Chapter Five
oooP1ooo
He awoke with the sun, not that he could physically see the vibrant star rising over the castle. His dorm room was dark, only the filtered blue light from the loch filled the room. The thrum of the leylines under Hogwarts, sweetly warm as all Mother's magic was, sang a greeting to the morning. It was a pleasure to awaken to. There was just something a little more connected, more grounding, to have a leyline crossing underfoot.
His grove would eventually reach a similar connection as he cared for it and drew up the earth's magic. It would not become a leyline or a crossing of two like Hogwarts had but it would be a thrumming, warm pool of the nature magic. One day he would have multiple groves interconnected by their own highway of magic, intertwining with the natural leylines of the world. It would be like before, where he could walk the entire Isles and never lose that connection with the Mother.
Snores vibrated through the room. The five other boys were sound asleep. Salazar set his glasses onto his nose and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The walls were covered in a deep green damask floral s-like pattern. Two rows of four poster beds with green and silver brocade curtains filled the room. Trunks rested at the end of each of the boys' beds, leaving only Salazar's empty. It was old-fashioned and a little stuffy but well cared for.
His toes sank into a thick woolen rug that covered most of the stone floor. Salazar tugged on an emerald undertunic and dark gray trousers as he decided to move the muggle clothing to the bottom of that particular pocket of his satchel. The green peeked out from around his neck and when the robe's sleeves fell around his elbows. He wouldn't be the only student showing their house pride, though he might be one of the few first years.
An after-ache, the echo of the migraine and strain of new bonds, rose to his attention as he moved about. A faint throb whispered across his scalp as if threatening to grow into a chasm of stabbing pain. Salazar slowed his movements and focused on his core for a moment. The bonds shifted forward in his mental focus but he didn't reach out to them. Nothing stuck out as wrong, pre se.
The founder swung his satchel over a shoulder as he frowned thoughtfully. He silently left the dorm room and his still-slumbering peers. The parselmouth had some time till one of the prefects would show the group of first years the way back to the Great Hall. Salazar needed to determine what was the unknown bond anchoring into his core before it settled properly but that would likely take more than an hour. And he didn't want to investigate it where children could come and interrupt.
He paused at the common room entrance as he considered what to do. The muted colors of the room glowed blue from the tinted light spearing through the underwater windows. Cool stone floors were covered with strategically placed rugs that framed various sitting areas and work tables; their warmer green tones lightened the cool stone and visually warmed the space. A large fireplace stood framed by tall, thin windows looking out into Loch Fitheach.(1) Paintings of people and creatures and nature covered the walls. All of them kept to the soft blues and greens and silver tones.
The general room was familiar, though the stone was more worn and darkened with age. The furniture was new and focused on a traditional style of upholstered leather, dark woods, and brocade fabrics. One wall held reference books, primarily related to potions.
There was nothing to do but wait, Salazar decided as he slowly wandered the room and took it all in. The prefect would expect his presence for the escort to the Great Hall. And the first day was not the time to vanish. He didn't need a search to occur because he wasn't where people expected him to be.
Salazar claimed the couch near the fireplace. He sank into the leather cushion and hummed in appreciation. A hissed command caused flames to burst into life within the fireplace. The various lamps and candles were also lit at the parsel single command. Golden light chased away the cooler, filtered light from the windows.
Mint and blackberry filled the air. His head slowly turned, following his nose to a cup of tea seated on the end table beside his seat. Steam floated off it.—Nostalgia hit him. There were years of mornings having this same tea in this very room as he made himself available for his apprentices during their self-study.
His throat constricted at the memories. He sounded like an old man.
Salazar rubbed his forehead as he realized how emotional this was going to be. Hogwarts had been his home. It still was his home but now it was invaded by strangers proclaiming to continue his and the other founders' work. So much would be the same and yet different. The boy didn't know if he could handle it with dignity.
How obnoxious.
Salazar sipped the tea as he settled back with a book, determined to not worry about the issue. Glowing orange eyes announced Omorose as she slinked into the common room and claimed his lap for a nap. Her pregnancy was becoming more obvious by the day.
Students began to trickle through the common room, all older years who paid Salazar no mind. But Salazar noticed them; regarded the various items used to show their Slytherin pride; took in the way they carried themselves; who grouped together; and who was ignored. He didn't have the entire picture but he had no doubt there were reasons for everything he saw. For now, Salazar picked apart the accessories since he had no background on the rest. It had certainly expanded over the centuries.
Many of the ladies wore corsets over their robes. Multiple young men had mantels. A number wore a shield badge of the Slytherin section of the Hogwarts seal on their breasts or shoulders. One young lady flew through the room while tying a silver and green scarf around her waist. Some of the boys appeared to have muggle ties tucked under open robe collars. Undergarments peeked through, similar to Salazar's own. All of the added pieces were emerald, silver, or a combination of the two house colors.(2)
The founder smiled at the enthusiastic pride. Some traditions survived centuries, no matter the form they changed into. His apprentices had worn undergarments of green, Godric's had worn deep red, Rowena's had used a soothing blue, and Helga had decided on a cheerful yellow. Those colors became standard tones to denote them and theirs from the others. He wasn't certain when the secondary colors had been instituted but he had no issues with his silver.
His fellow roommates stumbled down the stairs and claimed seats around him. A few of them had Slytherin shield badges pinned to their robes. The rest wore no house colors.
Draco pushed through the group of boys, focused on the space beside Salazar. He stilled, eyes rounded in surprise, as he found a certain feline's butt in the way.
"You've a cat?" Draco blurted out with a wrinkled nose. The blond looked about their sitting area. The others had taken all the chairs. Only the couch was left. Panic flickered across the boy as he gazed from Salazar to Omorose to the seat at her side. He didn't look particularly happy at his options.
Salazar raised a brow as he finished his tea. Omorose was sprawled across his lap and part of the seat beside him, seemingly dead to the world. "No. She just decided to use me as a pillow." Salazar stated with sarcasm dripping from his tone.
Vincent snorted in amusement while Draco colored.
"Aren't you worried about its hair getting everywhere?" whined Draco as he ignored Salazar's response, "It's not allowed anywhere near my things!"
"She is a kneazle," Salazar explained with a soft huff, "I'd like to see you try to keep her away from anything. It'll just make her more likely to get into whatever it is."
Gregory spoke up quietly, his voice just reaching Salazar over Draco's incoherent, horror-filled response. "She's a beauty. What's her name?"
Salazar smiled at the rotund boy. "Omorose."
"Ohh, that's pretty!" squealed one of the girls as the entire pack of eleven-year-old ladies joined them.
Before Salazar was swarmed, one of the six-year prefects called over to them from the entrance. "First years! All of you are here, right?" The young woman glanced over them all before she nodded to herself without pausing for an answer. "Right, this way." She paused and added, "It's Gemma Farley, in case you didn't catch it last night. Feel free to ask me any questions when you see me in the common room."
Salazar nudged the sleeping kneazle. She yawned at him and shifted slightly off his lap.
Gregory stepped forward and scooped her up with practiced ease. Salazar watched, amused, as the feline gave the boy a long look before she decided to accept the lift and collapsed back to sleep. The girls swarmed Gregory to quietly squeal at her as they followed the prefect.
Hogwarts had aged. The stones were worn and colored from centuries of use. Decorative statues, plaques, and suits of armor gave way to tapestries and paintings as they traveled up to the main floor. The Great Hall's double doors were wide open to welcome all the half-awake students into its embrace. The smell of freshly baked loaves of bread and bacon floated out.
Morning sunlight filtered through a few puffy clouds across the illusioned ceiling. The giant hearth still sat pride of place on the right wall, towering over the Gryffindor table and rising up to fade into the illusioned sky. Its old stone mantel was now decorated with fine wooden carvings of the house animals. A huge mirror sat right above the mantel and a large stone-carved shield of the Hogwarts seal rested above that. Enormous tapestries hung down from just below the illusioned ceiling on either side of the fireplace. One depicted medieval magical occupations and the other a number of battles.
Sunlight filtered through familiar stained glass windows that rose high behind the dais holding the professors' table. The cobalt blue glass and ivory white alabaster stone, cut in an imitation of some geometric tile pattern Godric had particularly liked, twirled up into other colored glass in the shape of magical creatures. Dragons danced amongst clouds while unicorns ran across a blue-green field, and a pod of selkie swam amongst fish.
Someone had added more windows to the left wall. These had a frame of stained glass around crystal clear center panes. Whoever had added them had imitated the geometric pattern of the other windows but used only glass instead of the mix of glass and thinly cut alabaster stone.(3) Through the clear windows, the road from the train platform and part of the loch were visible. In the distance, a large, unusually shaped wooden structure could be seen. Beyond that, the dark forest claimed the once rolling hills and stretched across the visible mountainous lands of the highlands they had claimed and warded for Hogwarts.
He stared out the windows as the prefect guided the group to the Slytherin table. His eyes were stuck on the forest. There had not been a forest, only his groves. While it was possible the forest came about simply because of the protections of the wards hiding it from most humans, he could not help but consider the likelihood that most of the forest existed because of his groves. It was a startling concept. The eight groves he had grown to protect his home had propagated an entire forest. That forest spanned most of the warded land.
It was humbling.
Salazar pulled his eyes from the view and looked over the hall once more. Students wandered in and settled into groups at their respective house tables. Teachers passed through to their seats presiding over the room. Prefects wandered up and down the aisles, checking in with students and greeting friends.
He took it all in but his eyes continuously drifted back to the dais. He half expected to see Helga up there directing platters of food to the various children. Godric should be grumbling over a bowl of porridge as he considered his afternoon classes or surrounded by apprentices worrying over some spell or weapon technique. Evander would be guiding a distracted Rowena through the doors at any moment so they both ate for the day. Helena and Moria should be seated amongst other students, preparing for their first proper year as apprentices. Elowen and Oswin would have been playing by the hearth, ignoring demands to take their fill.
Another cup of tea appeared in front of him. The scent drew his attention and helped bring him back to the present. Salazar stared into its swirling depths, heavy-hearted so early in the morning. It would be a long day. This was going to take time to get used to.—Maybe he should have gone to a different school.
Omorose pushed her head into his hand. Salazar rubbed behind her ears. She offered a meow, sprang off the bench, and trotted off. He imagined she was off to investigate the entire castle. He would probably see her again before the kittens came. (Or perhaps not; it was a large castle.)
A thick sheet of parchment appeared before Salazar. The reincarnated founder read over the parchment in interest, glad for the distraction. His interest turned to disbelief.
His class schedule was random. That was the nicest way to describe it. Not a single day was identical to the next. Mondays started early. Fridays ended by lunch.(4)
"Excuse me," Salazar said when he noticed an older student beside him. "May I see that?" The founder took said student's schedule and reviewed it without pause. It was just as bizarrely scheduled but fuller, longer, and much more exhausting.
"Potter," snapped the older student as he yanked his schedule back, "I didn't say yes."
Salazar blinked owlishly before a grimace crossed his face at his blunder. Right, he wasn't a master allowed to take whatever from his students. "My apologies...eh.."
The older boy sneered as he answered Salazar's less than polite request, "Call me Montague."
"I apologize Montague. I was not thinking. It is rather early, isn't it?" Salazar offered a disarming smile as he shifted his faux paus towards childish sleepiness.
Montague gave a short nod. "That's true."
"No idea why we have to travel on September 1st every year," agreed one of Montague's companions as he leaned over the table and stabbed a sausage a little too aggressively, "Bloody tradition can screw itself. Nothing would have died if we had traveled here on August 31st."
"Why'd you want to travel here a day early?" demanded Draco, disgusted.
Montague smirked. "Last year September 1st was a Saturday. We had an entire free Sunday to start off the year."
"It was bloody brilliant."
A shadow crossed over their table, cutting off the older Slytherins' expositions on their excellent previous start of the year. Not that they needed to add to it, Draco and a few others looked suitably envious.
Salazar looked up as a clanking of metal echoed over the table. A ghost, vaguely familiar, stared down at him with a curious expression. A mix of wonder and wistfulness, if Salazar had to guess. The ghost was a gaunt man wearing a tunic of high quality and modern style for Salazar's original time. It was covered in a silvery stain splatter similar to blood. Chains finished the morbid appearance and were the source of the clanking.
Founder and ghost stared at each other for a long moment. All the while, Salazar wondered why the ghost was familiar. The ghost's expression twisted into something like hope as the eleven-year-old took up his cup of tea during the staring contest. Said contest was broken when his fellow first years rose.
Vincent pulled him up with them. "Come on," the larger boy said as he tugged Salazar back the way they had come, "We've potions first thing."
Salazar glanced back over his shoulder. The ghost continued to stare at him. The familiarity bothered the reincarnate. He thoughtlessly followed the rest of the Slytherin first years as he considered the possibilities. It was at the tip of his tongue. He knew who that was. But from where?
"Oi!"
He jerked his head up at the call and ran into one of the boys he hadn't caught the name of. A quick assessment found that Draco was leading them; all the Slytherin first years were present; they had somehow reached the second floor while he was distracted; there was no adult in sight.
"Lads. Lasses. Yer off on the wrong foot."
Salazar finally found the person talking to them. It was a talking portrait. The befuddled founder couldn't help but ask, "When did we develop enchantments to do that?"
The portrait, a man with a wild, blond beard, huffed at them, "-Inn't important. Yer gone off the wrong route."
Draco scoffed at being told that, though Salazar honestly agreed with the painting. They had potions first. He couldn't see why potions would be anywhere but the dungeons; there were too many toxins and temperamental ingredients for anywhere else. Though a tower, as he vaguely recalled noticing the night before, could be a decent place because of the ventilation.
One of the unknown girls spoke up, she waved her schedule out at Draco in emphasis, "He's right Malfoy. It says right here Potion Lab One, Dungeons."
"It doesn't say that!" whined Draco, his face flushed in embarrassment.
"L1, Dun.," she countered as she pointed at her schedule, "see."
"That's not the same thing Greengrass."
"Obviously, that's what it means."
"No–"
"Oi, ya've no time ta fight. Class is'a starting in a moment." The portrait tried to intervene but the two and their staunch friends (for all that most had only met last night) were all arguing over him.
"–it's clearly level one, as in floor one." scoffed Draco.
"Exactly!" agreed Blaise.
"You're being ridiculous."
"Who cares that you were wrong–"
"I know where we're going!"
"Why'd we go up more than a floor then?"
"Draco's da is on the board!"
"What does that got to do with class?"
Salazar's eyes bounced from child to child. He'd intervene himself but it was amusing and he had already messed up this morning. No need to make the children question his own child status this soon. A smirk flickered across his face as he internally admitted to the weak excuse. He wasn't a master having to corral children to their duties anymore. Someone else could deal with this mess.
He gave it two minutes. When the children were still arguing and started to throw insults and there was still no living adult in sight, he interrupted. The stairs under foot shifted as he spoke, "Perhaps we should ask for directions."
All the arguing children snapped at him with various forms of "stay out of it". Salazar wisely backed off as he struggled to contain a grin that wanted to break free with his amusement.
"What is going on here?"
The founder glanced up to find the deputy headmistress staring down her nose at them all. All of the arguing children fell silent. Most shuffled in an attempt to hide behind each other which led to Salazar somehow standing at the front of the group.
"Well? Mr. Potter?" demanded Professor McGonagall as she regarded him through her glasses.
Salazar straightened, tilted his head, and smiled sheepishly up at her. Her demeanor shifted ever so slightly. Her shoulders relaxed. Got her, Salazar couldn't help but think in pleasure before he explained, "Ma'am, We were having a minor debate on where to go from here. We've become lost."
"Lost?" she repeated with disbelief, "You have potions first thing." Salazar could hear the unsaid statement. They were Slytherins and they had lost their way to the potions lab. A lab that was likely close to their dorms for a class led by their head of house.
"Well," Salazar shrugged and his sheepish grin grew, "We mistakenly thought we had charms first."
"Ah." amusement sparked across her stern expression, "Head back down to the dungeons then."
Finally one of the others spoke up, "But the stairs moved."
"Come along," she sighed as she walked down the stairs and guided them along to the next flight of steps, not that the staircase was there yet. "These will take you down to the first floor. If you stay on them, they will shift down to the ground floor soon after."
"Thank you, professor," Salazar offered.
She looked back as she headed into the second-floor maze. "Try to ask for directions every once in a while and don't be late for my class tomorrow."
The group of first years mumbled and muttered out "yes ma'ams" as she vanished. Salazar turned to the guard rail and looked out over the grand stairway. Their steps should appear in two minutes, plenty of time to marvel at the cluttered walls.
It was filled with moving portraits. Most were waving cheerfully at the various students traveling through to their classes. Painted people and creatures traveled from frame to frame, filled with enchanted life and gifted with the ability to speak. It made it all magical in a way the empty walls hadn't back in the day. It was filled with history and character and life.(5)
It also meant nothing stayed quiet, stayed hidden.
"Potter. Move."
Salazar started at the sight of the steps. They were early. The first years stepped down onto the staircase and gathered to the right so other students could travel from the second to the first floor. Some, though, were stuck when the rails slid into place and the staircase proceeded to shift down toward the ground floor.
The founder frowned, the stairs should have had another minute before moving. Both the older children's reactions and the professor's words implied a wait before the stairs moved to the ground floor, as there should have been. Something had cut the time down but they would be able to make their first class with a minute or two to spare. It was rather convenient.—He'd look into the possible eroding of the enchantments if it happened again.
The group of first years found their fellow Gryffindors in a classroom a few hallways from the Slytherin dorm. The smell of decomposed things and a faint sting of formaldehyde smacked into the children's faces as they entered the potions room. It was filled with two columns of desks large enough for a pair of children each. Oil burners with wrought iron stands for their small pewter cauldrons stood on each desk. A professor's desk and chalkboard sat at the front. Shelves and shelves filled with jars of all shapes, sizes, colors, and transparencies sat against the classroom walls. A large closet sat open with even more shelves of ingredients. Torchlight filled the dark room with just enough light to see the labels on the various jars and some of the strange ingredients.
Salazar settled in a seat at Draco's side as he stared at a jar of desiccated pixies and ignored the two groups of children as the Slytherins and Gryffindors stared warily at each other. Perhaps if he ignored the expected hostilities between the two houses the children would follow his lead. His fame had to be of some use and if he could cut the ridiculous conflict created by untrue stories of Godric and himself, why not?
The door banged open and the Slytherin head of house stalked up to the front of the room with billowing black robes. The sallow-skinned man looked over them all with a sneer. His dark gaze paused on Salazar, seated beside Draco, and his sneer deepened.
He snapped out as he waved at a wall in emphasis, "Pack your things and stand to the left."
Once all the students were out of the way, the professor called out names and pointed to the workstations. He started with the Slytherins and seated them closest to the front of the room. Salazar was the last Slytherin that happened to place him without a fellow housemate. A Neville Longbottom was placed beside him before other Gryffindors were seated behind. (Later Salazar would realize that all the Slytherin purebloods were seated first. The order of blood status was repeated with the Gryffindors.)
Salazar offered a nod to the nervous boy seated beside him. A shy, hesitant smile was Neville's response. He offered his own smile and the Gryffindor's hesitation vanished. He watched as the dirty-blond relaxed beside him.
"I," drawled the professor as the students settled into their assigned seats, pulling the children's gazes back to the front of the room, "am Professor Snape, head of Slytherin and potions master of Hogwarts. You will find that there will be little foolish wand-waving within this class. Potion-making is a subtle, exacting art that requires a careful hand and mind capable of understanding the complex relationships between ingredients and actions done upon them."
Salazar tilted his head in interest. That sounded almost like rituals. Shift the importance of ingredients, or even remove them altogether, and the description was very similar. Perhaps what was done to the ingredients could be considered a form of ritual. The simple actions of word and wand movement were a form of ritual after all. It would not be a stretch that cutting a specific ingredient at a specific angle resulted in one magical reaction and that a different action to the same ingredient resulted in a different reaction. Those reactions would be similar, though, and tied to the overall magical properties of the ingredients.
This could match up with his strengths. Excitement bubbled up at the realization that he would learn something new here. He wasn't just hiding amongst students, biding his time until he was old enough to do something with his various skills without society questioning his every action because he was a "child". He would actually be a student here.
Potions hadn't existed as a discipline a thousand years ago. There were the hedge witches with their cures and each of the older magical families had a list of creams and drinks that supposedly did things like heal but it hadn't been a discipline.
Evander had had a few family creams to help with bruising and they worked quite well. Salazar knew how to use various herbs to his advantage. The chamomile and lavender infusion he had used on Aunt Petunia and Mrs. Figg was a prime example. Helga's mead might have aided with headaches but it was hotly debated (and usually led to testing the theory which meant overdrinking and creating more headaches instead of proving any cures). That was it.
Linfred the Potterer had lived almost two centuries after Salazar and he hadn't been a potioneer, just a wizard that knew a few tricks with plants. Those tricks later became important steps in various potion recipes. It was fascinating how far the art had come. He would need to read up on it after he finished with his history books.
The potion master leaned forward on his podium, his dark gaze swept over the class before he looked at Salazar specifically. His sneer grew and he flicked his gaze deliberately away, blatantly dismissive to anyone aware of body language. Multiple students shifted about, most of them Slytherins.
"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads–" His gaze swept over the Gryffindors before settling once more on Salazar. "–as I usually have to teach."
Salazar's excitement died. His gaze narrowed as he tasted something sour with the man's actions. Professor Snape had implied that half the class were idiots.—And Salazar was apparently the most stupid of them all.—This was unacceptable behavior.
The Gryffindor beside Salazar shrank from the professor's gaze. Any confidence in the boy was gone. All that was left was a nervous wreck. Salazar glanced at him in worry. The demeanor of the professor couldn't have caused such an extreme reaction unless it had reminded the boy of something or someone else. Perhaps the word dunderhead had caused the reaction.
Professor Snape flicked his wand carelessly at the blackboard, drawing Salazar's attention away from the Gryffindor. Spidery writing appeared. He frowned at the board but turned his attention to the professor, posed to copy the lecture down. There was a potion recipe on the board. Still, Salazar expected some basic ingredients and preparation rules before trying to create an actual potion.
After a moment, Snape snapped out, "Well collect the ingredients and begin."
The Hogwarts founder stilled before his hand fisted his fountain pen, and a soft hissed curse escaped. The Gryffindor seated beside him startled at the sharp, coiled hiss of parseltongue. Round eyes met his furious ones. Salazar forced his outrage down at the deer-like reaction from the child.
"Would you read off the board?" Salazar asked, "I'll copy it down and we'll get ingredients after." Reviewing the orders would hopefully help guide their steps. Having it explained would have been worlds better but Salazar would do what he could to learn this skill and to guide his tablemate.
"A-alright," squeaked out the Gryffindor.
The sneering head of Slytherin wandered and swooped through the room as the first years attempted to create their first potions with minimal instructions. He breathed down the back of necks until a Gryffindor made a mistake. Then house points were taken. Neville was on the verge of a nervous breakdown as the professor paused before their table.
"Longbottom!" snapped Snape, "Ten points from Gryffindor for mishandling ingredients! Do not cut. Dice."
Neville gave a startled squeak at the shout and dumped an entire handful of ingredients into the bubbling potion. Salazar startled also as he was the one cutting ingredients at the moment.
One of the other Gryffindors cried out in outrage near about the same time, having realized the same thing. "But Potter's the one cutting ingredients! Neville wasn't!"
Snape turned to the complaining Gryffindor and took more points. "Finnigan, five points from Gryffindor for talking out of turn."
"Another five points from Gryffindor for ruining perfectly good potion ingredients. Longbottom clean up. Have your table partner help."
Neville nodded jerkingly and pulled his cauldron from the fire. Salazar paused in his own potion-making to stare at the professor. He still needed to finish his own potion but Snape had basically told him to help clean up the other's mess. Neville started the clean-up on his own, obviously planning to take care of it without Salazar.
"Five points from Gryffindor for not following orders."
The Gryffindor flinched, wide hazel eyes glanced over to Salazar and then back to his ruined cauldron.
His own gaze narrowed at the professor before Salazar decided to help the poor boy. He took his own cauldron off the burner so he wouldn't have to clean up after two major failures. Then he helped move Neville's cauldron to the side of the room. Whatever Neville had done, had crystallized within the cauldron. The two boys spent the rest of class chipping the substance out and into a bin.
Snape called out as the class concluded, "Bottle up what you have and place it on my desk. Then clean up. I expect eight inches on proper ingredient preparation by the next class."
"Put some of this crystal into a vial." Salazar quietly told the chubby Gryffindor. "I'll bottle some of mine and come help after."
Neville gave a short nod as the founder headed back to their station. Salazar slowed, though, as Snape paused on his way to the front of the class and flicked his wand at the incomplete potion before the reincarnate could reach it. Salazar snapped his gaze up at the professor in shock. His potion had been spelled away. The other students paused as they saw what had happened but scurried back to work when the professor's head swerved around to glare at them.
Salazar clenched his teeth together and turned back to help Neville. The Gryffindor muttered multiple apologies, tears gleaming in his eyes, as they finished cleaning and packing up.
He was the last out as the potions professor called out, "Potter, turning nothing in means a zero for today. Do not do it again or you'll end up repeating the year."
The founder clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep moving, giving a short, curt nod to his head of house as he left the room. Outside, Neville fumbled with his books as he attempted to pull out something. A line of older years from all the houses were waiting further down the hall near lab three. None of their fellow first years had stayed behind.
Salazar didn't know about the Gryffindors, but his fellow Slytherins should have waited for him. The prefect had told them to stick together during the first week. The smack of a book falling to the ground pulled his attention back to Neville.
The little Gryffindor lost his fight with the parchment. Salazar caught the rest of Neville's books and picked up the fallen one. A peek at the parchment revealed the boy's schedule.
Neville flushed in embarrassment but muttered a shaky, "T-thanks," before sniffing sharply.
"Where you off to next?" he asked, directing the conversation towards simpler things. The mess of their potions class wasn't something he could fix at the moment. But he could help the child to his next class.
Salazar guided the boy to the stairs as Neville fought his emotions under control and unfolded the parchment. "Study in the library...oh...It doesn't start till next week?" He frowned at his schedule before giving a shrug and added, "I've charms after. It's on third. You?"
"I also have a free period. Then defense on second and charms right after that," Salazar explained as they reached the stairs, "Mind if I walk with you? We could hunt down each of the rooms."
The young boy relaxed and flashed a hesitant, slightly watery grin. The relief of not being left alone was clear on his young, open face. "Nah. I've defense after charms, so it'll be good to know."
Salazar nodded. "I'm Harry Potter, by the way. You may call me Harry." The founder offered as he continued to carry most of the nervous child's books.
Wide hazel eyes met his own emerald. Neville paused on their way up to the ground floor, straightened his back, and gave a short, firm nod to Salazar. "Good to meet you, Harry. I'm Neville Longbottom. Just Neville to you." The shy boy held out a hand which Salazar took and the two boys gave a short shake. The action seemed to calm Neville's timorous emotions and his gaze lost the shine of unshed tears.
"I think I must apologize ahead of time," Salazar offered a few moments later when they waited for the stairs to shift to the ground floor. The walk had given him a few minutes to evaluate what had happened in potions. The only conclusion he could come to was Snape had something against him. "I believe potions class isn't going to be pleasant."
"Don't think it's your fault," Neville countered becoming downtrodden once more, "I'm terrible at potions...and Professor Snape is…" The boy shrugged instead of voicing his thoughts.
Salazar didn't offer a response to that. He had a feeling that the issue was still his presence. The man had made it clear that he disliked the founder for some reason. Professor Snape would have been tossed out of his school the second a whisper of such treatment had reached his ears. Yet, the founder couldn't play his hand now, not when he didn't have an entire picture of what was going on. He had multiple questions and more kept coming up.
The reincarnate silently promised to remove the man if things got worse. For now, he might offer self-study with Neville if the boy continued to receive backlash for the seating arrangements.
Neville broke through Salazar's thoughts when he reclaimed his books and said, "It's around here somewhere, isn't it?"
They had reached the third floor. Salazar glanced over the hall and paused as he regarded the right wing. A frown spread as something nagged at the back of his mind.—There was something about the third-floor corridor. He couldn't recall what though.
Salazar stepped towards the corridor but Neville tugged his arm.
"Not that way."
"Wha–"
"Look at all those weapons!" Neville gasped.
His frown twitched into an amused smile as the eleven-year-old dragged him into the armor gallery. Neville leaned in towards each weapon and armor to read the various plaques. They wandered past the variety of metal and wooden gear.—Some were familiar and others not.—In one corner, was a large Grecian shield.
The founder slid a hand around the bottom edge, brushing his fingers across the stone of the wall. Helga's notice-me-not charm stood solid under his touch. It was as if a thousand years had not passed. A faint smell of freshly turned earth and the taste of honey came with the whispers of the passageway hidden behind the shield. It wasn't as potent as other magics he had interacted with though. It was as if what marked the magic as Helga's was slowly fading away.
"Do you think Godric Gryffindor's sword is around here somewhere?" Neville asked, wonder and awe in his voice.
Salazar blinked. He looked over at the blond in bemusement. "Godric's sword?"
Neville smiled sheepishly. "You don't think so?"
Green eyes swept over the gear on display. Salazar couldn't imagine the blade to be left around. The silver blade had been specially made. Its metal had allowed magic to flow freely through it and the blood of various magical beasts had imbued it with even more magic. Godric had used it more than he had used his wand.
"I...would imagine his family claiming it–claimed it." Salazar shook his head. Gareth would have taken it at the very least. Perhaps it had been handed down to Oswin. "Let's find the classroom, Neville."
The blond soon forgot all about the blade as they found the next fascinating room. Trophies lined the walls and low-set tables. Centuries of gold and silver plated trophies of all shapes and sizes were on display under the mid-morning sunlight.
Salazar, realizing the danger of these distractions, set an alarm on his watch. They could wander but he would make certain Neville was returned to his fellow Gryffindors before the next class began. The child shouldn't be left to wander the maze of a castle on his own.
They wandered through the glittering display cases and spied trophies for past quidditch cups, house cups, achievements in O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, dueling, gobstones, spelling, and racing competitions. A whole wall was framed out with velvet-backed gold plaques of Head Boy and Head Girl names. There was even a case celebrating the odd service to the school.
Salazar paused to look over them in interest. Some were vaguely familiar but most weren't. He chalked up to the lackluster details in Hogwarts: A History. There hadn't been any trophies a thousand years ago, at least not these types. Some of the trophies Godric and he had collected rested in the armor gallery.
These needed more detail than offered. All of them were for a service to the school but none actually stated what those services had been. His green gaze moved away from T. M. Riddle's golden trophy at the sound of a sharp, emotional gasp.
Neville stood rooted before the plaques of head boys and girls.
"Neville?"
The tiny Gryffindor jerked as if slapped and snapped his hazel gaze back to Salazar. They glistened with unshed tears. His throat bobbed before he nodded his chin up at a certain part. "My mum...I didn't know…"
Salazar stepped up beside the child and looked over the plaques immediately before them. He didn't see any Longbottoms but he did see a Potter and Evans. "My parents are on here also."
"Did you know?" Neville asked in a small voice.
"No." Salazar stared at his parents' names for a long moment, his hand rose to press against the rings hidden under his robes. He turned and met Neville's gaze. "No one ever said."
Something relaxed about the boy and he gave a soft, sad little smile. "Yeah...no one said."
They stared at each other, Salazar surprised at the camaraderie he felt with the child as much as he was at the pleasure of learning more about his parents. He broke the moment and nodded towards the doors. "Come on, the classroom is around here somewhere."
The charms classroom noted on their schedule was at the end of the final corridor of the floor. Large windows spilled warm sunlight into the long room. Neville stepped into the empty room without pause. Salazar watched the child pursue his curiosity.
He didn't follow immediately after. Salazar stilled just inside the room at the realization of what room it was. His gaze moved from the boy to stare over the auditorium-style desks that rose on either side of the room, leaving a professor's desk with a large stack of books on the chair in the center.
This room had been Godric's.
Once, nearly a thousand years ago, this room had been on the ground floor just feet from the main doors where weapon practice was completed.
The center floor was just large enough for practice duels, though the dueling hall—wherever that was now—had been used when the participation of the entire class had been required. The founder stepped up to the short wall between the first row of desks and the center aisle and rested a hand on the worn wood. No answering magic sparked under his fingers. The protective magics to keep spells within the area were gone. It was no longer set up for duels and combative magic.
He looked around at all the furniture. None of it was older than a few centuries. Charm books and posters of wand movements rested against the wall behind the professor's desk.
It was no longer Godric's classroom. Most of the ground floor had been the redhead's domain. Thrum of fire and heat and power had once consumed that section of the castle. Godric had never been able to keep his magic entirely contained.
The warmth was gone now. Maybe it was because the cluster of rooms had been separated, shifted to different floors, and stripped of magic no longer needed. Or maybe it was because Godric was long dead.
Salazar could still feel Godric's magic in the various enchantments and curses throughout Hogwarts but it wasn't the same. He hadn't realized how much presence the man had possessed until now.
A bell from his watch rang out. Neville jumped in surprise at the sound and stared over at him with wide eyes.
"We've run out of time," Salazar explained as he tapped his watch. "I best find the defense class."
"Right,"Neville agreed slowly before he set his things on a desk.
The despondent expression on the blond prompted Salazar to remark, "I'll see you later, Neville."
He didn't really know why he said it but Neville brightened at the almost promise and Salazar couldn't convince himself to ignore it. (It would be like kicking a puppy if he didn't reach out to the boy later.)
oooP2ooo
The pungent smell of garlic hit Salazar as he entered the defense classroom on the second floor. His eyes teared from the sharp smell. He blinked rapidly as he stalked through the room. It was set up with long rows of tables facing the front of the room where a large chalkboard rested against the wall. He was the first in, having somehow timed his descent to when the stairs came by and claimed a corner seat where he could watch everything.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was in a room no one had used in his past life. He had no particular memory of the place. Salazar couldn't even recall helping build the particular room.
Braids of garlic hung around the room's door and windows. Salazar couldn't help but imagine the smell never coming out. Another thousand years and the room would still be known as the garlic room. (He had no doubt the students all considered the place that.)
Salazar frowned as the other Slytherins avoided him when they entered a few minutes later. They grouped together on the opposite side of the class. None of the children even glanced at him. In turn, the Ravenclaws couldn't stop glancing his way as they entered. Salazar wasn't entirely certain it was because of his fame or the fact that he was seated as far from the other Slytherins as possible. One of the boys, a gangly brunet with a long face and tan skin, rushed to claim the seat at Salazar's side.
Said child pompously stuck his hand out to Salazar with the sharp statement, "Anthony Goldstein, Ravenclaw. My great aunt's married to Newton Scamander."
Salazar stared in amused confusion at the long-faced child but accepted the hand. "Harry Potter Slytherin."
The boy rushed to explain. His haste revealed that his pompous nature likely stemmed from an attempt to appear confident. "He's the author of our creature's book for the class."
"Ah, it's an excellent book," Salazar finally offered with a kind smile before he considered the age of the book, while also ignoring the fact that he hadn't actually read through it yet. "Great aunt?"
Anthony flushed. "Well...basically. A little more removed but I grew up with calling them tha–"
The professor interrupted with a stuttering order to quiet down. Salazar narrowed his gaze onto the odd man. He was a young fellow, soft looking and slightly frazzled with a purple turban mismatching against his tweed robes. Godric would have destroyed him in a duel. (Godric destroyed most people in duels but this man would have had to keep up with Godric to have gotten the DADA position. Not that his fellow founder would have given up teaching defense.)
"I am P-professor Quirinius Quirrell, your teacher for D-defense Against the D-dark Arts. You will learn how to hand-hand-hand-dle the d-d-darker sid-de of the magical world-d. We will cover vamp-p-p-p-pires–" One of the teacher's eyes twitched at the word. He swerved his gaze over to meet Salazar's multiple times as he stuttered through his introduction speech."–werewolves, and other d-dangerous creatures..."
Salazar could feel his migraine rearing back. His forehead throbbed with each 'd-d-d' spoken. Quirinius stuttered the entire class. It was impossible to follow the lecture without the desire to throttle the poor man. There was no way anyone was learning anything from him.
The entire group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws fled the classroom and trooped upstairs for Charms. Salazar paid little mind to the other students; his throbbing head kept him from caring. A second-row seat in Godric's classroom called to him. He claimed it and tried to ignore the other students and their noise and all the memories that pulled at his mind. (How many times had he helped Godric with a display or miniature duel for their apprentices?)
It took him a few minutes with his head on the desk before Salazar sat upright. His fellow Slytherins were all seated on the other side of the auditorium-style classroom. Another Ravenclaw, a little girl with long, straight black hair framing large glasses and dark eyes, sat beside him. The poor girl turned cherry red when he offered a kind smile.
Her reaction was one thing, the professor's was another. (One Salazar was in no mood for.)
Professor Flitwick fell off his stack of books when he came to Salazar's name on his list of students. Salazar had to hide a grimace at the sight of a grown man reacting in such a fashion. Luckily, he seemed to recover quickly and dived into introducing Helga's favored field of study.
"Welcome to Charms! I am Filius Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw and your charms professor," chirped out the small man cheerfully. White curls of hair, much-resembling puffs of soft clouds, surrounded a kind face wrinkled with age and alight with warmth. Salazar guessed the man had goblin or fairy ancestry. There wasn't anything terribly obvious beyond his height but the founder thought he could spy a slight point to the elder's ears.
"If you've cracked open your books, you may have noticed the wide variety of magic that falls under charmwork. There are subcategories of a multitude but we won't be focused terribly hard on such definitions as it's simply an attempt to help organize charms into a reasonable mess for research and pinpoint study."
Professor Flitwick paused to glance over all the children, "You should have a copy of Standard Book of Spells Volume One by Miranda Goshawk and Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling. We will start with general magical theory and as we expand our horizons, we'll expand our repertoire of spells."
The diminutive man clapped his hands cheerfully and Salazar twitched from a spike of pain from his migraine. "Now, let's get cracking. Pull out your things for note-taking. Wands away for the next week or so. If we get through the first set of theorems quickly, we'll be able to start on color-changing charms and you all might have your own school scarves at the end!"
Salazar considered the professor's cheer with mild disgust, knowing that it was similar enough to Helga's that his disgust was temporary. He'd like the man when he had no headache or migraine or stabbing pain enhanced by the man's high-pitched voice. Flitwick was worlds better than Snape and Quirrell. He just had the disadvantage of his class occurring after the other two.
oooP3ooo
A painting of a bowl of fruit was in his way. Salazar glared at the painting but he could see nothing change. He had a migraine. He did not want to deal with any more changes. Weren't all the paintings magicked to do strange, useless things? He bet the bowl of fruit did something strange if he waited long enough.
Salazar had reached his limit for people for the day. He had no desire to eat his midday meal with children and ghosts and foreign adults that had the audacity to sit where his family should be. He didn't want to deal with children that stared at him and ignored him in turn. He didn't need to go through introductions to magic he was as good as a master at. There was no reason he should have to sit in one of his lifelong friend's classrooms to only see a sea of strangers, feel strange magic that did not belong, and have nothing but shadows of his friend remain.
"ss:_Open_:ss" he finally hissed in frustration.
The painting swung towards Salazar, making the reincarnate step to the side so it could open fully. He stepped in, his frustrations slightly nullified by the painting's obedience, or whatever one could call an inanimate object obeying a command. He looked back and watched the painting swing close. The back of the painting was a far more familiar wooden door.
Salazar reached out and rested a hand on the worn wood. No magic whispered against his touch to explain how the painting had obeyed. It was likely on the painting itself. His fingers traced across the door and then down along its right side. Cuts into the wood marked each birthday of Helga's brood, showing their physical growth compared to the year before. He traced the three different types of marks showing Moria's, Elowen's, and Oswin's changes in height.
They had grown after he had died. He had known that, obviously, but here it was marked from a thousand years ago. Life continued after he died. His throat constricted as he traced the physical proof that the others had lived on after he had gone.
His breath caught and tears swam across his vision. He had known each child from the moment of their birth. They had grown up after his life had ended and here he was while they were long dead.
Maybe he should have stuck with the heartache he had already encountered for the day.
"Master Sally?"
There was no need to turn around and investigate all the changes to Helga's kitchens. She wasn't there. It smelt like her barley rolls baking and her stew simmering and her bramble pie just freshly made. But she wasn't there.
A tiny hand grasped his hanging one. Salazar looked down into large silver eyes. He blinked but the tiny bat-eared creature was still holding his hand. His migraine had blurred most of yesterday evening together but a vague memory of the house elf came to him. "Mipsy, right?"
"Yes, Master Sally," answered the House elf in a high, squeaky voice. He flinched at the sound as she bobbed her head up and down in emphasis, her long floppy bat ears smacking her shoulders in her excitement. That excitement dulled as she felt his flinch. Large eyes searched his face and her hand tightened in his. She said with a softer voice, "You be needing food now. Come."
She tugged Salazar into the large stone kitchen. Its huge fireplace, directly below the Great Hall's fireplace, was just as he remembered it—simple and warm with the smell of thousands of meals ingrained into its very being. An enormous cast iron cauldron hung within it and the stew he could smell visibly bubbled away. A wall of modern cooking cupboards, more similar to the appliances he saw in Diagon Alley than in his aunt's muggle kitchen, were glowing with active magic. Some had glass doors, revealing rising loaves of bread and golden-crusted pies. Another wall was covered in storage for all the various knives, cutting boards, pots and pans, and dishes of all shapes and sizes. Tables were filled with foods being cut and diced and trimmed in preparation for the coming dinner.
Through an archway, he could spy Helga's ingeniously charmed long tables, seated right below the tables in the Great Hall. Platters filled with food were set on the tables and vanished, transported up to the hungry children above. Plates and cups and emptied platters were transported back with a soft bell-like call to announce their return.
At least a hundred House elves bustled about, cooking and cleaning and prepping for the evening ahead. A low chatter filled the stone kitchen, filling it with a different kind of life compared to what he was used to. The elven tongue was foreign to his ears. Part of him wanted to learn the language but that was for another day.
None paused in their work as he was guided through the kitchen. He was a little relieved the House elves ignored him. He didn't want them to stop and stand at attention for him in general. Salazar was in no mood to handle it properly right now either. All he wanted to do was curl up somewhere to wallow in memories and sleep away the migraine.
The elves had enough work without catering to some misguided belief that he wanted them to play servant in front of him anyhow. Salazar knew how much work it was to feed a small family. He could imagine the amount of effort feeding the student body had to be. Maybe they knew that somehow.—A warmth wrapped around him as if confirming that the elves understood his preference at this moment.
Mipsy brought him to the end of one of the tables filled with already cooked food being cut up and plated. Salazar sank into a seat and, in a blink, found a cup of tea before him. Mint floated up and soothed a little of his heartache and exhaustion and a great deal of his headache. He picked it up so the steam rose up to his nose and watched the elf through narrowed eyes.
Mipsy danced about the room with a large plate. Food was scooped in quick efficiency. It was set before him within moments of being seated. She was gone before he could offer up thanks.
The meal was filled with echoes of memories as he quietly ate food Helga had once made in this very room. Her charms and recipes had been passed down to these elves. They did them justice.
He contemplated the remains of his tea as he reached emotional equilibrium once more. The migraine had dulled to a gentle throb. He frowned as a bumblebee formed in the tea dredges. Salazar turned the cup about and huffed in annoyance as the bee turned into a lion. It could just be a mess of leaves too. He had no idea what bumblebees or lions could mean anyhow. (He should take an afternoon and make some rune stones. Those always made more sense to him than tea leaves.)
"Master Sally?"
"Hmm?" Salazar responded as he looked up from the failed divination, "Mipsy?"
She gave a hesitant smile. "Class be starting soon. You be needing anything to go?"
Salazar shook his head and rose. "No, thank you." He headed to the door but paused. His years taking care of his relatives had him turn to regard all the little elves working away. They were doing much of Helga's favorite, and not so favorite, work.
"All of you," he called out. Hundred large eyes swiveled over to him as the House elves obediently paused in their work. He stared over at the small sea of brownies. There was a whole array of furred and leathery skinned, pale and dark, pointed and floppy-eared creatures. It was a sea of diversity that he saw everywhere he went, now. "Helga would be proud. Thank you for your service."
Smiles lit the room.
He couldn't help but smile back. That was one thing he had always despaired over with his relatives. They had never thanked him for all his work over the years. The Dursleys had expected his service as if they were owed it.
No one was owed anyone's service.
It took a ridiculous level of navigation and directions from the odd portrait before Salazar found his way to the bridge on floor six to the Astronomy tower.—When the bloody hell did his castle gain towers? He has seen them last night but he hadn't really processed their presence until now.—He joined a pack of Hufflepuff first years in trudging up the spiraling stairs of the tower until they reached an actual room.
Students gasped and muttered in awe as they took in their Astronomy classroom.
Black and white tile guided them all into a large, circular room with walls and a ceiling of glass held together by aged wrought iron. Half-circle tables warped around two sides of the room with built-in swivel stools that allowed the students to shift their seats facing into the center of the room to facing out through the glass walls. The center of the room had a giant golden orrery.
Salazar wandered over to one of the glass walls and stared out across Hogwarts proper. He could see everything for miles. Loch Fitheach sprawled out across the green fields. The stone wall he could still remember whitewashing just before his death, was gray and dark as it stood between the grassy fields and the dark forest. A town rose out of the forest half a mile from the main gate. Near the town was the train station. The vibrant red express sat waiting.
He wandered in a circle, observing everything he could see. Three-fourths of the view was of Hogwarts land swallowed up by forest. A fourth was cut off by the roofs and walls of the castle herself. On this side, where little was to be seen, a glass pane revealed itself to be a door that led out to more stairs. Those stairs could be seen at certain angles through the wall of windows. They led up to the roof, though the ceiling was glass and no obvious walkway was present.
A smile stretched out slowly as he marveled at the charmwork and enchantments involved. From keeping the stairs from interrupting the view, to making the ceiling usable inside and out, this had to be the envy of many astronomers.
After investigating the room, he claimed a seat. The other students followed his lead and slowly settled into their own. Ronald decided to avoid Salazar just like his Slytherin peers but the other badgers were as curious as the Ravenclaws.
An Oliver Rivers ended up seated beside him.(6) He seemed like a cheerful boy whose mouth ran off when he was nervous. And he was nervous the entire time he tried to talk with Salazar. By the time class began, Salazar learned a great deal about the muggleborn boy. Refreshingly, Oliver appeared to have no idea about the whole Boy-Who-Lived nonsense. He was simply nervous on his first day.
That would likely change but Salazar enjoyed the experience for what it was worth. If he was lucky, Oliver would take this as a sign to continue to treat him normally.
Salazar doubted he was so lucky.
Astronomy turned out to cover more than stars, planets, and constellations. To Salazar's pleasure, Professor Sinistra planned to teach anything and everything affected by the night sky, seasons, days of the month, and various magic-heavy days. This included spell casting, herbology, and potions. They would learn what was possible during an eclipse, the power of the equinoxes and solstices, the twisting of magic when mars was particularly bright, and more. The second semester was when they would begin to map the night sky on Monday evenings. Perhaps later years would delve into the importance of the sky's alignment within rituals (though he wasn't expecting such after hearing most rituals had been made illegal).
After Astronomy, Salazar headed back down to the first floor with the flock of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. History ended up in one of the largest classrooms the founders had built. The giant auditorium had been planned for guest speakers, not a single class. The space allowed everyone to spread out and claim their own desks, which Salazar appreciated once class began.
History was taught by a ghost. He had known this because of his conversations with Mr. Fortescue. Salazar had thought a ghost was a decent choice. They had lived during history after all. (Though some of Mr. Fortescue's remarks had been concerning.)
It was a truly different fact to experience it. The ghost had floated into the classroom and jumped into the middle of a 15th century conflict between the goblin clan of Gringotts and the Wizards Council. It was clear the ghost hadn't realized it was a new year and had likely been lecturing an empty room just the day before. The entire class ended up dozing off during the forty-five minute lecture.
Salazar took the time to write up his potion's homework. Then he scribbled over his schedule with various additions for his personal projects. Finally, he read the chapter homework for Charms. When the professor completed his lecture, Salazar helpfully woke his peers by slamming the door open as he left.
A short time later, Salazar Slytherin claimed a spot by the loch with a view of his castle. The keep of Hogwarts—the part Salazar aided in building—rose high into the air. Its stone was aged and old, and the land around was molded to it as if the castle had always been there. Its primary form had not changed much over the centuries. Windows had been added. Over a score of turrets branched off the walls from different levels, many at angles on the castle that screamed impossible without magic.
Two walls wrapped around huge areas of land. One encompassed the greenhouses without cutting into much-needed light. The other wrapped around the front door, creating the main courtyard. The wall wrapped around the greenhouses was connected to two of the many towers. Bridges connected the rest of the towers to the main keep.
The seven towers were entirely new, while the walled courtyards had been planned for.—Hogwarts should be surrounded by walled courtyards but only had these two.—He found that he rather liked the tower and turret additions, even if their positioning seemed rather random. He doubted any strategy was considered when placing any of it. At least they all appeared to have arrow slits perfect for spell casting down at invading armies.(7)
For all the additions, it was still the magical refuge he had helped make.
He was done with classes for the day. The reincarnate had been done, mentally, since lunch. He had no desire to do anything more. His head ached. His heart ached. He was done. It was during these moments that he was most potently reminded of his physical age.
Salazar should get up, investigate the groves and wards, or more of the castle. The library called to him. But he had no desire to interact with people anymore or investigate possible issues. He much rather sit here and stare over at his school and marvel at the age and change done.
(There was a deep ache. It felt like it echoed from his very soul. What did one do when all they loved were so, so very gone?)
He should investigate the bonds tied to his core.
The boy sat and watched the world go by. It was a long time before he finally forced himself up and back to business.
oooP4ooo
Salazar stepped into the boat house and was pleased to find it empty. Water rolled under the deck. A soft smacking sound came from below where the water quietly hit against the piers. The sun was headed down toward sunset and was low enough to glare through the cave entrance over the water.
It was only day one and he had been gawked at and giggled over, ignored, and glared at. He had been confronted with memory after memory of the long-since dead.—How was it that his eight conscious years in this time had not helped him accept their death? It was so much harder here, and that shouldn't have surprised him. Would he ever get past losing everything? (He didn't think so.)
He heaved a sigh as he settled at the edge of the planks. His feet dangled out over one of the small boats tied up and waiting for the next start of the school year. Maybe he could take one out to fish. He hadn't fished since...well, he hadn't fished in this life.
Instead, Salazar closed his eyes and took slow, controlled breaths as he focused inward. As he had hoped, the sound of the water helped him focus. Mediation could take time, especially in his child form. (It had grown easier to enter a meditative state as he aged but it still took far longer than it should.)
It was time to find out what the new bond tied to his core was. Procrastination could lead to terrible consequences, no matter that he had needed that time away from everything. Salazar couldn't avoid this any longer without it becoming a permanent fixture to his magic.
Past his mind, his thoughts and memories, magic pulsed at his center. Branching out from his green and silver and golden core were the anchored magical bonds. each looked like threads to his mind's eye. He could taste the familiar wards. There was a fine balance of twisted Nature's power with a tang of order. Each pulsed to its own tunes, the pattern and the twisted nature allowing him to differentiate between which ward was which. He could already tell that something was off with them but they existed and, at a touch, they had not been corrupted.
He would investigate the wards later. It was the last anchored bond that he needed to understand. He mentally drew closer to it and the thread became a strange twining rope. Salazar's inner eye could see the complicated pattern, hundreds of varied colors twisted and braided together in an almost rainbow-like pattern. It didn't feel hostile.
That didn't mean it wasn't.
Salazar watched the pulsing magic for a long moment. The next step was to interact with it. He didn't particularly care for the idea but he couldn't think of another way to go about investigating on his own. The founder huffed in annoyance before doing as Godric would and grasped the rope.
Joy and happiness flooded his senses. It was a welcome, Salazar realized as he felt the emotions wrap around him in a strange hug. He focused on what else he could sense. There was something about the magic that was wonderfully bittersweet.
Emerald eyes flew open, the tied boats and loch spread out before him but he paid the world no mind. He recognized the magic. He could feel his fellow founders—Helga's solid determination and steadfast loyalty, Godric's fierce, steel-like resolve and fiery rumblings of his bravery, and Rowena's infectious curiosity and biting wit.—He could feel parts of himself also (and yet not, not anymore; it no longer fit like a glove as it should have).
"Papa?"
His head snapped to the side. A little girl with Helga's curls and Godric's red, flaming strands stared at him with Rowena's gray orbs. Her face was so much like his baby sister's, what he imagined she would have looked like at eight or nine. At the same time, she reminded him of little Helena, Moira, Elowen, and Oswin.
She was also faintly glowing and slightly transparent. But she wasn't a ghost as the child was in full color instead of the silver of the dead. The girl was dressed in a little blue dress similar to one Helena had favored. Her feet were bare as Moira preferred when she could get away with it. The mane of red curls was clasped in clips identical to ones Godric had gifted Elowen one Yuletide evening. A belt with a little dagger was all Oswin.
The little girl spoke once more, "Papa Sally, that tickles. Did you need something? Or do you want to play? I'm playing hide and seek with some of the House elves! You can join."
Salazar blinked owlishly at the child before his thoughts caught up with the situation and he realized he was mentally gripping the magical rope far tighter than he had planned. As he released the anchored magic, the child became more transparent.
He finally spoke up, not answering her question but voicing an unimportant fact, "Only Godric calls me Sally."
She shook her head with a little, mischievous grin as amusement filtered through the anchored magic and into Salazar. "No silly Papa. You're Papa Sally to me. Papa Rie's not the only one to get away with it. You'll not stop me." Her eyes grew large and her lips pouted out, and Salazar knew he'd cave in the end. "Sissy Lena said you'd not mind."
A flash of a silvery woman passed through the magical anchor. For a moment he thought it Rowena but there was something off with the features. The child's next words distracted him from the mental image.
"I'll be nine soon and one of my papa's will be at my birthday! None of you made it to any of my birthdays before. Mama Hellie almost did but she went away. You all went away." Sorrow flooded Salazar and the little girl's expression crumbled. Another image flashed through the strange bond. This time it was of an elderly woman lying in a bed, surrounded by crying people. She was dead, Salazar realized as the image faded. "Only Sissy ever stayed."
"What's your name?" Salazar finally asked as he shifted about the planks to face her properly.
The child scoffed at him. "Silly papa, you named me!"
His brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at the strange child. He was missing something obvious, he was sure. Salazar imagined he would have gotten it by now if not for the migraine.
A pop-click interrupted the odd conversation just as it announced the appearance of a House elf. Mipsy spoke up with a scowl and her hands on her hips. "Master Sally be missing dinner and mustn't be! Hogsie be keeping Master."
Salazar stared at the elf for all of a second before his head snapped back to the little girl as he finally made the connection. "Hogwarts?"
The little girl beamed. "Papa Sally remembers!" Her beam dropped as the little girl folded her arms across her chest. "Now Papa needs his dinner. Papa can call me later."
"Right," Salazar agreed in a daze.
Hogwarts was sentient, he thought in shock. Said thought repeated itself as he stumbled to his feet. It repeated again, as the physical manifestation of his castle skipped up into a hug he automatically returned.
"Night, night Papa!"
Salazar somehow made it to the Great Hall and found a seat at random. Another of his favored meals appeared. This time he didn't question it. There was no need. Hogwarts, the castle, had obviously remembered his preferences and passed them on to the House elves.
He had plenty of questions about her being sentient but he was nearly certain he had the answer for how she had become so in the first place. The castle had been built on top of a leyline crossing and they had taken advantage of that fact. Salazar had used Nature's magic to help create the castle, had pulled the magic up and into the very walls. He had never actually cut that connection as the earth's magic-infused the runic designs, curses, and enchantments. All of it was entwined together.
They had done that on purpose; had discussed the possible implications over the years it took to build her, and had agreed to leave the connection while fully knowing that it had never been done in recorded history. The founders had known there would be repercussions for the decision. But they had determined that, if they kept the connection—as small and minuscule as possible—it would naturally renew the magic of the building and even make it stronger over time. That had been worth the potential, theorized, risks.
This had allowed them to build a castle with animated sections, such as the stairs. It allowed them to expand and shift entire rooms from floor to floor as they tested different class placements, where the dorm, and then dorms, should go. It likely allowed his fellow founders' descendants the ability to create the towers.
The connection had animated the castle beyond any imagined possibility. It had made it sentient. Hogwarts was female. She was alive. She thought, she moved, and she talked.
His main question was when had she been born? Had it been a gradual development? Did she slowly become self-aware?
She had to have had some semblance of awareness before he had died. Salazar couldn't see the others talking about all his nuances to such an extent. So she had been when he had still lived, though she claimed she was almost nine. Perhaps she was there but not entirely? Maybe Hogwarts had slowly gained consciousness during his life but hadn't gained a physical, humanoid form until after his death.
After all their deaths, Salazar supposed. There was no way the others would have forgotten to tell him about this development. It also didn't matter in the end.
What mattered was that she existed and he needed to determine how best to treat her.
She wasn't human. Her concerns were not that of an eight-year-old girl. She was a near thousand-year-old castle with a humanoid form.
He rolled the facts over in his mind as if tasting that concept and its consequences. Dinner ended and he slipped silently, distractedly, back into his dorm. Salazar hung his satchel on its hook and crawled into bed. Exhaustion had seeped through his entire being, pulling him towards a slumber hours earlier than most would expect.
As he laid down, Salazar decided to simply treat Hogwarts as he had treated all the children of his fellow founders. He'd take the odd quirks of the castle as they came. He mentally reached out to the anchored magic of Hogwarts and sent a sense of tiredness and warmth in an attempt to say good night. She responded with a sense of magic warping him in a hug. It was oddly comforting.
oooPooo
1. The Black Lake is a loch since it is in Scotland. Loch Fitheach is the name I gave said loch because of some Rowena backstory I've created that may or may not come up in the story as we go along. There is a Sorting Hat song that says she came from the glen. This is likely either near Glencoe or the Great Glen. Which makes Rowena Scottish. Fitheach is old Irish (Scottish Gaelic) for Raven. I've already noted she was a Scottish noble lady. We'll see if any more details come up. I will likely jump back and forth on calling it by this name, by loch, and by Black lake.
2. By request, visuals for how the school robes might look (I have not drawn in years so links):
: / / w w w . dailydot parsec / harry-potter-hogwarts-robes-fan-theory/
: / / punkrockprofessor . tumblr post / 141330517394 / sadfishkid-been-thinking-about-school-uniform
: / / w w w . deviantart liberlibelula / art / Hogwartsona-590980077
3. Stained glass techniques include the use of thinly sliced alabaster stone, which makes a white sheet that filters in faint light. The earliest evidence of stained glass windows in Britain is about the 7th century. Stained glass became a major art form in Europe when the romanesque and early gothic periods occurred—said styles require a large amount of glass. Stained glass has existed for centuries before this. One of the earliest known productions of colored glass comes from the Assyrian city of Nineveh and dates to the 7th century BC. Stained glass is also attributed to the alchemist Jabir ibn Hayyan — alchemy. ;)
4. Yes, I was ridiculous and mapped out the Hogwarts schedule. I even took into account the vague references to when classes happened in the books, though I didn't always stick with the estimated timing for that. It's actually entirely possible for seven years of students to be taught by a single teacher per class. The teachers only have to live their jobs but that seems to be the norm as far as canon shows. It is also entirely possible for a student to take all the classes, including the electives, without a time-turner. Though this setup has classes potentially starting at 7am and ending at 7pm in a haphazard, primarily older years with early and late classes, schedule that is entirely illogical but so very fitting for the magical world Rowling created. I will be using it to keep things straight but should not be too obnoxiously obvious, I don't think.
5. Paintings, like all art, have developed over time. For some reference, the Mona Lisa was painted sometime between 1503 and 1506, with continued work later on. (She has no eyebrows, so it is likely an unfinished painting by Leonardo.) That is a classic Italian Renaissance painting. It was painted ~450 years after the founders' lives. I would keep that in mind when thinking about all the artwork within Hogwarts. The vast majority would be unfamiliar to Salazar. Tapestries would have been more common for the founders. Far simpler paintings and carvings may have also been present. That also means the paintings of the founders are in the wrong style but that is for a later endnote.
6. Oliver Rivers is an actual character, though he might only exist in the movies. The girl Salazar sits by in Charm is also canon. I pulled together the entire list of children already created. There are a couple I had to give names to but were vaguely referenced to at one point or another. It is the older and younger years that I had to create OCs for. Salazar isn't going to stick with just his physical age group but I try to limit the number of OCs as possible. I hope I don't actually use the number I created but it's easier to keep it all straight if I have a list to reference.
7. Castles were brought to Britain with the Norman Invasion.—But Hogwarts was built before Normans invaded in this story! (Oh, noes. XD )—Salazar and Godric traveled. And there were castles in Normandy and elsewhere they could take inspiration from. What didn't exist in relation to castles in 1000 ce, were towers like what we see on Hogwarts. The castles Salazar would have seen would have been pretty squat and either square or round. The vast majority would have been just the keep with an outer wall, which is what Salazar helped build.
Of course, snow means the roofs have to be built differently from the castles the founders would have seen. This and magic can give the keep the tall, pointy, and sorcerer-like tower look. I'm also purposely not describing the movie Hogwarts, as pretty as it is. Besides the castle towers, it doesn't really matter for you all. Imagine the movie version of Hgowarts all you wish. :)