younger Black visibly startled.

"Horcruxes?!" he repeated in obvious horror.

"Yes," Sal agreed with a sigh. "I know about them and what they are."

Regulus blinked.

"How?" he asked, confused.

"Let's just say that I established a link between our minds in the last war," Sal said calmly and when Regulus startled at those words, he elaborated. "The war ended for now. Voldemort's body was destroyed thanks to a ritual."

"He will return," Regulus pointed out. "As long as his Horcruxes are still out there…"

"Yes," Sal replied calmly. "He will return in summer 1995, until then, we have time to gather everything we need so that we can destroy them. I told you, I know what they are. Finding them won't be that hard like that."

Regulus blinked.

"Oh," he finally settled on saying. "So, you're going to help me find and destroy them?"

For a moment, Sal looked at him critically, then he sighed.

"We won't destroy them at first," he said calmly. "He's a wraith now. Maybe, he wouldn't notice if his oldest Horcrux was destroyed… maybe he wouldn't even notice if it was done to his oldest two… but after that, he will know if someone does something to them. I'm not willing to take the risk and destroy them just to have him make more after he returns. And he will return in 1995."

Regulus raised an eyebrow at that.

"Are you a seer?" he asked. "Or why do you know that?"

"Let's just say I lived through his resurrection already and keep it at that for now," Sal replied calmly. "We have time. I've already started looking for his Horcruxes and now that you're awake, after I help you recover, you will be able to help me."

It would take a lot of time, after, for Regulus to regain his abilities from before and more.

There was more than one angry grumble at Sal when Sal started training him.

Sal just shrugged it off, though.

"You want to fight a dark lord," Sal gestured at Reg's arm where the Dark Mark was. "If you want to fight and win, then your Hogwarts education is anything but enough."

"That doesn't mean I have to get better than even the Aurors!" Regulus argued back immediately.

Sal rolled his eyes at him but gestured for him to sit down.

"Alright," he said calmly. "Take a break – but give me your arm while you're resting."

"Whatever for?" Regulus wanted to know unhappily.

"The Dark Mark," Sal said. "I'll go and take a look at it. I haven't seen it up close until now, but I should be able to work out how it was done."

"Why do you want to know that?" Regulus asked with a frown, clearly a bit suspicious of Sal.

Sal snorted.

"Not to use it," he said amused. "I'm a healer. I'm pretty sure creating something like that would go against my oaths if I planned to use it."

"Then why?"

"You don't want to hear him call if he returns," Sal said with a sigh. "And you definitely don't want him to know that you're still alive to be called, do you?"

Regulus grimaced, but inclined his head.

So Sal reached out and started to poke the Dark Mark with his magic.

"It will take a while," he warned the younger man. "I'm only starting today. I can't tell you how long it will take me to unravel it, but it definitely won't be today nor tomorrow."

The answer was a sigh.

"I figured as much," Regulus agreed a bit unhappily.

Sal just hummed and painted a rune on the Mark to be able to take a closer look.

"You should also look in some other magics that could be useful for you," he said to Regulus while concentrating on the Mark. "Something like Animagus transformation or the like."

"Animagus transformation?" Regulus repeated in disbelief. "As far as I know, you aren't an animagus, Sal, so why do you suggest I learn it?"

Sal threw him an amused look.

"Unlike you, Reg," he countered amused. "I am more or less a pureblood. For me, a transformation like that is nearly impossible. Too much creature blood to be successful."

"As if I'm not a pureblood," Reg grumbled.

Sal snorted.

"Pureblood once meant creature-born, you know?" he said. "And that is what I meant to say as well."

Reg stared at the other man.

"Creature-born?" he asked.

Sal just shrugged.

"I'm the grandson of a phoenix and a basilisk," he said. "If I had been further down the line, just an Olde one instead of a Firbolg-born, or pureblood-born, I would have been able to use the animagus transformation just like you do. As it is, maybe I could learn it, but it would never feel natural to me. My blood is too magical to take a mundane form."

"Then why not a magical form?" Reg countered.

Sal just snorted.

"The spell isn't possible with a magical creature as the form you change into," he answered. "It was invented to stay hidden – something that a magical form wouldn't allow."

He shook his head.

"No," he said. "For me, it's impractical. For you, on the other hand, it might be the opposite. Now, will you learn?"

And Regulus agreed.

That didn't mean that he was happy when he turned and found out he was a fluffy, black cat.

Nothing frightening, nothing dangerous.

No, he was a cat.

Yes, Regulus was horrified… at least, until he found out how easy it was to blend in as a cat.

After, he agreed that Sal was right and the form was practical.

It took Sal nearly a year and a half to unravel the Dark Mark, but in the end, the only thing left was unblemished skin.

Regulus, the summer after, rolled up his sleeves, no matter how cold it was.

"Because I can," he had pointed out. "I'm not branded like cattle anymore."

Sal guessed, that was a good reason and didn't ask again.

xXxXxXxXxXx

A few years later, in 1992, they ended up discussing the plan they were establishing for Sal's return as Harryjames Potter. They had discussed it often, over the years, but this time around, Regulus had a specific question.

"Have you thought about trying to get the Wizengamot on your side?"

Sal hummed in agreement.

"I looked into the Slytherin line with Gringotts," he confessed with a shrug. "It's widespread enough that if I manage to get them to agree to return to Slytherin House, I should be able to make a stand in the Wizengamot without trying to use my last resort."

"Your last resort?" Regulus asked interestedly.

The throne.

But Sal just shook his head, not willing to elaborate.

"So… Slytherin House?" Reg asked instead.

"The Longbottoms are part of it," Sal said. "The Prewetts and therefore the Weasleys are. The British Branch of the Malfoys are connected to the Weasleys. The Greengrass and Zabini came from the House of Prince. And Prince is the House that was once Slytherin."

"Prince is gone," Reg pointed out.

"Severus Snape is the last of that House," Sal immediately replied.

"So that's what you've been doing at Gringotts over the years," Reg commented dryly.

Sal looked at him in amusement.

"That and a lot more," he agreed.

Reg hummed.

"I'm Heir Secundus of Black," he finally said. "I can ask for an alliance with another House to ensure that we will be part of Slytherin's side."

In the end, Regulus would decide to approach Longbottom for an alliance.

And while they didn't plan for it or even think about trying to include them, House Ollivander, allied with House Grim through the regency of Lovegood, would approach House Bones as well.

Not to mention that Neville and Augusta Longbottom decided to call back House McGonagall into the Wizengamot.

It was the alliance of those Houses that would under the banner of Slytherin take over after the first Wizengamot meeting in January 1996 – but when Sal and Reg planned, those things were still a long time in coming.

xXxXxXxXxXx

When, finally, in 1994 the whole Triwizard Tournament started and with it the articles about 'Harry Potter', Regulus was the one who decided to mention them.

"Why don't you stop them?" he asked with a frown. "You have controlling shares in the Prophet. You could stop it all."

Sal hummed in agreement.

"I could," he said. "But that would mean to show my hand early and I can't have that. Not now, not when Voldemort will return in a few months and certainly not when the whole wizarding world is looking at the Triwizard Tournament."

Regulus frowned.

"So… you bought the shares and won't do anything with them?" he asked.

"Not at first," Sal agreed with a sigh.

"You have planned something," Reg immediately concluded. After years with Sal, he knew how the other man thought.

"I do," Sal said calmly. "I need the newspaper to make a wake-up call. I need people to start questioning the status quo, but I can't start doing that until after Voldemort has returned. At the moment, the Ministry is quiet, but I doubt it will stay that way after."

"So… how do you plan to do that?" Regulus asked.

In the end, it was Regulus and Sal together who built up 'Oliver Twist' and decided on some of the articles he would write. Of course, having the opening article about 'Harry Potter's trial' hadn't been the plan – but some things were simply too good to pass upon… and the fact that Xenophilius without his knowledge, decided to help them out without Sal having to go to the Daily Prophet and pressuring them into complying, was a boon as well.

Some plans just needed to be a bit more flexible – something that Dolores Umbridge's try to take over Hogwarts showed as well…

xXxXxXxXxXx

When they reached the summer of 1995, Sal felt as if the time had flown by.

"Tomorrow," he said slowly. "Tomorrow, everything will really start."

It was a terrifying thought.

"Are you alright?" Fawarx was standing next to him, looking out in the night just like Sal.

"I guess Regulus is asleep if you're here," Sal said calmly.

"Sleeping like a fledgling," Fawarx agreed calmly.

He looked even worse than the last time Sal had seen him.

There was no patch of skin that wasn't covered in feathers anymore.

"Are you alright, Grandfather?" Sal countered the question with one of his own.

The phoenix sighed.

"No," he said and searched the sky. "I won't be long of this world."

He turned to look at Sal with tired eyes.

"I can hear the fire calling," the phoenix confessed. "Soon, it will be time for my last flame."

"How soon?" Sal wanted to know, he felt resigned and a bit afraid at that confession.

His grandfather reached for him and tucked him close.

"Maybe a few months," he said. "Maybe a year or two. I can't tell – but I promise to hold on until after you're done with removing that dark lord and the Headmaster of Hogwarts. After… I'm not going to promise anything but that I will tell you when I go."

Sal grimaced.

"I'm not looking forward to it," he said with a sigh.

"Death is a part of Life, Egg of my Egg," Fawarx said calmly. "And now, tell me, are you alright?"

Sal hesitated.

"I'm… not sure," he finally confessed. "I mean… I'm basically killing the boy-who-once-was-me just so that I can usurp his place."

"Is that how you feel?" Fawarx asked, concerned.

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

"I feel like I'm planning to sacrifice an innocent child for my plans," he hesitated. "I'm not sure if that makes me better than Dumbledore."

Fawarx ruffled Sal's hair.

"You're seeing it wrong," he countered calmly. "You're not sacrificing the child. You're giving him a life."

"A life full of loss and pain," Sal countered. "He will suffer. Years and decades and centuries! He will suffer! I sacrifice him, I ensure that he has to suffer, to die – die and die and die just so that I can take his place!"

"It's your place," Fawarx countered. "Tomorrow, it won't be his any longer, it will be yours."

"If I don't–!"

"If you don't call him back to the past… what then?" Fawarx countered. "He will live here, always following the path laid out to him, never free to decide and maybe, never free to grow. He's you! Don't you think he shouldn't have the same chance you had? Don't you think he shouldn't be allowed to know what it's like to have parents, to have children, to learn and grow? Don't you think he doesn't have the right to face his challenges and overcome them?"

Sal sighed.

"No," he confessed. "You're right. But that doesn't mean that I don't condemn him. He's my sacrifice. I know… I remember my own fear back then… and now I will be the one who will inflict this fear on somebody else!"

"Are you saying, you saw your older self as cruel?" Fawarx asked him calmly.

Sal hesitated.

"No," he finally said slowly. "Just… truthful in a way that I couldn't understand back then."

He hesitated.

"But… I wouldn't be able to lie to the child," he said with a sigh. "The world I'm sending him to will kill the child in him and will force him to bow to death more than once. The world I will be sending him to is a cruel, unforgiving one."

"And while you might have been forced to sacrifice your innocence and in the end your childhood in this time as well, that doesn't mean that you didn't find good things there," Fawarx pointed out and carded his hand through Sal's hair. "It's our experiences that make us who we are. Do you want to take those experiences from him just because forcing him to go means that he will be your sacrifice for a better future… and his sacrifice will be a childhood that wasn't one and friends that might not be lost?"

For a moment, Sal was silent.

Then he sighed.

"I'm going to grieve him nevertheless," he said, giving in to his grandfather's words. "I know it has to be done, but that doesn't mean I will ever like it. He, for all that he's me, is still a child – and when I'm done, he will be a child lost. That should be grieved – because unless it is me, nobody will."

"If that's how you feel, then I'm willing to grieve with you for him," his grandfather said softly.

And with those words, Sal would end up keeping solemn vigil for the rest of the night. After a few minutes, his grandfather would change back into his phoenix form, but would stay with him nevertheless.

xXxXxXxXxXx

"Are you ready?" Regulus asked, his face cautious and alert.

It was the third of August in 1995 – the day Harry James Potter would be attacked by the Dementors and vanish into time.

Sal stood next to him, watching the two dementors approaching.

His heart felt heavy, but he pushed through that feeling.

This wasn't the time to grieve.

"As ready as I can ever be," he said, distracting himself from the sacrifice he was about to commit for the future by reminding himself that even he wouldn't come out of that encounter unscathed. His green eyes were watching the street, his gaze never leaving the two boys who would be attacked in a few seconds.

He sighed.

"I'm going to hate those first few hours," he said.

"You expect some unreasonable behaviour thanks to the wards from you?" Reg asked.

Sal shrugged.

"It's likely," he said. "The wards are there to keep out the dark – and I am anything but light and yet, the moment Harryjames is gone, I will be the one who the wards are going to latch on to protect. It will take a while to adjust. I have no idea how I will react until then."

Regulus inclined his head.

"We will see how it'll turn out then," he said.

Sal sent him a short smile at that.

He took a deep breath.

One last thing before the finishing line would begin.

One last sacrifice for a better future.

And with those thoughts, he stepped forwards.

The boys had fallen to the floor, the Dementors had come for them.

"Time to start," Sal said and pulled up his hood. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

And when the Dementors fled from the phoenix that was Sal's Patronus, Sal stepped up to the fallen figure of the boy he had once been.

He looked at the boy and couldn't see himself in the child at all.

Green eyes met green eyes.

Regret and sorrow filled Sal's heart.

Sal drew his runes in the air.

He felt them charging with magic when the spell took effect.

He bowed down towards the fallen boy.

His own eyes met the boy's.

A boy, just a child, innocent and so foreign and strange to Sal.

There was no recognition in the boy's eyes and no matter how much Sal searched, he couldn't see himself in the fearful gaze that looked up to him.

He looked at the child, but all he saw was a stranger and a boy.

He couldn't find himself in those eyes.

And it hurt. It hurt so much because he knew what that meant.

He wasn't that boy anymore.

And he would never be that boy again – not as long as he remembered everything that had been.

Not as long as he was Salvazsahar Emrys, son of Myrddin Emrys.

The boy would die tonight.

He would be a lost child, unmourned by those who should mourn him.

And it hurt; it hurt so much.

One last sacrifice before Sal could change the future to a better one.

And yet, he couldn't sacrifice the child without at least warning him what would happen to him… what he would have to experience until he was as jaded and grown as Sal was now. It was the last, Sal could do.

"Bow to death, Harry," he told the boy softly, a last advice to the child to tell him to accept what would happen to him over the centuries – an advice not understood and yet still given. "It will be painless. I know, I have been there. Bow to death and move on!"

He gently cupped the boy's head with one hand; the fingers of the other hand drew runes on Harryjames' forehead and scar.

A sacrifice.

The death of a child - even if it was just figuratively and not literally.

It hurt nevertheless.

"Sleep well, precious child. May you never live again."

This was the end.

From now on, the only one left would be Salvazsahar Emrys.

This child, this stranger, would never return.

Light lit up all around the boy. When the boy's scraps added blood to the runes Sal had drawn in the air and on the ground, they lit up.

The boy's body followed.

And then, Sal's phoenix Patronus returned and Sal removed his hands from the child and stepped back.

The phoenix charged.

And with a burst of light, boy and phoenix vanished through time.

Sal's journey through time had finished.

It was done.

Sal was back where he belonged – and mercy on those who would try and stop him.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Older English:

cumber-ground - someone who is so useless, they just serve to take up space.

xXx

This was the last chapter in the past.

I have to admit, I was never sure how this final chapter in the past would end up looking. I knew that there were some things I wanted to show, but I was never sure how much I would end up showing. I hope you're not disappointed.

ALSO: Maybe you want to check out my other stories, like Why To Sort A Student Is A Horrible Job and Red Room? (CAS (Claude Amelia Song) insert voice. I deeply recommend Why To Sort. It's absolutely special. Insert voice-over.) There are also two corresponding fics to Basilisk-Born: Erised and A Phoenix's Lament. (I'm very proud of making this one happen, Cas voice again.)

Anyway, please, all of you, stay healthy!

Hope you liked the chapter (even if it isn't the next Wizengamot-one – I know, I'm a terrible tease; I've been told that before).

'Til next time.

Ebenbild

xXx

OMAKE prompted by DebaterMax:

Ragnok was walking up and down the room. He was nervous.

It had been years since he had seen the man he was about to meet again and the last time it had been… frightening.

He remembered it as if it had happened yesterday.

The Healer, the man who everybody had admired, standing in front of a fallen opponent after the goblin warrior had gone and challenged him.

And now, after all those years, Ragnok would see the Healer again.

In that moment, Morganaadth stepped through the door, bowing shallowly the moment he entered in the way of a clan-leader who wasn't part of the goblin nation.

"Ragnok-Chieftain," he greeted Ragnok.

Cool green eyes made Ragnok sweat, but he was a goblin - and goblin's didn't show their nerves.

Ragnok returned the bow with an inclination of his head.

"Morganaadth," he greeted the man. "It is good to see you again."

The man hesitated.

"Again?" he inquired, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully at the goblin in front of him.

Ragnok wondered if he had been forgotten by the Healer. It had been a while, after all.

Then Morganaadth's eyes lit up in recognition.

Ragnok's heart sank.

"Oh!" the Healer exclaimed. "You're Ragnok, son of Rugnak! The little goblin who went and fainted when I tried to speak to him the last time we saw each other!"

Ragnok's ears twitched in embarrassment.

He had hoped the other one wouldn't remember.

It seemed his hope had been for naught.

At least…

"Weren't you also the one who told me that a Healer couldn't fight?" Morganaadth mused.

Ragnok groaned. It seemed like his juvenile sins were not forgotten and even if no other goblin remembered there was still someone who did…

And suddenly, Ragnok wondered if it had been such a good idea to ask Morganaadth to see him.

Sadly, that realisation came too late.