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!

71. Chapter 70: Death and Balance

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: I have to say, I found new inspiration for possible future and current, still updating stories thanks to a reviewin the previous chapter:

How to Cliffhanger (by fireinmyeier):

Step 1: Write a brilliant chapter where the MC has to answer an Important question to "god" himself and the audience.

Step 2: Have the MC start to answer in a most dramatic fashion and end the chapter

Step 3: release the long awaited update with the answer to all our questions and... jump back in time and ignore the question for another chapter!

That said, I'm sad to say I won't be able to follow that brilliant advice. T.T

(ClaudeAmelia Song commenting: for this story and I cannot believe you've done this. Wait, I actually can, I don't know what I was thinking)

Instead, I have to tell you all that this is the final chapter before the epilogue and that I hope I managed to add everything in the past that I will need to finish the story without loose threads... *sweatdrops*

DebaterMax here: As an avid fan of BB turned beta-reader and as we approach the end of this amazing fic may I say 2 things: This has been an amazing journey (even if I wasn't a beta for anywhere close to most of it. And secondly may everyone tip a hat to Ebenbild. They have done a phenomenal job seeing this through!

Also, I'm really glad the omake was appreciated.

:) Claude Amelia Song here: I couldn't agree more with DebaterMax. This story, this journey, it cannot be said in words how much it means. I owe my entire fanfiction career to it and the person behind it. Eben, you did such an amazing job with it. I've cried, I've been left with a shocked face, I have laughed and jumped up and down reading this story. I have been with this story since its first year of it being born and to see it become what it is now, it's been a true honour. This author could write anything and make it fantastic, even the worst Severus Snape, and I'd read it. I bow to you and your talent. I cannot wait for everyone to see the epilogue, which indeed, I think it ties all the loose threads. (No more *sweat drops* for you)

xXx

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

Anyway, on to the chapter…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

DEATH AND BALANCE

sSs

When Hogwarts lit up around him, Death looked at Sal with grave eyes.

"So… this is your choice?" he asked, but Sal somehow got the feeling that his godfather wasn't upset at all.

Sal returned his gaze calmly.

They were both more shadow in the light than people, but they could see each other.

"It's my decision," Sal pointed out. "You never said that I had to follow the choices you gave me."

The answer was a smile.

"I would have been disappointed if you did," Death said. "If you had followed them, you would have shown that I was wrong and that you didn't have the aptitude to be my Balance at all."

Sal frowned.

"That's the reason, isn't it?" he asked. "You need someone who can counter you. Someone willing to go their own path."

Death inclined his head, his form turning more and more whisp-like with every word spoken.

"Death is nothing without life," he said. "Just like life is nothing without death. I need a Balance, someone who is willing to give me my due, and yet also willing to step in and tell me 'no'."

"You need someone who is as strong as you," Sal said.

"That's what being my Balance is all about," Death answered calmly.

"You worked both parts once," Sal countered.

"Of course," Death agreed. "But once, I was also just Balance, just like how I'm now just Death."

Sal nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes.

Then, he turned away, to walk out of Hogwarts – which vanished all around him – and back to where he came from.

He hadn't yet reached the doors when he stopped again and turned back to Death.

"Ollivanneder…," he said slowly. "That prophecy... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…"

He hesitated for a moment, but when Death nodded encouragingly, he sighed and continued.

"It was valid, wasn't it?" he asked. "I needed to die to fulfil it."

"Yes," Death agreed, and his serious eyes met Sal's own. "No matter what you decided, for the prophecy alone, you would have always been forced to die to ensure that it was fulfilled."

"But it wasn't just for this, was it?"

"No," his godfather agreed.

"I needed to die to come here. I needed to die to decide one last time," Sal concluded.

"Yes," Death agreed. "Just like you died when you decided to step on this path the first time."

Sal raised an eyebrow at him and Death smiled.

"When you were a year old and survived what killed everyone else," he said. "It might have been your mother who gave you the ability to choose, but the choice was still yours."

Sal nodded thoughtfully.

"You knew what I would end up deciding," he concluded.

Death shook his head.

"No," he said calmly. "I have no jurisdiction over you. I didn't know – the only thing I could do was sincerely hope."

Sal looked at him in surprise and Death smiled wryly.

"This is what being the Balance is all about, Salvazsahar," he pointed out. "Death can't have any power over his Balance – because if he had, how could it be a balance?"

Understanding lit Sal's face.

"Oh," he said before he hesitated. "So, you wouldn't have been just disappointed if I chose one of the options. It wouldn't have been just me not having the aptitude, would it? If I had chosen one of the options you told me about, I would–?"

"You wouldn't have been happy," Death replied calmly. "After all, how can you balance me if you follow my demands? And you wouldn't have been my balance, because you can't balance when you bow to the very thing you balance."

Sal's lips twitched.

"Bow to death," he said, his mind wandering back to all those months ago when he had told Harry to do just that.

Death looked as amused as Sal.

"When have you ever bowed to me?" he countered. "You fought me, you accepted me – but you never bowed to me."

"I gave up once," Sal countered. "I tried to kill myself."

His eyes were shadowed from the memories from that time.

Death just shook his head.

"A single moment of weakness," he said. "After centuries of fighting. You had a right to falter. The important thing wasn't that you faltered but that you returned to fighting afterwards and continued to fight from then on out."

"And yet, I'm tired," Sal pointed out.

"Did that matter when it came to your decision?" His godfather's form flickered like a dying flame.

"No," Sal agreed.

He couldn't help but smile sadly at the nearly vanished form of his godfather.

"No," his godfather continued calmly. "But then, you have never been one to choose the easy way, have you?"

"No," Sal agreed softly. "I've always tried to choose the right way for myself – even if that meant fighting you."

"Fighting and accepting me," Death corrected him calmly, and Sal had to agree.

"Yes," he said before he hesitated. "So now, after I chose–?"

"There is nothing that binds you anymore, Salvazsahar," Death said. "You are free – or as free as you agreed to be."

Sal nodded.

"Thank you, Ollivanneder," he said.

Death raised an eyebrow, so Sal elaborated.

"Thank you for giving me time to grow into my own," he said. "Thank you for caring enough about me to give me a choice."

The answer was a small, sad smile in Death's eyes.

"You're my godson, Salvazsahar," he said while his whisp-like form vanished. "And no matter how ruthless I was in our past interactions, I still love you."

Sal returned the smile, just as sad.

"I know," he said, and with that, he stepped out of the doors of Hogwarts.

Everything disappeared around him, vanished into white nothingness and his eyes fell shut.

XxxXxXxXxXx

Amelia Bones had been fighting one of those Wizengamot members who had sided with Voldemort when she saw Emrys-LeFay being thrown backwards and onto the throne.

She gasped, barely managing to dodge in time when a spell sailed at her.

She knew touching the throne was deadly.

People who had believed they could take over as the new ruler of Britain had tried before – and all of them had died in excruciating agony.

She had never seen it, but she certainly didn't expect the white flames that suddenly erupted from the throne and enveloped Emrys-LeFay.

After, she was distracted from the happenings by her opponent.

She dodged spells, countered, and shot spells back.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," the voice, sounding like a chorus of voices and sizzling like flames, ripped her out of her concentration.

But this time around, she wasn't the only one.

For a moment, the fighting ceased.

Emrys-LeFay was burning – his body enveloped in white flames, and yet, he was the one speaking.

"You are judged guilty for your crimes."

Amelia felt herself shudder while she watched the judgement of a man, she and so many had feared for so long.

When the Dark Lord went up in flames the same as Emrys-LeFay, when the flames retreated and left nothing behind of the former dark lord and a still burning Emrys-LeFay, pandemonium broke out.

The Dark Lord was dead.

Voldemort was dead – gone for real.

With Emrys-LeFay being judge and jury at the same time.

Surprisingly, a few Death Eaters turned and tried to flee, but most of them turned on their opponents in a desperate attempt to win even if they had most likely already lost their leader.

Somewhere in the crowd, Amelia could hear Bellatrix howling.

Amelia knew she had seen the woman flying just a few minutes ago and she had guessed that the witch had either been unconscious or dead after – it seemed as if she had been unconscious until this moment.

Then a part of the crowd parted and for a second, Amelia could actually see her when some people around her fell to her wand – either dead or seriously wounded.

For a moment, it looked like she was winning against her opponents – at least, until someone jumped her from the shadows.

She would be later found in the corner of the room, with her throat slit.

Then, Amelia was again distracted by the man she had been fighting before when he also tried to curse her again.

She dodged and the fight resumed.

At least it did until suddenly the Chamber shook.

One moment, Amelia was still dodging and cursing, the next, the wards of the Chamber came down on them all, incapacitating them all.

"ENOUGH!"

White flames erupted all around them, blazing sky-high.

Something inside Amelia quivered and sang.

The order echoed through her and she simply couldn't not obey.

Her eyes snapped towards the throne – just like every other pair of eyes in the Chamber did.

Amelia had never felt that feeling before in her life, but she had watched her colleagues from the Netherlands react that way when their king had spoken up.

Amelia had always envied them for having a king.

A king, a master of the land, was a stabilizing force for the country in a way that Amelia had dearly wished for.

She had never expected her wish to be granted.

And yet, when she looked at the throne, she knew instinctively that Britain had a King once more.

On the throne sat an alive Emrys-LeFay; his eyes were trained on all of them.

XxxXxXxXxXx

The first breath that Sal took, hurt.

Everything hurt.

He could feel the magic of the land surrounding him.

The magic was running rampant all around him, untamed and wild.

Sal didn't know what he expected when he woke up again, but he knew that the wards around him were still dangerous.

They were untamed and destructive.

He reached for them with magic and mind.

They were wild; they were dangerous, but they were also reaching back.

They had tangled with the broken ritual within him and Sal couldn't make heads or tails out of them, nevertheless see where one ended and the other began.

It was frightening.

Nevertheless, when he reached for them, they reached back.

It was overwhelming, like trying to hold too much water in his cupped hands.

They spilled from his grip left and right – and no matter what he tried, he was unable to control them, nor able to reign them in.

And then they crashed together over his head and he lost even the tiny grip he had managed on them.

It felt like drowning.

It felt like dying all over again.

He could feel them reaching inside him before reaching out to the land.

They were judging his claim.

He was Arthur Pendragon's son, but being the Prince wasn't enough to reign.

People needed to accept him.

People needed to believe in him.

While people had once believed in him as Harry Potter, a lot of that was based on myth and not on his personality.

And being the Heir of the throne had never been enough.

"You can't take the crown without the approval of the people," Sal had once said to the Elder Dragon Hohenheim. "The king's power is based on the belief of the people. If they don't believe and respect him, then his power is nearly non-existent. If they do – then others shouldn't even dare to think about crossing them."

And maybe, that would have once been enough to stop him from ruling.

Being believed in as Harry Potter wouldn't have been enough.

But for the magical world, he wasn't just Harry Potter.

For some of them, he was Lord Slytherin, yes.

For some of them, he was Sal Sanctuary, yes.

But, for the majority of the people, he ended up being known and trusted as somebody else.

For them, he was Oliver Twist, the writer who had dared to tell them the truth over the last few months.

He was known to people like that, not a stranger, but a familiar voice, calling out the truth when nobody else dared to.

And people had believed his words.

People had believed the evidence he presented.

People had believed in him.

And, together with everything else, that was enough.

The wards swamped him, trying to anchor themselves in Sal when they found what they were looking for in the land.

He was the heir of Pendragon.

He was known and believed by the people.

And he was willing to defend them and die for them.

He could feel the wards when they tried to connect, but the broken ritual was still tangled all around them.

He reached for them, tried to free them so that they could actually try and connect in the right way, but he still couldn't grasp them.

Then, something burning hot touched his already burning wrist.

His eyes flew open.

There was a pellucid hand touching his white burning wrist.

He looked up and was surprised to see someone kneeling in front of him.

Brown eyes met green.

It took a moment before Sal recognized the other man… no, the ghost because that was what the other man was.

His form was see-through and surrounded by a silvery sheen.

The white fire, still burning all around them, was burning in the spectre as well.

Sal looked at the man in shock.

"Father," he said and the Once and Future King kneeling at his feet smiled at him.

"Hello, son," he greeted him softly.

"What are you doing here, Father?" Sal asked and sat up from the way his body had slumped down when he died.

White flames were licking on him and Arthur seemed to be filled by them, basically burning from inside.

"Watching over you," Arthur said. "I got permission to help you out for a bit."

Sal blinked and then Arthur grabbed his other hand as well.

And suddenly, the whole Chamber seemed to light up with power.

"The magic of the land," Arthur said calmly. "We need to tame it."

Sal nodded in agreement and closed his eyes, overly aware of Arthur's burning hot grip on his wrists.

He didn't even have to look for the wards on the throne that bound the throne to the land. They were there, seemingly just waiting for him.

They were untamed and destructive.

He reached for them with magic and mind.

They were wild; they were dangerous, but they were also reaching back.

They had tangled so much with the broken ritual within him and Sal doubted that he would ever be able to untangle them again.

"Hmm," the ghost of his father said. "There's nothing we can do about it. Not with you being without an heir like you are."

Sal's eyes snapped open again to look at the ghost.

Arthur just smiled.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "We can smooth it out, basically change it into the claim you have on the throne instead of keeping it the mess it is."

"I didn't do the ritual to claim the crown," Sal pointed out, white flames licking at his lips when he spoke.

"I know," his father agreed. "But the wards and your ritual… it's a mess, but it circumvents the claim. You are already bound to the throne – we just have to smooth out the connection before everything falls to pieces."

Sal shuddered.

"That's not a reassuring thing to say, Father," he said while picturing the destruction that would follow if he didn't manage it.

"It wasn't meant to be, son," Arthur answered. "Don't worry, I have faith in you. You are the Crown Prince. I trained you and I am there to help you right now. We will manage."

And with those words, Sal could feel an experienced mental hand reaching out towards him to show him how.

Sal was a master warder.

Sal was over a millennia old – but having Arthur at his side who knew the wards of the throne inside out was helpful nevertheless.

Unlike Arthur, Sal had never been king, after all.

He reached back to Arthur and together, they started to straighten out the mess of wards and ritual which were all tangled up.

In the beginning, it felt as if he was standing against the tide of a storm-blown sea.

But unlike so often, he didn't stand there alone.

Next to him, Arthur stood with his sleeves up and ready to lend a hand.

The fight was still nearly impossible to win and more than once, Sal felt as if he was drowning instead of winning.

But whenever that happened, Arthur's experienced hand found a way to drag Sal back out of the sea by circumventing and using the wards of the throne in a way only someone with experience in those particular wards could do.

And the longer it took, the more Sal managed to find those loop-holes by himself.

Instead of drowning, he learned to walk the sea.

And then, something changed within him.

The white flames bound to him – now representing his magic tangled with the wards on the throne – subsided.

Something settled inside of Sal, and for a short moment, his eyes lit up in white with the power of the land cursing through him.

The moment it happened, Sal wanted to weep.

He had never wanted the throne.

He had never wanted to rule again.

He was a healer, a guardian – but he had never felt like a king.

His eyes opened and there was Arthur, understanding in his eyes.

"It will be alright, my son," Arthur said and stood up.

He leaned forward, kissed Sal on the forehead, and then bowed to him – from one king to another.

"You were born for this, my son," Arthur said while smiling softly. "And I know, you will be a great king. You trained for it all of your life, after all."

And with that, he vanished into nothingness.

A single tear slipped down Sal's cheek.

No, he had never wanted to be king.

But then his eyes fell on the people all around him, and he knew that no matter what he wanted, this was what he needed to be – at least for now.

All around him, people were still fighting… or maybe they were fighting again.

Sal had no idea how long he had been unconsc... dead, how long he had been dead.

When his eyes took in the Chamber all around him, he could see his people fighting.

Those that had followed Voldemort against those that hadn't.

His hands came to rest on the armrests of the throne.

The white flames that had still been dancing all around him, ceased to exist.

It was only then that he noticed that he held a wand in his hand and had a ring on his other.

The wand wasn't the one he had been using before.

It was the Elder wand.

The ring was adorned by a black stone.

And his hands shimmered with the pearlescent cloth of the Invisibility Cloak.

The Deathly Hallows, united by their Master.

Sal closed his eyes for a second and decided to think about it later.

It had been his decision – and now he would have to live with it.

It wasn't yet the time to panic.

There were people he had to stop from fighting first.

His thoughts turned to the fastest way to do so, when the wards of the hall reacted to him, bowed to his presence, and handed over their control to them.

"This is something I'll have to get used to," Sal murmured to himself.

He faced the hall.

This was his kingdom.

And he would be damned if he would allow his people to fight like that!

"ENOUGH!"

And with his demand, the white flames of his royal magic erupted all around the hall. They blazed sky-high.

Throughout the Chamber, the people froze, their faces turning towards him.

His gaze met theirs.

He could see the comprehension dawning in most of the faces.

Some of Voldemort's followers let go of their wands which clattered on the floor.

Some of them sunk to their knees, their faces pale.

Others tried to avert their gazes, not daring to look at him.

"Enough," he repeated calmer. "It ends here. We had enough war in the past; this battle won't turn into one this time around."

He saw Fudge emerge behind some chairs he had been hiding behind.

The man returned Sal's gaze and puffed up, but Sal was having none of it.

With a single, stern gaze, Fudge closed his mouth before he could utter a single word.

Sal looked around the room.

He saw his allies.

He saw those of Voldemort's people who still looked defiant.

He saw his son who was crouching over a dead Bellatrix No-Name and who was staring at Sal with sheer happiness crossed with a bit of disbelieving joy on his face.

And he saw Dumbledore who was looking into empty space, not moving at all.

Sal raised an eyebrow at his son who ducked his head for a moment before he flashed Sal his teeth.

Sal decided he didn't need to know what Ana had done to Dumbledore right then and instead turned towards the rest of the crowd.

He leaned forward in his throne.

"I think," he said slowly. "It's time that the magical world will remember their roots."

And with those words, his eyes flashed and they showed white flames burning in their depths.

People stared, and Sal could feel every one of them.

He could feel the wards, could tighten them around those who had worked with Voldemort.

It was a power like one he had never felt before.

He had had wards before that showed him the condition of the people under it, but not one of them gave him such power; it was almost absolute; it neared intoxicating.

It was awe-inspiring.

It was mind-blowing.

It was downright creepy.

He stood up.

"Enough," he repeated, his eyes trained on Death Eaters and other Wizengamot members alike.

One of the Death Eater's faces turned to defiance and he raised his wand, clearly intending to curse Sal.

A single thought.

A flick of his fingers.

And the man fell to the wards surrounding the Chamber and throne.

The next moment, Sal's mind had latched onto a feeling of malice from more than one other in the room.

It was as if they were little specks of red lights to his vision, telling him that they were threats to his kingdom, threats to his people.

Sal was a healer.

But he was a guardian as well – and he wasn't willing to let people walk free that the wards of the Chamber had picked out as a threat.

So, he acted before one of them could regain their composure.

Like the first, they fell to the floor like their strings had been cut, restrained by the wards that had twisted at Sal's command.

No, Sal definitely wasn't taking any chances – not if that meant a possible life more lost today.

Some others recoiled and some looked at him in awe.

Then, Moody stepped forward and bowed.

"Your Majesty," he said, his single eye showing an adoration and hope that Sal couldn't remember seeing in someone else's eyes while looking at him for at least the last ten years.

It was like being leader of the Resistance, just… more.

Sal cringed at the address and the look Moody adorned him with.

He had never wanted to be king.

He had never wanted anybody to call him king.

And he definitely hadn't wanted anyone to look at him as if he was the most precious thing you could ever possess.

Yet, here he was and got all three, and the only thing he could do was deal with it.

"Alastor Moody," Sal returned the greeting, while he internally scrambled to remember lessons that he had learned more than a few lifetimes ago at Arthur's Court.

"Your Majesty," Moody said. "What do you wish us to do?"

The question contained so much.

Lead us, it told Sal.

You're ours, our king, it said.

I will follow, it declared.

And Sal hated it, and yet…

Sal was KING.

He was what the British wizarding world had hoped for, for millennia.

He was what people had sworn to, were still swearing themselves to.

He was their hope – and as much as he hated it, he wasn't willing to break their hope after being revealed.

He had been fine as long as nobody had known what he was to them, but stepping back now after he had been accepted as the king by the land… that was something that Sal wasn't cruel enough to do.

Sal closed his eyes for a second at Moody's question and the bitter revelation he had thanks to it.

What did he wish them to do?

As far as questions went, it was a valid one, yet not one he had ever wanted to be directed at him in the capacity he had right now.

In the end, he straightened his shoulders and forced himself to do what was necessary.

He could think about everything else later, here and now, just a few things mattered.

"Call the Aurors and healers," he said calmly, one of his hands already weaving his customary healing-wards to stabilize the wounded. "Detain those who were fighting on Voldemort's side."

His gaze turned to look at the place where Voldemort had once stood.

There was nothing left.

It was just like how something within him told him Voldemort was nowhere on the Isles.

Told him that Voldemort was nowhere in his realm.

And wasn't that a scary thought that Sal simply didn't want to think right now?

He dismissed the thought and instead decided that being a healer was needed now.

A healer and a guardian for those that were currently stopped from acting against him and the rest of the Wizengamot members by the wards of the Chamber under Sal's command.

Soon, Sal was looking over the wounded alongside Lucius and Severus at his side waiting for his command to tell them where to begin.

He readily gave it.

This was an area he had multiple millennia of experience doing.

Amelia Bones on the other hand looked at Sal first, her eyes calm and severe.

"Are we detaining everyone who fought against us right now, Your Majesty?" she wanted to know and then looked around the room which was littered with lying followers of Voldemort who were held down with the wards of the Chamber.

"Everyone who is currently restrained by the wards," Sal told her calmly.

"What do you want to happen to them?" she asked him with a frown.

"Search them and put them into the cells to detain them," he told her calmly. "They will be given a trial later, but we don't have the time nor all of the evidence against them right now."

Amelia inclined her head and then looked at Moody.

Moody nodded at her and then took a look around the room before he sent a Patronus to alert the on-duty Aurors. He then conjured ropes to bind the first of the detained wizards near him.

Other Wizengamot members stepped up and started to treat their injured colleagues.

It took another five minutes before the first Aurors reached the Chamber, and another five before the first healers from St. Mungo's arrived.

Sal could feel them approach long before they were even near them.

It was a disconcerting feeling.

It was even weirder that he knew that his people in Hogwarts and Hogsmeade were safe.

"This is going to take a while to get used to," he said to himself before he knelt next to one of the fallen members who was barely breathing.

A Wizengamot member near him squeaked and nearly threw himself to the floor to ensure he wasn't higher than Sal.

Sal sighed and pinched his nose.

Of course, at least some Wizengamot members knew how to act towards a King – even if most of them had only ever seen people of other countries interacting with their kings.

And of course, there was also the part that Sal's new position added an instinctual factor to the whole interacting with Sal bit.

Sal didn't know which of those two was the reason for the Wizengamot member's behaviour right now, but no matter what, he despised it.

Ana, on the other hand, snickered somewhere to his left, but he seemed to know that Sal wouldn't take his approach well until the wounded were attended to.

"I don't care for formality," he said aloud before some other Wizengamot members could follow the example of the first one. "At least not at this moment."

"Thank Merlin," Augusta said. "I doubt I would have been able to get up again if I had to lower myself that deeply."

Sal threw her an amused look.

The formidable woman had taken it upon herself to help and delegate the healers to the most critically wounded.

Sal decided that she was doing an admirable task and refrained from taking back over, instead he used his time to stabilize the more critically wounded.

And more.

He stepped up to one of the dead, and he could see his godfather, Death, linger next to them.

There was a silent nod, which Sal returned before he reached out to the man in the same gesture, Sal had always reached out to those critically wounded.

But instead of trying to bind them to him, trying to return them to the living like he normally tried to stop them from slipping fully beyond the Veil, he just ensured with a touch that they were gone and safe in the beyond.

There was no reason to fight Death for the dead.

Everyone had to die sometime, after all.

And with a last look at the vanishing form of his godfather, he closed the dead man's eyes and then moved on to the next critically wounded.

Like that, he would work until everyone was taken care of. It would be when they either were dead or in the hands of other healers.

XxxXxXxXxXx

After Sal had ensured that the rest of the most critically wounded were all treated by other healers, he turned to Amelia Bones who had been waiting at his side.

"Your Highness," she greeted him, and he cringed internally at the name she had given him. "The Death Eaters have been taken into custody… but… if I may… how?"

"How what, Madam Bones?" he asked her, while forcefully keeping his voice calm.

"I thought you were Harry Potter," she said, her voice barely a whisper when she confessed. "And–"

She stopped and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," she said. "I shouldn't ask."

"Don't worry about it, Amelia," another voice spoke up and Ollivander stepped up next to her, his eyes scrutinizing Sal. "I'm pretty sure His Majesty won't mind answering how he can be Harry Potter while also being Sal Sanctuary."

"I was actually more asking how he could be King," Amelia murmured more to herself.

Sal sighed.

"I travelled through time," he said. "It's complicated."

He looked at both of them.

"There was a lot that happened in the past – a lot that changed me," he nodded towards Ollivander. "It made me fight against Grindelwald." Then he nodded towards Amelia. "And it made me Arthur Pendragon's firstborn son."

He saw their eyes widen at that and turned his gaze towards Ollivander.

"I trust you, old friend," he said. "So, I trust those you ally with as well." Then his eyes narrowed at both of them. "Don't tell anybody else. It's not something that people will need to know or should."

Amelia frowned.

"But… you are King, Your Highness!" she countered. "People will need a name to call you and your birth name…"

"Is Salvazsahar," Sal said calmly. "And that's the name I will keep. I know that people have called me Harry for the last fourteen years – but that has never been my name. My mother named me Harryjames. My atr… my father in the past… named me Salvazsahar – and this is the name I will be known by."

That earned him a snort from a third person before he was enveloped in a hug.

It seemed as if Ana had decided that Sal was free now after he had stopped treating the wounded who needed him more…

He hugged his son back immediately.

"That's going to be a disaster, Pater," Ana said and tightened his hug. "People have been stumbling over that name for thousands of years – and now you honestly expect a whole country to pronounce it?!"

Ollivander snorted as well.

While Sirius, who had approached with Regulus in tow was snickering.

"He's right, you know," he said. "That'll be a disaster!"

Then his face turned thoughtful.

"But I guess, King Salazar has a nice ring to it as well," he added and snickered.

Regulus next to him rolled his eyes.

"If you have forgotten, brother," he said dryly. "This is Sal we're talking about. He'll most likely end up being called either something totally ridiculous or King Sal when they're through with his name. Believe me, King Salazar would be too tame for him."

Sal pressed his lips together.

Sadly, he knew they would most likely be right.

He remembered the Founders all too well and how his name had changed thanks to them – he guessed it was stupid to try the same again and hope for a better outcome…

"Serendu, then," he compromised. "It's my second name – and it's a name I have never used before."

Sirius pouted.

"Why not Amethyst?" he asked sadly.

Sal threw him a look that only wasn't deadly because Ana was still clinging to him and on Sirius's and Regulus's faces was the relief plainly on sight.

"I'm not using Amethyst," he said instead sternly. "It's either Salvazsahar or Serendu – you choose."

Sirius opened his mouth, but Amelia was faster.

"King Serendu, it is," she decided calmly.

Sal sighed and Ana patted him on the back in a calming gesture.

"At least like that, people won't connect you to King Serendu whenever you go off and meet or rescue new worshippers or friends, Pater," he consoled Sal.

Sal snorted.

"I have never had worshippers in my life," he countered.

Ana just snorted.

"I remember a lot of people from the past who thought differently," he countered, but still didn't let go of his father. "Like those from the Resistance… and then those baby-healers you talked about who helped you to create St. Mungo's and–"

"Alright! I give!" Sal interrupted his son unhappily while he wondered why he had the habit of catching up with his son at all…

Ah, well, he was his son, which was explanation enough…

He threw his son an annoyed look, which was returned by a butter-wouldn't-melt-on-Ana's-tongue one.

Sal didn't trust that look at all.

"You're going to be plastered at my side for the next few weeks, aren't you?" Sal asked, resigned, deciding to ignore his son's previous antics.

"Most likely years," Ana agreed cheerfully.

Sal just sighed, but after another ten minutes, he was finally able to free himself from Ana and turned to look towards the healers and the wounded.

Most of the wounded had already been removed from the Chamber – some of them had been able to go home, others had been carted to St. Mungo's.

Only Dumbledore was still standing in one corner, not yet looked at.

Sal sighed and then stepped up with Ana at his side.

"Do I want to know?" he asked his son.

Ana was holding his hand like a five-year-old and looked just as innocent.

At a pointed look from his father, he pouted.

"Just a bit of Legilimency," he said. "He'll recover… sometime."

Sal sighed.

Legilimency of Ana's calibre – Ana, who had been taught by Sal more than a millennia ago – against Occlumency shield's built throughout a lifetime…

Sal winced internally.

"Shattered shields?" he inquired.

Ana hummed.

"Maybe?" he offered.

Sal nodded and suppressed another wince.

Ana's Legilimency against Dumbledore's Occlumency.

That sounded like using a battering ram against a child's building blocks… and most likely smashing those into a pit of unravelled wool which was behind them… or maybe in a ton of other building blocks so that they weren't possible to discern anymore?

It didn't matter.

It was more than just bad anyway.

"This is nothing that can be treated," he said and threw his innocent-looking son a half-amused, half-exasperated look. "He will have to free himself if he wants to become coherent one day."

Ana hummed and looked everywhere but his father.

Sal just shook his head and then turned away from the old wizard, leaving him to the capable hands of an approaching healer.

XxxXxXxXxXx

And while Albus Dumbledore would be examined in St. Mungo's, the day of Sal's ascension was just the start of his misery, somewhere else, someone else was meeting the young-looking king for the first time without any disguise, eye to eye.

"Harry," Hermione sounded hesitant, even to her own ears.

The boy who had stepped into the room behind the Weasleys, Sirius, Regulus, and Snape didn't look like the boy she had known for the last four years.

Instead, he looked older.

His hair was longer, his green eyes somehow darker and yet lighter than Harry's had ever been and his clothes looked noble in a way she had never seen Harry wear before.

"Hermione," he returned the greeting and when Snape, Regulus, and Sirius turned to look at him, he shook his head.

"It's alright," he told them. "I think it's high time I actually talk to them."

Then he sighed and closed his eyes.

"Really talk," he elaborated. "Something that I maybe should have done from the start."

He shook his head and his eyes found Sirius's.

"Sadly enough, when I came back, I knew you better than them – and that includes that I hadn't seen you for over a decade and you weren't even half-healed from your stay in Azkaban and because of that you were still more childish than I ever knew you to be before."

Sirius pressed his lips together at that, while Regulus's lips twitched in amusement.

"And from what you told me, you went and actually treated him like the child he acted like," he added with a snicker.

Harry grimaced, but even he looked amused.

"I think we can put that down at least half-way at Ana's feet," he said. "You know, habits and all that."

The answer was a squawk from another man who had stepped in after Harry.

And then, the man rapidly defended himself, "Pater! Are you accusing me to be a big baby?!"

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

"But aren't you?" he countered.

The man pouted.

"But you know that being bitten by a vampire arrests your aging at the point you were bitten!" he defended himself with huge, innocent eyes.

Hermione remembered reading the exact same thing in Eldred Worple's book "Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires".

Harry on the other hand snorted.

"You were born a vampire!" he countered.

"Exactly!" the stranger immediately interrupted him. "And therefore, I'll always be childish–!"

"AND," Harry continued a bit louder but otherwise unbothered by the interruption. "The whole myth about a vampire being stuck at the age they're bitten at is total hogwash."

"But Worple–!" the vampire argued immediately.

"Wrote what you told him," Harry interjected with an eye roll. "I'm not stupid enough to believe that you told him anything but some made-up facts for your own amusement, Ana!"

The vampire pouted.

Sirius reached out and patted him on the back in a consoling manner.

"Fathers can be horrible, can't they," he said, in a commiserating way.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Keep an eye on those two idiots," he said, his voice full of fondness, to Regulus who snorted in amusement but nodded.

"Good," Harry said and then gestured for Hermione to follow him when he went up the stairs towards the room that housed the Black-tapestry. "Could you ask Ron to come as well, Arthur? I think it's time that we three actually talk – privately."

Hermione frowned at Harry, but in the end, followed Harry into the room.

Ron came in barely a minute later, his face confused.

"You wanted to see me, Harry?" he asked.

"I did," Harry agreed and then gestured for Ron to close the door.

Ron did and the next moment, a single rune left Harry's hand and embedded itself into the floor.

When it flashed, Harry nodded.

"What...?" Hermione asked hesitatingly.

"It's a ward," Harry answered her readily. "It'll keep people from listening in."

Ron looked around in surprise as if he expected to see something different.

"Huh," he said. "Handy."

Harry's lips twitched.

"Oh, definitely," he agreed.

"Was that the same one you used in the common room?" Ron wanted to know.

"A similar one," Harry agreed and sat down in a chair, gesturing for them to sit down as well. "I think we should talk."

His voice was serious and for a moment, Hermione couldn't even find her best friend in Harry's face anymore.

She felt her heart speed up at that realisation.

"Harry," she said slowly. She was surprised when Harry raised his hand, stopping her from continuing.

"It's actually Salvazsahar," he told her.

Her eyes snapped to his face.

"Salazar?" She repeated and he groaned.

"Salvazsahar," he corrected her. "Or Sal."

"Sal," she tested that name and then frowned at Harry… Sal. "You're not Harry, are you?"

It was a quiet statement to a bitter realisation.

Ron sat up at that.

His eyes were trained on H… Sal as well.

Sal sighed.

"I am," he said. "And yet, I am not."

And when she searched his face, he elaborated with a grimace.

"Back then, in the summer, with the dementors," he said and the eyes that regarded her were so old and foreign that they made her shudder. "There's more to that incident than what people know."

It felt like losing Harry.

The boy in front of her was sitting there, but he didn't even look like her friend anymore.

"What happened?" she asked and there was the beginning of a grief in her voice that she didn't yet understand. "What changed you?"

"I grew up," Ha… Sal said. "That day… for you, it was a day, for me, there were millennia in between."

She searched his face.

"I don't understand," she said, but Ron had.

"You time-travelled, didn't you?" he asked with realisation in his voice. "That Prince you told me about… Prince Salvazsar… that was you, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Sal said, his eyes travelling from Hermione to Ron.

"But… but… the Ministry…"

"There's a reason why the ministry restricted time-travel," Sal said calmly. "I saw the consequences after it went wrong."

Then he raised one of his shoulders in a half-shrug.

"But there are ways to get it right," he continued and when Hermione opened her mouth, he shook his head. "I won't elaborate. Some things are better kept secret."

Hermione closed her mouth.

She had never liked secrets, but the way Harry… no, Sal looked at her, he had reasons… and as different he was, he was still Harry.

Just not her Harry anymore.

"You're different," she said, her voice choked-up and her eyes wet.

Sal grimaced.

"I'm…" he hesitated for a moment, then he took a deep breath and sat up. "I have a son. The vampire, Ana, he's my son. I raised him since he was four-years-old. About fourteen years ago, I was leading people to fight against Voldemort in the first war. Before that, I led people against Grindelwald."

He looked first Hermione and then Ron in the eyes.

"I was grown long before you were even thought about," he told them calmly. "And I shouldered responsibilities before your parents were even a blink in their parents' eyes."

He leaned forward.

"Yes, I'm different," he agreed with her. "And for all that I gained throughout the years, there are some things I lost when I left this time. You two are a part of those."

Hermione gulped.

Ron on the other hand leaned forward as well.

"But… have you ever thought about regaining them?" he countered. "I mean, we're still alive… and maybe… maybe we could still be friends?"

"Ron!" Hermione groaned.

Ron shrugged.

"What? I, for my part, would love to have a friend who might be able to help me with that dumb history class!" he said. "And I mean, who doesn't want to be friends with someone who might have met the Founders?!"

Hermione laughed, but she could hear how wet her laughter was.

"Who said that Harry… sorry, Sal met the Founders?" she countered. "I mean, he spoke of Grindelwald, but–"

"That text he gave me was about Prince Salvazsar! As in King Arthur's son!" Ron countered. "Of course, he must have met the Founders! I mean, he lived at that time so if he wasn't hidden under a rock, he should at least have seen them from afar!"

Sal snorted.

"Oh, I met them," he said a bit amused. "And they weren't all that mystical like they're made out to be."

Ron snickered.

"Says King Arthur's son," he said, and then his eyes widened.

"WAIT!" he exclaimed. "Does that mean you're the HEIR? I mean, does that mean you're our Heir of the Throne?!"

Hermione frowned.

"What do you mean 'heir'?" she asked. "The queen–"

Sal shook his head.

"The magical world has their own kingdoms, Hermione," he said softly. "King Arthur Pendragon was our king, even if his legend is known to non-magicals as well."

Then he turned to Ron with a sigh.

"While I might have been the Heir," he said sincerely. "Truth is that I am King now."

Ron looked awestruck.

"King?" he asked, sounding dazed.

Sal winced.

"I… claimed the throne, today," he said.

Hermione frowned, not sure what that actually meant, but Ron's eyes widened even further.

"You actually claimed the throne?" he asked and stared at Ha… Sal. "You mean, it accepted you? I mean, you said you are King…"

Then his eyes widened and he scrambled from his seat to get to an unstable kneeling position.

"I… er… I have absolutely no idea how to do that but–"

Sal pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Get up, Ron," he said with amusement in his eyes. "I'm not going to talk to you while you try not to face-plant on the floor."

Ron flushed.

"But," he started to say and Sal rolled his eyes in amusement.

"If you really want to, I can teach you the correct forms, later," he said amused. "I know them, even if it might take a minute or two to actually remember."

Ron looked even more awestruck at that.

"You're going to teach me forms that your father, King Arthur, taught you?" he asked.

Sal snorted.

"Atr taught me at least part of it," he corrected Ron amused, and when Ron frowned, he elaborated. "Merlin. I called him atr because he was my actual father. Arthur might have adopted me, but the one who raised me before I even met Arthur was Merlin."

Ron and Hermione gawked at him.

Sal sent them a crooked smile.

"I didn't actually know about that part until long after I was adopted. By the time I understood who my father was, I was long since used to see myself as his son," he shook his head. "Not that my father being Merlin ever really crossed my mind. At the time I found out, I was already far too immersed in the time I lived in to actually think about it too much."

Hermione could only stare at her former best friend at that.

His words, every one of them, blew her mind.

She couldn't even fathom what it was like to live at a time in such a distant past – and even less to be so used to it that you didn't even think about the future anymore.

"Didn't," she swallowed hard. "Didn't you miss us?"

Sal's answer was a grimace of a smile.

"At the beginning, I missed you desperately," he told her softly. "The whole thing… the time-travel, the life in a different time… it was hard. It was even harder that there was no way back that anybody could tell me about."

He shook his head.

"I spent years searching for everything I could find about time-travel," he told them. "And I spent even longer to research time-travel to find a way back to you and everything I knew."

There was a long since forgotten ache in his eyes that spoke of remembered pain.

"But… you didn't return," Hermione said quietly. "You stayed… or at least you stayed for a long time…"

"I did," Sal said and there was an age in his eyes that hurt Hermione just to look at. "Time-travel… like I said, there are consequences…"

He rubbed his face.

"I found a way," he said. "The only way that I ever found that actually works. I doubt there is another."

"Then you…"

"I took that way, Hermione," he interrupted her before she could say anything else. "If I hadn't, I wouldn't be here today."

"One way," Ron said and Hermione could hear fear in his voice. "There's just one way to do it safely?"

"Just one I found," Sal answered and then grimaced. "At least there's just one when you're an actual living and breathing being and not a supernatural entity or entity-in-training."

Hermione wanted to ask what he meant with the last part of his sentence but the way he looked at her with a forbidding face, she knew he wouldn't answer.

That face, no matter how much had changed about him, was still the same.

"You returned to us," Ron said at that moment.

"I did," Sal agreed. "I would have never forgiven myself if I hadn't. I… I faltered along the way, but in the end, I still returned."

He looked from Ron to Hermione.

"But that doesn't mean that I returned as the same person that I was when I left," he said, his voice soft and a bit sad.

Hermione answered his gaze with a sad smile of her own.

"You scared me," she admitted. It was difficult, but she guessed that she owed him that much after he went out of his way and actually told them this much.

She doubted he had actually told a lot about what happened to anybody else.

"You really scared me," she said. "You were so different and I feared for you."

Sal sighed.

"I wasn't thinking too clearly at the start of the year," he told her calmly. "The wards of Privet Drive… they were twisted. I couldn't even enter them fourteen years ago, and while I could after my past-self left and I was the only 'Harry' in the present, they still played a bit of havoc with my thought process. I knew it would happen, and I accepted that I would face the consequences of them for at least a month or two, but I also knew that not coming back was no option as well."

He met both of their eyes.

"I wouldn't have left you two to wonder and fear for me," he said. "Nor would I have been able to actually change some things if I didn't go to Hogwarts."

"So, Luna was right and you had plans?" Hermione asked.

"I told you, he was playing chess and he ensured we ended up in Check-mate," Ron told her unhappily.

"Yes," Ha… Sal said. "You're both right."

"But… why?" Hermione asked. "And what plans?"

"A lot of plans," H… Sal replied. "One of them was to remove Voldemort from any possibility of ever returning again."

"And you needed to be at Hogwarts for that?" Hermione asked with a frown.

"Yes," Sal said, but didn't elaborate.

Hermione guessed that he had more reasons that he wasn't willing to share, and as much as she hated that, she also understood that Sal wasn't the Harry she knew and that he had a lot less reasons to share his thoughts with her.

It hurt.

"Did you go to Hogwarts in the past?" Ron asked in interest.

Sal's lips twitched in amusement.

"I saw it as a student sometimes," he agreed. "But I also lived and taught there."

This time, Hermione and Ron stared at him with huge eyes.

"Were… were you someone we know?" Ron asked and leaned forward in clearly displayed curiosity.

Again, Sal's lips twitched.

"You'd hate me if I told you," he told Ron, but there was fondness in his eyes.

Ron groaned.

"You were in Slytherin, weren't you?" he asked in exasperation, but clearly not too put out by it.

"No," Sal replied amused. "I never went into Slytherin House."

Then his lips twitched again as if he was holding himself back from laughing.

"But I was Slytherin," he continued. "I'm pretty sure, you'd think that it's worse."

Ron opened his mouth, gawked, and then closed it again.

"Salazar Slytherin?" Hermione meanwhile asked, her eyes searching Sal's face.

"Yes," he agreed. "Even if I have to disappoint you. I was never a mundane-hater. And I also wasn't Voldemort's ancestor, no matter what he claimed. A daughter of my family might have married into his, but she was thrown out long before Voldemort's mother was even thought of."

"Oh," Ron said, and then snorted. "About Voldemort, I meant. I'm definitely not disappointed that you weren't a muggle-hater."

And then, Sal laughed.

And suddenly, Hermione finally saw Harry.

Sal had Harry's laugh.

The way he threw back his head, the way he joked with Ron… that was all still Harry.

Yes, Harry had changed. He had become Sal.

But that didn't mean that he wasn't Harry anymore.

It was like a realisation.

It made Hermione's heart ache, but it also gave her hope.

"He's still there," Ron had told her this morning. "I know, you might feel that he's not, because he isn't the same anymore – but he's still there… and shouldn't be that the thing that matters the most?"

And she had agreed, but she didn't understand.

Then.

Now, looking at Harry and Ron… at Sal and Ron joking, she finally saw what Ron had meant.

Harry was still there.

He wasn't the Harry she knew anymore, but he was still there.

He was still willing to talk to them, still willing to reach out at least a bit to them.

And maybe, Hermione should stop being afraid of the man who Harry had become and reach back.

Yes, she had lost the Harry she knew.

But she hadn't lost Harry – Sal.

He was still there.

She took a deep breath, her eyes searching Sal's.

He immediately reacted to her serious gaze.

His face turned questioning.

For a moment, she hesitated, afraid, then she gathered all her courage and did the right thing.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "I'm sorry for mistrusting you. I'm sorry for going against you without actually talking to you. I had my reasons, but that doesn't mean that I was right. I might have been afraid, but I should have gone about the whole thing differently. I should have gone and talked to you – not run to somebody else like I did. I should have told you that you frightened me because you were so different, I should have said that I was afraid because you changed and I couldn't understand why. So, I had my reasons, but that doesn't mean that I was right. I'm sorry, so sorry for not being the friend I should have been."

"You meant well," Sal agreed calmly. "But yes, you did the wrong thing. You should have come and talked to me – and maybe, I should have gone and done the same. I'm sorry for not trusting you as well."

It felt like a benediction.

It felt like the beginning of reconciliation.

It felt like the beginning of healing to a friendship she still valued.

It felt like the beginning of something new.

Something inside her relaxed.

She might have screwed up and they might have drifted apart thanks to the time Sal had spent away from them – but that didn't mean that they weren't still able to be friends.

And Hermione wanted that.

She wanted her friend back.

She looked into Sal's eyes.

"Can we still be friends?" she asked.

Sal smiled.

"I would be honoured," he agreed, then his eyes turned sad. "Even if we won't see each other as often from now on."

Ron and Hermione both frowned, so he elaborated.

"I won't return to Hogwarts with you," he said. "At least not in the capacity of a student."

Sal grimaced.

"I might be forced to take up the Headmaster post for a bit."

Ron blinked.

"Aren't you King?" he asked with a frown and Sal winced.

"That, too," he agreed. "But I'm also Salazar Slytherin and the Master of Hogwarts… which basically makes it mine. If I want to reopen it, I will be the one who will have to do it."

Hermione watched her friend pinch his nose with the beginning of exhaustion on his face.

"So… you're going to be Headmaster?" she asked hesitatingly.

"For at least a few weeks," Sal agreed, then his head snapped up, his eyes lighting up with an idea.

His hand reached out and a second later, the wards that surrounded them snapped with a flash of white light. The moment they were done, Sal already spoke up again.

"ANA!" he called.

There was a yelp and a crash from downstairs.

Sal massaged his temples.

"I don't want to know," he said to himself to Hermione's amusement.

When there was no other reaction from downstairs for the next few minutes, Sal spoke up again.

"ANA!"

He waited another couple of moments, but when there was still nothing happening but pointed silence, he sighed. It seemed like he had to go all out if he wanted his child to appear anytime in the next millennia.

"ANASTASIUS ARTHUR LUCIDARIUS SANGUINI!", he shouted. "Come up here right now! I don't care what you did or are planning to do right now, I just need you to get up here right at this moment!"

Ron next to Hermione snickered.

"You sound like Mum does when she speaks to the twins," he told Sal who groaned.

"Don't remind me," he said. "I just hope Ana hasn't met them yet. The moment they do, it will be chaos."

Hermione blinked, looking at Sal in surprise.

"Don't ask," Sal told her with a sigh. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder if he'll ever really grow up."

"I'm all grown, Pater!" the vampire Hermione had seen before, interrupted Sal while he stepped into the room.

"I know," Sal said with a sigh. "Unless you're around me. Then, for whatever reason, you decide to act like a child."

The vampire shrugged unrepentantly.

"I'd say that's the lot of being my father," he said and showed his fangs in amusement. "But then you'd just come up with the idea of disinheriting me – and where would be the fun in that?"

Sal, to Hermione's amusement, just rolled his eyes, obviously utterly resigned to the vampire's antics.

"What do you want me for, Pater?" Ana asked, clearly willing to further their conversation in a different direction.

"I need a Headmaster for Hogwarts," Sal answered.

The vampire's eyes widened.

"You… what did I do?" he whined as if Sal had declared that Ana had to stand in the corner and think about his deeds.

Sal snorted.

"I need someone I trust," he said. "And I need someone who knows what has to change. That doesn't leave me with a lot of options."

The vampire opened his mouth.

"I am King, Ana," Sal interrupted him before he could say anything.

Ana winced and his face turned resigned.

"Headmaster then?" he asked and actually looked serious this time around.

"For the time being," Sal agreed with a sigh. "You were a teacher before. You were taught by me. You are the best choice."

Ana pouted.

"It's going to be a boring century like that," he complained.

Sal shrugged.

"If you want it livelier, I could stick you first into the position of Headmaster and then into an Ambassador role," he countered. "There are a lot of parties to attend as an Ambassador. You might even meet your friend Worple on a few and his friends… I think you said something about a man called Slughorn?"

Ana looked horrified.

"Headmaster sounds like a fabulous idea, Pater," he said. "No need for me to change that post for at least the next century!"

Sal snorted.

"I'm not that heartless," he said. "I won't keep you longer than fifty years at most."

Hermione and Ron looked from Sal to his son and back.

"Is that a normal interaction?" Ron wanted to know.

Sal blinked and Ana scratched his head.

"Pretty standard," the vampire agreed and then flashed his fangs at them. "You will get used to it if you continue to hang around Pater."

Sal snorted.

Ron nodded slowly.

And Hermione decided that no matter what the future brought, she doubted that her life would become boring like before meeting Harry as an eleven-year-old any time soon…

She was happy with it.

And maybe, over time, she would actually regain a friendship as strong as she and Harry once had…

She couldn't wait.

XxxXxXxXxXx

And while the talk to Hermione and Ron had helped to reestablish the beginnings of friendship, the rekindling of their relationship would have to take a step back in the upcoming months.

There were other, more important things for Sal to think about first and many more to do.

And sadly, even with the future of Hogwarts planned out, at the beginning, Sal knew he would have to do a lot of the work himself – just like he would be forced to do a lot of work for the reestablished magical Kingdom of Britain.

"You look tired, Your Majesty," Augusta Longbottom commented a few days later when she saw him the first time after the Wizengamot.

"It's been a few tiring days and it will be even more tiring weeks to come," Sal answered with a sigh.

The fall-out of the Wizengamot meeting had just started.

Under Amelia Bones, a lot of Death Eaters and sympathisers of Voldemort were in the process of being rounded up while the evidence against them had been collected or was still in the process of being collected.

Not to mention everything else that needed Sal's attention.

He guessed that the only good thing was that Albus Dumbledore was in St. Mungo's and unable to meddle… Not that Sal would have let him if he would have been able to.

"Are you going to open Hogwarts again, Your Highness?" Augusta asked at that moment. "Or should I call you Lord Slytherin while asking that question?"

Sal blinked and looked up confused at her tone of voice.

"What?"

"I heard you," Augusta countered calmly. "When you declared yourself Lord Slytherin, you declared yourself its Founder – tell me I am wrong, Salazar Slytherin, Founder of House Slytherin?"

Sal snorted and then shook his head.

"Of course you'd notice that," he said with a sigh. "You've always been too clever for your own good…"

"Well, I've always been one of your best students," Augusta countered primly and Sal didn't even try to object to her.

"You were," he agreed. "And your grandson is as clever as you."

Augusta smiled.

"When he is grown up, he will be formidable," she agreed.

Sal inclined his head before he added, "I'm sorry about your son and daughter-in-law."

At that, Augusta closed her eyes.

"There's nothing you can do," she said.

"No," Sal agreed, sadness in his voice. "Some things can't be healed."

Augusta just nodded but said nothing more on that topic.

"What about Hogwarts?" she asked instead.

"I will reopen it," Sal said. "There will be changes, I won't be able to implement them all at once. The most important thing I will have to do before I open it is to finish reworking the wards enough that the students are safe."

Which was just another important point on his list.

"The Heir Black and I as well as Lord Prince are willing to help you in any capacity you need us," Augusta offered.

"Thank you," Sal agreed and then pondered his situation. "I guess we can add my son, Ana to that list as well. It's not as if he can take over Hogwarts immediately and until then, I guess it's better to keep him out of trouble."

Augusta sent him an amused look at that.

Sal sighed.

"Believe me, it's better," he said. "The last time I left him unsupervised, he decided to break a three-hundred-year-old artifact of the Black family. I don't even want to know what he'll be up to at Hogwarts if he has nothing to do. And I will have to go to Hogwarts if I want to reopen the school any time soon."

"I guess we can manage to do our work from Hogwarts," Augusta decided calmly. "I might enjoy it to have my grandson near me – and who knows, he might be willing to help as well?"

It would be the beginning of the Grand Family of Slytherin working together under the new King to start a lot of changes in the magical world of Britain.

XxxXxXxXxXx

A few weeks later, Fawarx would find his grandson in his new office – which was the old Headmaster's office in Hogwarts.

There, Salvazsahar was standing in front of his desk, sorting some of the correspondence he had to take a look at himself.

"Salvazsahar," Fawarx said softly, his eyes looking over the slightly slumped form of his grandson.

What the phoenix saw when looking at the other man was concerning.

The fledgling looked exhausted.

Over the last few weeks, the first few changes had been wrought in the magical world the Slytherin Family had slowly started to take up an important place in the new kingdom.

A lot of Death Eaters and sympathisers of Voldemort had been rounded up and more and more evidence against them had been brought to light.

There had been a lot of proclamations about upcoming changes and the current active laws were in the process of being reviewed.

And while Hogwarts had reopened, the teachers there had been told to expect changes as well. Some teachers and students even went further and decided to write down what they thought was missing in Hogwarts' curriculum. And while Anastasius Sanguini had stepped up to sort through the suggestions and start on the changes, Salvazsahar was still needed for now.

Even with the expected take-over as Headmaster by Anastasius in a few months, at the moment, the wards of Hogwarts still had to be changed to what they should be like – some of it had already been done before the Wizengamot, but some were still pending and had to be done by Salvazsahar the moment he had some time.

Which meant that the new King of Britain was basically constantly working on either legislation or wards.

It went so far that the Headmaster's office in Hogwarts currently doubled as the King's office… which wasn't perfect, especially since the first dignitaries and ambassadors from other countries were expected to arrive soon.

Nevertheless, at the moment, the King and Headmaster was one person – and one person only.

Fawarx had decided to help out after being asked by his great-grandson. So, the last few weeks had passed by flashing through the world and Britain, bringing important and urgent messages from one place to another – most of them given to Fawarx by either Anastasius, Severus Prince, Regulus Black, or Augusta Longbottom.

The latter three – helped by Neville sometimes – had taken over quite a bit of administrative work, even if Severus had been kept away from any correspondence with other countries after Regulus barely managed to stop an acid-tongued written letter towards the King of Norway who had been a tat ruder than he should have been in his own. Instead, Severus was put in charge of the correspondence with Gringotts. It turned out, his biting remarks were an absolute success with them.

Nevertheless, even with all their help, a lot of things still had to be done by the King or the Headmaster personally.

Fawarx couldn't help but feel quite a bit concerned for his grandson.

Salvazsahar had dark smudges under his eyes, speaking of many sleepless nights and he looked exhausted.

And yet, it wasn't his exhaustion that stopped Fawarx in his tracks when he saw his grandson for the first time since before the Wizengamot meeting.

No.

It was the changes that the phoenix could see in the other man that stopped him and made him look more closely.

"Grandfather," Salvazsahar greeted him calmly, his green eyes finding Fawarx's own.

It had been quite a while since Fawarx had laid eyes on Myrddin's son, but when he looked back into those green eyes, he could see the changes even more.

There was fire burning behind those eyes.

White flames – flames that Fawarx had always associated with death.

A phoenix's burial flame was white.

And yet, the flames in the man in front of him were white and spoke of life.

Fawarx swallowed.

"What happened, Egg of my Egg?" he asked with a sudden need to know what had changed for the man in front of him since they saw each other last.

"A lot," Salvazsahar immediately answered with a sigh. "And not all of it was good."

There was more to Fawarx's grandson than there had ever been before.

Fawarx could feel the deep connection the other had with the land – and he could feel a lingering of Death, like an image reflected back at Salvazsahar guarding Salvazsahar's back.

Something had changed.

Fawarx couldn't help but step forward and reach for his grandson's face.

Salvazsahar stopped looking through the things the former Headmaster of Hogwarts had left and looked up, keeping still for Fawarx's hands reaching for him.

Fawarx's feathered hands reached for his chin and tilted it up so that their eyes met again.

"It's odd," Fawarx said, nearly soundlessly. "I've known from the start that your father Moridunon inherited my flames. I expected him to burn one day – and he would have burned if he hadn't been killed. You, on the other hand, I thought were too similar to your grandmother."

Fawarx shook his head and caressed his grandson's cheek.

"I've always thought that you had the beast inside of you," he said, his eyes searching his grandson's. "I expected you to wake up one day and feel it clawing at your insides."

"Grandfather," Salvazsahar said, and in his eyes, white flames started to dance.

"Your grandmother was sure that she could hear it sometimes inside of you," Fawarx said. "Like an echo of something that would come into being one day."

"I've never felt anything inside me," Fawarx' grandson said quietly.

"I suspected as much when I found out your grandmother bit you and you survived the bite," his grandfather agreed calmly. "I thought the beast inside you died before it could be born when I found out… and I guess, I wasn't wrong, was I?"

Sal sighed and shook his head.

"Most likely not," he agreed. "I should have died the day I was bitten. I just didn't."

Fawarx sighed.

He knew.

He had known for years that his grandson shouldn't have survived and that even Fawarx's tears shouldn't have been enough. Phoenix tears were enough against the venom of a basilisk – as long as the one bitten wasn't descended from the basilisk.

"You know why you survived," Fawarx concluded.

"I do," Salvazsahar agreed calmly.

It was more than clear that he wasn't willing to elaborate.

Fawarx mentally grimaced.

Even without his grandson elaborating, Fawarx knew or at least could utter a good guess what had ensured that Salvazsahar survived.

The last step on life's path.

The end of all things.

Death.

It didn't explain why Death refused to take Salvazsahar's life, but just Death… or a deal with Death was able to stop the natural way of things.

There was another evidence that spoke of that deal as well.

"Your eyes are burning with the burial flame," Fawarx said.

Green eyes were overtaken by white flames.

"I died," his grandson said calmly. "And I returned."

Like a phoenix who died by the flame.

Like a phoenix reborn in the ashes.

Like a phoenix.

Something heavy settled on Fawarx's heart.

"You're not… you're not the same," he concluded. "You're not really… alive anymore…"

Because whatever deal had been made with Death, looking in his grandson's eyes showed that it had come into fruition.

And Salvazsahar had died to fulfil it.

His grandson put his own hand on top of the one Fawarx had on his cheek.

"I'm not dead, either," he countered calmly, there was something reassuring in his voice that didn't reassure Fawarx all that much.

Salvazsahar wasn't dead, true, but he wasn't the boy Fawarx had known, just like he wasn't the man he had become.

He wasn't the same.

He was… more.

Fawarx could feel the life inside his grandson.

Better yet, he could feel the will of his grandson to stay alive.

He had felt the opposite once and it had frightened him, so feeling his grandson being anchored in a way he hadn't been for centuries felt like a balm to Fawarx's soul… even if the implications…

He shook his head at that thought, refusing to think it further.

"I'm glad you're actually willing to live and not just stay alive again," he said in the end.

Salvazsahar smiled at him, but there was sadness in his eyes as well.

"Life isn't over for me," he said calmly. "Life is mine now."

There was an implication there that Fawarx wasn't yet willing to discuss.

"Life wasn't over for you before now as well," Fawarx countered. "And yet, while you were willing to stay alive, you weren't willing to… start anew. You had your bonds in the past and I wondered if I would lose you to those bonds when the time came. And yet… now you act as if you have never lost anybody and will never lose anybody ever again."

It was a kind of acceptance that Fawarx had never expected his grandson to reach.

"That's because I won't lose anybody," Salvazsahar said calmly.

Fawarx frowned.

"Salvazsahar," he said slowly, a warning in his voice, but he was interrupted by his grandson before he could say anything further.

"I am what I was always meant to be," Salvazsahar said softly.

Then, his green eyes met Fawarx's own, they were filled with an understanding that mystified the phoenix, "It's ok, Grandfather. I understand."

Fawarx frowned.

"Salvazsahar?" he asked, not sure what his grandson was implying.

The smile of his grandson turned even sadder.

"You're here to say goodbye," he said, his eyes trained on Fawarx. "This… this is your last flight. You won't return after today."

Fawarx sighed and closed his eyes.

"If you want me to," he said calmly. "I could hang on another year. I'm willing to do it if that's what you want. I have enough strength to stay alive for one more year."

His grandson shook his head, his hand still on Fawarx's own.

"No," Salvazsahar said. "You have a right to bury your wife and not just to burn in your own burial flames. And if you stayed, you wouldn't be able to do the first."

"My wife has been dead for over a century, Salvazsahar," Fawarx countered calmly.

"Her body wasn't," was the soft reply. "And don't tell me you grieved for her like you should have until now."

For a moment, Fawarx searched his grandson's burning eyes with his own.

The only thing he found was understanding and the beginning of grief.

"If I had, I wouldn't have survived the day I started to grieve," Fawarx finally confessed softly. "The only way to stay around and keep looking out for you and your younger self was by not grieving the way I wanted."

But that time of having to stay was over now.

Everything was over now.

Salvazsahar was done and willing to let him go.

Fawarx had expected more difficulties, but the way his grandson looked at him showed him that there wouldn't be any.

Whatever had happened, it ensured that Salvazsahar was willing to let him go.

Oh, there was grief in Salvazsahar's eyes full of burial flames.

But there was also understanding and acceptance.

There was calmness and a sureness that Fawarx couldn't understand.

And then, his grandson reached out for Fawarx's own face, taking it into his hands.

"I wish you a good flight, Grandfather," Salvazsahar said and his eyes lit up again with white flames until there was nothing left but white fire: no pupil, no iris, nothing but burning white.

"Take your last flight and return to Grandmother."

White eyes met Fawarx's red ones.

"Take your last flight and I will see you after." And with that, his grandson let him go.

For a moment, Fawarx wanted to ask something elusive. In the end, he removed his trembling hand from the being in front of him.

He had been right.

His grandson had changed – had become more than Fawarx had ever expected to be possible.

There was life burning in his grandson's eyes.

No.

Life stared at him from his grandson's eyes; Death guarded his grandson's back.

For a moment, he hesitated, then he stepped back slowly and bowed to the entity in front of him.

"I will," he promised. "Goodbye, Egg of my Egg."

A soft smile caressed Salvazsahar's face.

"Goodbye, Grandfather."

And when his grandson turned away, Fawarx lost his human form.

For a moment, a phoenix hovered in the air behind the King of Magical Britain, then he flashed away.

One last flight.

The last flight of the phoenix.

One last burning, full of white flames.

And in the end, it was over.

And not even ashes could be found in the wind.

XxxXxXxXxXx

Sal didn't turn back around after he felt his grandfather leave.

He was looking out of the window of the Headmaster's office to Hogwarts' grounds. He didn't know how long he stood there, watching the grounds until the door opened.

"Pater?" Ana sounded oddly hesitant.

"I'm here," Sal said, not turning around.

He could hear Ana stepping closer, hesitation in every step.

"Are you alright, Pater?" Ana asked him.

"Your Great-Grandfather was here just a few minutes ago," Sal said instead of answering.

For a moment, Ana stopped, then he stepped up next to Sal and looked at the grounds as well.

"He's gone," Ana said and the way he said it, it was clear that he knew why Fawarx had come by.

"He is," Sal agreed.

"You're crying," Ana commented, not looking at Sal at all.

For a moment, Sal's lips twitched.

"I am," he said, not even thinking to deny the truth.

For a moment, they stood there in silence, looking out at the grounds.

Then, Sal straightened and turned to look at his son.

"Did you want something?" he asked.

Ana just looked at Sal for a moment before he returned his gaze outside.

"Do you really want to leave? I mean… don't you want the castle back? It was once Camelot, after all – and it's always been your home."

"It will stay my home," Sal agreed, his gaze following Ana's. "But… it's been a school for a thousand years. I think I want to keep it a school. I like it that way."

Ana hummed in agreement.

"We could leave your office here, though," he offered.

Sal threw him a slightly amused look.

"Do you not want to work at the Headmaster's office, Ana?" he asked.

To his rising amusement, his son grimaced.

"It belonged to Dumbledore!" Ana finally whined. "I don't want to remind others of him!"

"I doubt you will remind anybody of him in any way or form," Sal said with an eye roll, now really amused, before his face turned to mock-seriousness. "Not to mention that you sent him to St. Mungo's permanent ward for reasons I'm not sure I can follow."

Ana shrugged.

"You were too lenient with him," he pointed out, unrepentant.

"I'd have killed him if it wasn't for his glasses," Sal countered. "And I'd have petrified him if not for Tom Riddle's interruption."

Ana shrugged.

"Lenient, just like I told you," he countered. "St. Mungo's is the better choice."

Then he hesitated for a second.

"Even if I desperately wanted to rip out his throat," he finally confessed.

Sal just snorted.

"Of course you did," he agreed and his gaze returned back to the grounds of Hogwarts.

His gaze turned white with fire.

Like that, he could see the wards.

Wards, born out of blood and sacrifice.

Wards which were centuries… no, multiple millennia old.

Hogwarts was safe.

And soon, the magical Kingdom of Britain would follow.

XxxXxXxXxXx

And while the magical world was changing and Sal started to establish his regnancy and returned Hogwarts to its former glory, the former Headmaster Albus Dumbledore ended up being examined by the healers in St. Mungo's.

It took a while and a few different healers until one of them was confident in what was wrong with him.

"He's not responding at all," one of them said, while Albus wanted to scream.

He had been probed and examined and no matter what he tried he couldn't actually show them that he was still there, mentally.

Instead, he lay there, unable to do anything but listen to them and see them while they examined him.

And he didn't like their discussion about him at all.

"He's not reacting to any stimuli," one of the healers said.

"It's as if he has withdrawn inside his own mind and is now unwilling to return," another one said.

Others nodded.

"The fighting must have been too much for him," another one said.

"I'm not surprised," the next one added. "He isn't the youngest anymore. That fight and You-Know-Who's short return… it must have been a shock to his system."

The others around Albus agreed.

And Albus was lying there, screaming for them to notice him, to notice that he was still there – but there was no use.

They couldn't hear him.

"Shock," one of the healers in St. Mungo's would officially diagnose him later. "He basically barricaded himself in his own mind. There's nothing we can do. He has to come out on his own – until then, it would be best if he gets as much stimulation as possible. Interact with him, tell him what is happening in the world, speak to him – and hopefully he will come back."

He wasn't wrong with his diagnosis, but he wasn't entirely right, either.

Because Albus hadn't really withdrawn inside, instead, he was tangled in his broken shields, basically caught in his mind in a way that ensured he could still see and hear everything – he just couldn't interact with the world anymore.

Like a child's building blocks being lost in a pit of wool – with the blocks being his shields and his way out of his mind, and the wool being his mind.

Lost, and most likely never seen again.

In the end, Albus ended up in the long-term-ward of St. Mungo's with some of his old colleagues coming by regularly to tell him what was happening in the world.

"Hogwarts has gotten a lot of new classes," Filius Flitwick told him happily. "There's a culture class for Muggle-, sorry, Return-borns. There are some classes like Accounting and Languages. Ancient Runes has been turned into a compulsory subject. We've also a subject called Old Magicks that teaches everyone basic ritual theories. It's very interesting! And…"

"There have been a lot of long-lost families found," Pomona Sprout said. "It's now one of the requirements for Return-borns to go to Gringotts and take a look at their ancestry. It's quite a shock to suddenly see lost families walking the halls of Hogwarts!"

"I think I'll never understand why you were so against me taking my seat in the Wizengamot," McGonagall said. "But we're doing a lot of good now. I think you would have liked it. We're working together, you know? There are a lot of lessons for the adults as well and I think King Serendu is running himself ragged, but well… that man never stops. He's clearly willing to drag us kicking and screaming with him into a new Golden Age. And I have to admit – I slowly start to believe that he'll be able to succeed with it, too."

And Albus would sit there, forced to listen and see whatever picture or article they brought with them, unable to react, unable to object.

"Fudge has had his trial for embezzlement today," Rolanda Hooch told him. "He's the first out of many. The whole Ministry has been restructured and Arthur Weasley has been one of those overlooking the changes. Amelia Bones is one hell of a Lady and Head of the DMLE and there is talk about her or maybe Sirius taking over as the new Minister… not that we really need one with having King Serendu and all that, but… I guess the man might need someone who will take on some of his responsibilities before he collapses. I swear Severus has come by to Hogwarts just to rant about irresponsible Kings who should know better and rest at least three times last week! But what can you do? The changes are happening, but I bet there's still a lot to organize and teach before the King can even think about taking a break!"

And slowly, but surely, Albus was forced to listen to how he and his deeds were forgotten.

He was forced to listen to how the world moved on without him and so he sat there, day by day, unable to do anything but curse his fate…

And no matter what he heard, he wasn't happy.

He wasn't happy with the man… King… and his decisions.

He wasn't happy when he put the pieces together and understood that the King was Harry and that he had gone his own path.

And he was even less happy when he noticed that over time, his legacy, everything he worked for in his life, was forgotten.

The magical world had changed – but it hadn't changed into the idea Albus always had in his head about it, but into its own culture that absorbed those who came back to it without losing its origins.

No, Albus was anything but happy – but there was nothing he could do about it but sit and listen and silently mourn all that had been.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Only the epilogue is left.

I hope I managed to close this story so that most (all?) questions are answered.

ALSO: Maybe you want to check out my other stories, like Why To Sort A Student Is A Horrible Job and Red Room. There are also two corresponding fics to Basilisk-Born: Erised and A Phoenix's Lament.

Anyway, please, all of you, stay healthy!

Hope you liked the chapter!

Well done Constellation15, OyaLightning, tiredtypingandtea, TheMorriganWritesAgain, cutandpaste101, and Limerick90 along with a few others with the guesses!

Well done Yumi Edogawa for guessing the part with the prophecy!

'Til next time.

Ebenbild

PS: I have to mention, I loved satansagels9 and jps986 guesses as well, because they were those who actually decided he should move on and also the one of TheOriginalDv who decided that Sal should return to canon.

PPS: Dear Guest Reader "UrAttitudeSucks": Funnily, my own Review History tells me that your accusations towards me are baseless. I can tell you for sure, that I never told anybody their story is 'crap' (not to mention that I personally don't use that word), just like I can tell you that I've always reviewed stories that I thought had potential, meaning that I used positive feedback combined with criticism – which I gave a reason for. I have no idea what kind of review you thought I wrote, but I can tell you for sure that every review I did write was written because I liked the story and thought it had potential. YOU, on the other hand, were such an honest and professional person (note the sarcasm) that you didn't even dare to use your account to flame me – which, in my opinion shows how serious you really are. Thanks, but no thanks for your childish accusations. - Ebenbild

xXxXxXxXx

Omake by DebaterMax (occurs during Chapter 50)

Sal was busy treating a Mr. Jeremiah Utleyson - a muggleborn - at the yet unnamed London Magical hospital. Sal and his apprentice were busy casting a variety of diagnosis spells on their patient.

Mr. Utleyson got a horrendous splinching injury running away from a quintaped.

"No that's not the correct spell. You cast a waste-removal spell not a bowel-loosening jinx," Sal chatized from the back of the room as he watched his apprentice.

Mungo looked down-trodden as he continued down the various well-being spells as they continued to treat Mr. Utelyson.

"Master do I cast this spell? I want to put his hand in a statis due to his splinching injury." Mungo asked as he pointed to the affected hand.

"Why in the deities' name did you want to paralyze him? You used the wrong spell. We need to put his hand in statis while we wait for Skele Gro."

Mungo hung his head.

"Master, should I try the spell you named Lockhart Hand Sp...?"

"No absolutely absolutely absolutely not. Lockhart was less talented than a flobberworm. You should have remembered that from the spell quiz oh three days ago."

3 Year Later

Sal walked into the newly christened St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

"Hello Healer…?"

"Hello what can I do for you, mister? I'm Jack!" the teenager apprentice said.

"I'm looking for Master Mungo."

"Go to the end of the left hallway."

Seeing the clipped nametag on his short, Sal responded, "Thanks Apprentice Ripper."

After slipping through the office wards Sal walked into his former apprentice office.

"How are you doing Saint Mungo?" Sal teased.

"Gah! Don't surprise me like that. But yes, I'm doing well."

"So you haven't used the lockhart curse accidentally?"

The "saint" grimaced.

The Olde one continued, "No bowel-looseners?"

"Merlin no! Before you ask, no paralyzing. I'll never live that down?"

Sal happily responded, "Nope!"

The famous head of the hospital looked downtrodden. "Well at least I never accidentally cast an asphyxiat.."

"You have a shoddy memory. Remember Ms. Lelegzo?"

"That wasn't my finest moment," Mungo admitted.

Sal chuckled, "Yes that wasn't, but you did well recovering. I'm very proud of you, my former apprentice."

xXxXxXxXx

Thank you again to DebaterMax - not just for the corrections but also for that wonderful omake… it leaves me with just one question on my part: why are you so fascinated by Mungo? I think you asked about an omake about him thrice and then did one yourself… lol

-Ebenbild