Ten years later…

Salazar was feeling old now, though he was only twenty-nine years old. He felt as though he had done as many things in these past ten years as whole villages did in three generations.

He looked back at the castle he was now walking away from. He had helped built that, in little more then five years. Would the ones who looked upon it generations later realized that only four people, -and two of them women- made that in five years?

Of course, the magic had helped. Godric had spent most of his time in the quarry; magically cutting out the bricks needed to build the school. Helga had mostly been in charge of placing the bricks and Rowena spelling them. He had mostly done the odd jobs, alternating his time helping all three of them.

He looked out onto the lake, that was formally Godric's quarry, and before that, a lake. Salazar had drained it, after Godric had gone exploring and had found that the bottom was rock. Salazar had revived it, and had even put in a small squid that a trader from India had sold, promising him that it was nearly immortal, and would grow huge and monstrous, yet it would be friendly.

The past five years had been spent roaming the country, looking for students, and creating them.

Salazar shuddered at the remembrance of finding the suitable host for magic, and giving them the gift. It had made him feel drained, wasted, and unalive for several days after wards. It was if someone had sucked all the humors* out of his body.

There was also something else that he had felt when turning, as they called it, the muggles. Something deep inside within him. A gnawing feeling of greed and avarice, a little voice saying over and over, this isn't right, this is wrong, this all belongs to you, and you alone, you should keep it to yourself. He had dismissed those feeling afterwards, when he saw the delight in the ex-muggle's eyes when they felt the power within them.

Of course, not all had gone so easily. They had been chased out of countless villages by muggles with torches and pitchforks, and the priests throwing buckets of holy water at them. They went to Helga's old village, and she was recognized, but Rowena and put a memory charm on the whole village afterwards- or had tried to. The local priest snuck up behind her, and caught her. They tried to burn her, but the other three had come to her aid, and they escaped.

Salazar was feeling old for all of these reasons, and for something else. The four had stayed up most of last night, preparing for the opening of the school. Helga had mentioned, in passing, that most muggles could only hope to live to forty. And here they were, pulling children out of the villages for seven years. That might not seem like so much to them, for they could expect to live to ninety, or even one hundred. But for the turnlings, if they returned to were they were, and lived the way they did, it would be a fifth of their life.

He had thought about that for the rest of the night, and now this morning. He was now twenty-eight. He had almost lived a third of his life. He could almost feel morality's jaws at his throat. He wanted to live on and on, until the end of time. To see the school grow, to see the children learn.

"Salazar!"

He broke from his thoughts, to see Helga running in a very unladylike way down the hill, her yellow and black robes streaming behind her.

"What?" he said.

Helga stopped running halfway down the hill. " The sorting ceremony will be an hour! Godric wants us all in the hall now!"

Salazar grinned, ran up the hill, and embraced her. Helga laughed joyfully, as he took hold of her hands, and began to dance a little jig. "Finally!" he said. He started to sing. "Hogwarts, hoggy-woggy Hogwarts!"

They stopped after a few seconds though, as both suddenly realized what they were doing. They began to walk back up to the front entrance.

Helga kept on tripping on her robes. "God's feet!" she said. "Why do we have to wear these cursed things?"

"You'll get used to them," said Salazar. "You've gotten used to all the other noble-like things you've been doing lately. Look," he gestured to her feet. "You're taking small, ladylike steps."

Helga looked down at her feet. "I guess you're right," she said.

The two finally got to the door. Salazar ran ahead, and opened the door. "Milady," he said, gesturing inside.

"Thank you, good sir knight," she said, in an exaggerated highborn accent, as she swished past him, and into the entranceway.

Salazar followed her into the grand hall, where five tables were set up.

Rowena and Godric were seated at the high table, which was perpendicular to the other four. Above it was a huge banner that Rowena had made, with the four symbols from their bracelets upon it, connected by a huge H in the center.

The H stood for Hogwarts. Rowena had thought of it, of course. There was an H for Helga, a G for Godric, an R for herself, and an S for Salazar in the name. She told them that the initials stood for order, and the other letters stood for chaos, and that the school should be a good mixture of the two.

Salazar and Helga sat down quickly.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I was out by the lake, lost track of time."

"It's fine," said Godric. "The ceiling looks great."

Salazar looked up at another one of his creations. Helga had complained that the hall was too dark and dreary. So he made up a complex spell to let the ceiling reflect the sky outside. Right now, it was blue, and streaks of red, pink and purple were filling it, and turning it indigo.

The four sat in silence, as it darkened, and the candles began to light themselves. When the first star appeared, the students would come.

Salazar looked back up at the sky, and as if on cue, Venus appeared.

A loud popping noise sounded, and the students were there, crowded in the back of the hall.

"Welcome!" said Godric, standing up. "If you would all come to the front of the hall, the sorting will commence."

The students shuffled forward. They were forty of them, a hodgepodge of ages and backgrounds. The youngest was nine, the oldest fourteen. Twenty-five were turnlings, fourteen magic were from magical families, and one was a girl, born magic to a muggle family.

Rowena handed a list to Godric. He peered at it.

"Will Abbot, Jonathan please step forward?"

A boy of about twelve came up to the table. "I'm him."

Godric gestured to Rowena. "Go on."

"Do you know how to read or write, John?"

"No."

"Godric," she said.

"Have you ever saved anything?" he said.

"I saved a cake that a church man gave to me, once."
Godric shook his head. "Salazar."

"Do you want to be king?" Salazar said, knowing the answer already.

"No," said Jonathan, a little forcefully. "And have people try to kill me all the time?"

"Helga," he said with a gesture.

"Do you like to make things?" she said, kindly.

"Yes, I do," said Jonathan enthusiastically. "I made all sorts of thing for my mother and sister and brothers."
Helga nodded. "All right. Will you please sit at that table?" she pointed to mid-right table. "You are in Hufflepuff house."

"Thank you, miss," he said, and went and sat down.

They continued through the rest of the thirty- nine. All went well, and the students were miraculously evenly divided, ten for each house. But, Salazar noticed, as the opening feast began, none his students were turnlings.

A/n- * humors, for those of you who don't know, are the subtances that people believed made up the body. There are four- blood, green bile, black bile, and phlegm.