"I will be flying, higher and truer, than I've flown before..."
–Martina McBride, From the Ashes
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The spot Salazar had selected was a clearing in the forest, the site of a former fire in decades past that left the plants beginning to resurrect themselves and the remainders of scorched wood as a symbolic history. Nearby was a spring, first hot and eventually cooling itself out in the subsequent creek. Just outside the clearing were the ancient maples, tall and towering, forming a tarp of leaves and branches twisted like worms over the clearing. One tree turned in on itself, forming a concave hollow between the stronger roots. It was here he built the hut, one side of the maple forming an impenetrable wall. The hut was good, was huts went. His father had been a master in that regard, pioneering and magic skills learned from a lifetime of servitude in the swamps outside the Clearwater manor that even a small boy could pick up on and imitate. Perhaps he had always had such skills. Talents could show themselves in stranger ways.
The hut stood strong, on the small side, but then again he was only one man. The walls were thick, yet allowed the air when necessary through a simple charm in the muddy mortar. The furniture was simple, what some might call crude, but Salazar liked such atmosphere. After so many years of living in a castle, it was rather nice to come back to a bed and a chair constructed from wood, twine, and gritty, practical spells. A fire could roar inside, the hut ignoring the burning flames. The first winter surprised even him, as the hut held up against snow and wind, warm and cozy as one could please. The second and the third came without a bat of his eye.
Yet it was the woods that had caught his attention. They were different from the wetness of the fen, dry and wet as the weather pleased, tall and sheltering and keeping of its own mysteries. Nor did the woods question. They had their secrets, and the trees held no concern if he had his. There was an understanding there, one that Salazar was satisfied with. Magic was strong there. Plants grew, begging to be placed in potions, and Salazar soon found himself studying and writing. Parchment was easy enough to make, and though it seemed odd to do so in face of the almost certainty that no one would ever see his studies, he enjoyed it. He practiced and practiced and studied and studied each day.
Why were students not taken into the woods? He wondered. Why had Hogwarts claimed itself as a building? The magic was so much stronger out here.
The animals did not fear him. He had treaded into an area not frequented by humans, and though he was admittedly marked as a curiosity in the beginning, the animals soon enough acclimated themselves; one more creature, one less, they did not care. Indeed, he found himself on friendly terms with several. Especially the snakes. None, of course, were like Ethelinda, but she had been one of a kind and it was unfair to judge others by her.
It was a strange fate at which he often laughed. He, Salazar Slytherin, son of Siyth Slytherin, servant to the great Lord Terminus. A boy who had grown up in the wetlands of a lake, a family name unknown and uncared for. A boy trained to a great wizard, a founder and a teacher of a school rising to a fame that even the snakes heard rumor of. And now, as so many things did, he had come back to the beginning. Here he was, destined to spend the rest of his days as a hermit.
He supposed it was better than killing himself. And it was not as if he preferred this life, though it certainly was agreeable. Many a time Salazar had considered returning to Hogwarts. He would be welcome, he knew that. But every time he thought of doing so, the words of the prophecy he had read came floating back to him: "The seed of darkness will come through the union of Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Generations will pass, but the child of darkness will come through Slytherin."
If he ever returned... he had heard the rumors, the reason the school was hated by so many.
He would not be responsible for that. Even if it meant he had to give up Rowena.
And of course she was no longer able to be his. She and Godric had married. That was irony. The only girl he had ever loved married to the best friend he could ever ask for. But they would be happy together. It was a blessing, no doubt. The two people he loved the most together. They would grow to love each other and all would be well. That helped staunch the heartbreak, a little. Helga would be heartbroken as well; Salazar knew how she felt for Godric. But in time, she would find someone else. Someone who would love her and she would love him back. Of course that would happen. Beautiful, sweet Helga with hair of gold and the touch of an angel. Salazar hoped he hadn't hurt her too much.
But Rowena, that was different.
Sometimes he still dreamed about her, and in dreams she was there, smiling, beckoning to him. She still wore the ring of mist about her finger, vowing forever to be his bride, forgiveness tumbling from her hands and mouth. On rare occasions, thankfully rare, she was a nightmare, angry and hurt and above all crying. He could not bear to see her tears.
If he could have explained everything to her, she would have understood. Maybe. But they would have had to separate regardless.
And so he found himself a refuge in the woods, far away from the reach of Hogwarts. No one looked for him, he did not expect them to. It was best this way. And for a few years, his fate was sealed.
It was a morning in late summer, the third year after Salazar had fled. The sun was strong, light and heat beating their ways past the maple canopy to the clearing below. The spring, already flooding hot water, joyfully took in the extra warmth. The glare was strong, blinding, and yet felt good on his bare skin. He stripped off his shirt as he headed to the spring. Animals were already there, drinking from the stream. They no longer paid him a glance as he joined them. He dunked his head into the water gushing from the ground.
"Care to fetch a lady a drink, good sir?"
He was so surprised he felt right into the spring. He had not heard the voice of another human in so long that he almost did not recognize the words. But he did recall the sharp giggle that accompanied his fall.
She sat on a rock on the other side of the water, pretty as ever, with her blonde hair and her laughing green eyes. Tanith. "I did not see you as the type that would fancy a swim, Salazar. Shows how much I know of you. You must take me for a silly girl. The last time we met I told you my feelings for you, and now I confess that I know absolutely nothing of your nature." She laughed again. Strange how it seemed so at home in these woods.
Salazar stared up at her, muscles of his throat working their way into words while his mind raced for reason. "What are you doing here?" His voice, unused, was like a hiss. He did not mind. She was a trespasser, at least that was the way he should feel.
She cocked her head to the side, sending blonde waves over the grey shirt she was wearing. Slacks and old hunting boots completed her outfit, one that looked like she had stolen from a poor woodsman. What of her fancy dresses? "What am I doing here? I believe I should be entitled to ask you the same question."
Grinding his teeth together, he rose to his feet. The water dripped from his bare torso, and that was humiliating enough. Imagine had he come naked! Oh, how she would have mocked him then! "You and your riddles, Tanith. Are you incapable of a straight answer?"
She shrugged.
He kicked at the water and climbed to the shore opposite Tanith. "Leave. I am dead to the world. You should not be here. I don't want you here."
"Dead? Salazar, that is precisely what the Fighters want! Don't you understand?" She hopped from her rock, balanced awkwardly at the bank, and hopped to his side. "You're frightened, so you do exactly what they say."
"Prophecies. Fate. I no longer care." He ran a hand through his hair, flicking out the water. "I'm here for my own reasons."
"And so the Fighters have nothing to do with it?"
He started back across the clearing, a wide pace that he half-hoped she wouldn't keep up with. "I do believe in prophecies, the real ones. I would be unwise not to. I do not fear the Fighters, or anyone in the Order of the Phoenix. I only do what I can."
Again that laugh. "A wise answer."
She was keeping up better than he had thought. Probably had something to do with the boots and slacks she wore. More girls should be more intelligent. "Who are you to determine wise?" he asked. "You've said it yourself, you're nothing but a messenger."
"Not anymore!"
He stopped and whirled around to face her. She froze instantly, looking up at him with those mocking green eyes. "Whose side are you on? Are you a puppet of the Order? Some other group we know nothing of?" Just as fast he spun back around.
Tanith grabbed his hand. "Testy, you certainly are. You make it all so much more interesting. If you really want to know, you should have asked me years ago. I believe the school of Hogwarts should stand until the end of time. I've played my part to encourage its safety. The riddles you make fun of, they are simply my way. A word here, and word there. There is great power in words."
"Whose messenger are you?"
She smiled, big and bright. "That's my own secret, though it is a thing of the past. I am no one now, not that I was anything before. No one but Tanith."
Another riddle. He was sure of it. He studied her face, trying to decipher whatever she said. She did not seem to mind.
"You have yet to bring me the drink you promised," she said with the innocence of a child.
The spring was already behind them. Salazar gave a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Come to my hut. The huckleberries are ripe–I have collected their juice. It's quite a treat."
"Huckleberries. I'm excited."
She laughed when she saw the hut, always assuring, between bursts of giggles, that she was most impressed. Certainly enough the inside caught her eye. She cooed and commented over each piece of whittled furniture, calling it all absolutely charming. Then she perched in his only chair, elbows on the table. "I wish for my drink now."
This could not be happening to him right now. Of all people that could find their way out here, it would be Tanith. He reached for the bottle in the cupboard. Thankfully he had made multiple cups. He tipped the bottle over two and let the dark juice run out. "How did you find me? And why?"
"You leave quite the trail, Salazar, but I do say chance had its part. Perhaps it was fated we should meet. I will tell you that I was not looking for you in particular."
He set the cup in front of her and crouched on the other side of the table with his own. "Then what were you looking for?"
She wrapped both tiny hands around the cup and lifted it to her lips. "Mm. This is delicious. Perhaps this is what I was looking for."
"Be serious."
"Is a harvest of berries worth more or less than any other quest? Is what is found worthless compared to what one intended to find but never did? Why must I always have to find something?"
A smile pulled at his lips. "More riddles."
"Thoughts, more likely." She licked her lips and took another sip. "Scarcely I know my own. Makes life an adventure, though."
He shrugged.
"Maybe I was meant to find you. I have thought about you often. I told you on our last meeting how much you impressed me. The fantasies of a little girl, of course. But you will no doubt forgive that. I'm a wanderer, you see. Once I was a messenger, once I tried to assist fate. But that no longer concerns me. I have long lost my people, so I went out on my own, and my path led me here."
"Who are your people?"
"An old tribe, common as dirt. People marry people, and in the end it no longer matters. They have been here a long time, many of them. Rumor has it that some ancestors came from the great continent to the east, the great continent to the south. A mess of blood that still held its own majesty. In a way."
For the first time he drank the huckleberry juice. Sweet, today. "Sometimes I wonder if it is best for everyone that like blood stays with like blood."
"I suppose there are good reasons there. But sometimes I think it no longer matters."
That night he offered her his bed, willing to sleep on the floor. Or perhaps he would conjur up something luxurious for her. But the woods had been her bed for many a night, and she was happy enough in the clearing, on a mattress of long grass. He awoke early, before she did, and watched her from his doorway. She curled up like an infant, hair all about her. He wished she would hurry up and leave.
But as he was eating breakfast she awoke. "Come, Salazar! Let's play in the spring!" And she dragged him unwillingly to the water, sending animals scurrying away.
The next day he again woke early, just as the sun was rising. The clearing was filled with shadows. He climbed out into the grass and scooped her up. She did not wake until he had thrown her into the colder portion of the stream. That was the first time he had ever heard her scream, and the sound was marvelous, and worth the wave of water she sent at him.
Tanith was eager to explore the woods, and she insisted Salazar show her the nearby trees. They would hike for hours, never growing weary, and eat lunch on fallen trees writhing with rot. She pointed out the life taking over the dead wood. "See? It's their new home!"
"You can't have a home in a log."
"Salazar, you have your home at the base of a tree. You cannot talk."
At supper, she would tell stories, fantastical stories of creatures she had learned from her grandmother. He would banter back with stories his father had told him. That seemed to sadden her, a strange expression that did not fit with her face.
"Do you ever miss your father?" she asked once. "I know that he was murdered, I know that..."
"He was wicked. That was the hardest part, to accept what he had done."
Tanith pressed on. "You loved him, though?"
"Of course I loved him. He was my father. He taught me so much. He loved me." It hurt to talk about him, but there was something healing in the pain, something that tasted spicy on his lips as he spoke. "We grew up in a fen. Being out here reminds me of him."
She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry."
He talked about the others, Helga and Godric and Rowena. He and Tanith made up a game, predicting what each of them would be doing. She didn't seem to mind talking about Rowena.
"She was a nice girl, beautiful, and so very intelligent. You should have married her."
That was when he told about the prophecy. Tanith understood that as well. She had her own stories, growing up by an old road, games with her brothers and sisters, friendships she had shared. Her childhood had been happy, but she said she had her own life to live.
One night they lay out in the clearing, side by side. With magic they had pushed aside the branches, leaving the sky wide open for all stars. There weren't many.
"Did you know," Tanith said, "that if you concentrate on one spot, the stars will come to you?"
"I did know," Salazar replied. "I didn't know anyone else knew."
"We're not all alone."
For a long time, neither of them said anything.
"Do you remember what I said, the last time we met at the lake?" she finally asked.
He nodded. "You are talking about the basilisk?"
She laughed and slugged him.
He also laughed. "You said..." The memory floated from somewhere, a place deep inside his mind where it had been safely locked up. " You said you would wait to give me reason to love you."
"Have I?" Her voice was a whisper, void of all her usual confidence. It should have scared Salazar, but it didn't.
He sat up and stared at a patch of blue/black sky. Slowly, before his eyes, a star appeared. Then he bent over and gently, ever gently, kissed Tanith's lips.
He didn't know how many stars came out after that. One by one, until the sky glittered.