Ouroboros

by Novus Ars

Salazar Slytherin woke up in the body of a three year old boy with the most ridiculous head of black hair & a runic scar craved into his forehead. The last thing he recalled was dying. Now it is over 900 years in the future. There are a million things to deal with between new inventions, lost knowledge, missing spirits, & parasitic dark lords. (multi-povs. Unreliable narrator. AU)

6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

oooP1ooo

The light of dawn streamed through the library windows. Warm wooden shelves stuffed full of tomes filled the room. The main reception desk sat parallel to the double entry doors. Behind it was a fenced-in section of more books, which disturbed and intrigued Salazar. Knowledge should be shared but children may not be mature enough for some knowledge.—They were old enough to see a fence and try to jump over it, though.—On either side of the blocked-off area were spiral stairs to the second story.

To his left, were multiple tables for studying and Salazar could spy doors. To the right were more tables and a wall with books and scrolls in display cases. Salazar took a long moment to appreciate the sheer size of the library. It was not the physical size that he appreciated, he had helped place the beams and walls and windows of the room to Rowena's exacting specifications.

There were thousands of books present. All of it about the magical world. That was the amazing part.

Rowena would have wept. This was the reason she had agreed to the experimental apprenticeship structure. She had wanted a place to secure the knowledge of their magical society for future generations that might not grow up with such access whether because of their births to non-magicals or because the magical family member had been killed before the child was old enough to learn. Or because places of learning were no longer storing and sharing magical knowledge alongside the non-magical.

The founder glanced through one of the doors to his left and found a room with a large conference table. A golden plaque on the door pronounced Fireball and under it was a parchment with a list of names, dates, and times. The door beside Fireball was named Short-snout. Salazar raised a brow at the somewhat lacking descriptions and moved on.

He was here for a purpose, not just to investigate the library as most of the school slept. One of the visions Hogwarts had given him last night had been of a Rowena-look-a-like ghost. He imagined any ghost related to Rowena would be found in the library.

Salazar wandered for a good hour. He walked through each aisle, wandered to the second story and back down. The founder spied into the restricted section and passed by all the various study rooms marked with signs of who had reserved it and when.

Eventually, Salazar focused more on books than on finding the potential ghost. He pulled out random books on all types of topics. A book on magical foci-focused theory absorbed his attention and he claimed a corner desk on the second story, where morning light streamed down onto him.

He may have never particularly favored his old wand but he was curious. There had to be a reason why education had shifted to wand-focused magics. Of course, part of it was likely political but there had to be more to it than that.

A cup of tea appeared at his elbow and he settled in for a long morning read. The sounds of others entering the library eventually pulled him from the book and drew his attention to the time. Salazar slid the book into his satchel and headed out for herbology. (No alarms flared for the book as he exited. A note simply appeared in the list of checked-out books, courtesy of a House elf.)

Salazar took the hidden passage across from the library's double doors down to the kitchen level. Helga's notice-me-not magic washed over him as he slipped through the hidden door and Rowena's pocket dimension warped about his form as he walked down the shortened hall to the exit. On the other side was a slight drop; he hopped down onto the lower landing of the stairs that connected the kitchen level to the ground floor. He looked to the other side of the hidden passage and found a portrait of a librarian blinking owlishly down at him through half-moon glasses.

"Good morning," Salazar offered, still not entirely certain how to treat such art, "Are all the passages hidden by you lot now?"

The portrait tilted her head and answered, confusion clear. "I must say, I haven't had a first-year find my passageway within the first week before! Very well done. I suppose such ingenuity is deserving of a hint: A number of us are. Good luck hunting all of us down."

Salazar smirked up at the painting in helpless amusement. "Oh, I think I have a fair idea where all of you are."

She huffed at him but was distracted by a group of hounds and horsemen running through a painting above her. "Oh no you don't! I've books here!"

He shook his head as he trotted up to the ground floor and out into the courtyard where the greenhouses stood. A set of red-headed twins paused on their way out of one of the greenhouses and stared at him. Their identical expressions caused Salazar to pause. He pushed his glasses up his nose as he observed them. They weren't starry-eyed or curious like so many of the children. They were uncertain and just a little afraid.

"Oi!" cried someone behind the two, "Move it, Weasley!"

One of the twins stepped out of the doorway with a scowl. "Keep your pants on, Davies! You got–"

The other pulled his stare from Salazar to join in. "somewhere–"

"–to be?" finished the first twin.

"Yeah, class." snapped the Ravenclaw as he hustled past them. "Some of us care about our lessons!"

Salazar's gaze was pulled from the spectacle as Neville walked up to him with a hesitant smile.

"Harry, do you mind sharing a table again?" Neville asked with a nod at another greenhouse. This one had a large roman numeral denoting one on the glass door.

"Not at all. In fact, pairing up for potions and herbology could be advantageous," the founder said with a smile at the boy as they headed across the courtyard.

He could feel at least two pairs of eyes watching his back. He almost looked to see if it were still the twins but he didn't really want to see if they still held such odd expressions. Anyway, plenty of children had been staring at him. It could be anyone.

As they entered Greenhouse One, they went from the cool Scottish Highlands to a temperature closer to what he expected near Surrey during the summer. Rows of unusual tables lined the length of the building. One side of each table was normal with two stools and space for note taking. The other side was a metal sink. Some of the sinks had manure and dirt at the bottom as if someone had potted plants while using the sink to catch the excess. More tables lined the walls. Many were filled with plants and rows of potted dirt. Those pots had name tags attached to them. He could spy cucumbers growing up a lattice in the back.

"Advantageous?" Neville repeated slowly, carefully, and in honest curiosity as he settled his pile of books on a table and claimed his seat.

"They appear to be interrelated," Salazar explained, pulling his attention back to his fellow first year but not cluing into the fact the child might be asking for a definition instead of an explanation. He flipped open a notebook and tested his pen to make certain it was still drawing ink from the open well secured in his satchel.

The blond didn't respond immediately, actually taking a moment to consider that fact. Instead, he followed Salazar's direction and pulled out a piece of parchment to take notes on. After a moment Neville nodded. "I suppose they are." He made a face. "Not that'll help me with potions."

Salazar shrugged, his gaze took in the various Gryffindors and Slytherins as they entered. His fellow Slytherins avoided sitting near him once more. He frowned. They had avoided him since potions, though he had been rather distracted since then. Perhaps he needed to check in, so to speak. He had expected Draco to follow him around a little more closely but it was good the boy had turned to the other actual children in the group for friendship.

"Settle down class!" called out their herbology professor as she stomped into Greenhouse One. The professor was a kind, squat-looking woman with graying, fly-away hair tucked under a patchwork hat. She flashed a warning look over at one of the Gryffindor benches. The girls there finally quieted down with looks of embarrassment.

"Congratulations on finding Greenhouse One. I'm Pomona Sprout, your professor and Head of Hufflepuff. For the next two years you will have class here, then you'll move to Greenhouse Two. You'll learn how to care for plants, when and how to harvest various potion ingredients for Professor Snape, and how to recognize what plant is what. You will learn each plant's properties, what are poisonous, and so forth. Expect to get dirty and feel free to purchase work robes. There are school-specific options available at Madam Malkin's. Any questions?"

A hand shot up from amongst the Gryffindors.

"Yes?" Professor Sprout asked.

Salazar recognized Hermione Granger's voice as she called out in demand, "Why weren't the work robes included in the list of items for school?"

Professor Sprout raised a brow at the tone but answered kindly, "It wasn't because a work robe isn't required. You can easily do herbology in your normal uniform. Anyone else?"

She glanced around before she nodded to herself. "Well then. We'll begin with harmless, non-magical plants. This–" She pulled out a pot with a relatively tall, green plant with multiple branches of deep green leaves, round in shape. "–is Ocimum basilicum: Genovese Basil. Each of you will grow your own plant from seed, take care of it, and be graded on how well it thrives over the course of this semester. It is not the only plant you'll care for but it will be the one under your sole care. You will be expected to take care of its needs at the start of the class—and outside of class as needed. If it dies, you will not be given a secondary plant. If I catch another student taking care of your plant, you will be docked points. Only exceptions are when you have certified visits and stays at the hospital wing and require aid to keep your plant alive."

The woman glanced at them all and raised a brow as she dryly remarked, "Do take notes. You will be expected to remember what I'm telling you."

Salazar paused in his own notetaking to look around. Most of the students were rummaging through their things to pull out parchment, quill, and ink. He and Neville were two of only a scattered group already writing. The founder raised a brow over at his bench mate and earned a warm grin in return.

Class moved quickly after that. The professor covered a large range of facts about the mundane herb before teaching the students how to pot and water a small group of seeds. Each pot was spelled with their names as they placed them on one large tray in a corner of the greenhouse.

Once that was completed, she let them go with a good five minutes to spare. The parselmouth shuffled out after Neville. Salazar squinted as sunlight streamed down through the scattering of clouds, the sun not quite at its apex.

Neville beamed at Salazar as they moved out of the doorway, his shoes clicking against the cobblestone. "That was fun! Do you have anything else? We're done."

"You're done?" Salazar repeated with a glance at his watch. It was almost ten in the morning.

"Yes. Do you want–"

"Neville, come on!" cried the Gryffindor with an Irish brogue, "We're going to the quidditch stadium."

The blond hesitated for a second as he openly glanced between his housemates and Salazar. The reincarnate nudged the boy, "Go on, I'll see you in class."

Neville smiled and relaxed. "Maybe in the library? I've some homework to do later."

Salazar nodded. "Maybe."

The boy grinned and rushed off after the other Gryffindors.

The Slytherin turned to his own housemates and heaved a sigh. The other Slytherins had left him behind. He could see the last of them enter Hogwarts. This was becoming old fast. Salazar couldn't help but wonder at their actions. Were they avoiding him or was he just not paying any attention to them? The prefect had been clear they were supposed to stick together.

With a thoughtful frown, Salazar wandered into Hogwarts and headed down to the kitchen floor. The founder took the hidden passage behind the librarian painting back to the fourth floor and the library. There were still no ghosts within it but there were plenty of books. He almost read through history class, and would have if not for a certain House elf reminding him.

In the afternoon, Salazar found transfiguration on the first floor near a familiar study area. Four tall stained glass windows still lit the room with colored afternoon sunlight. Salazar remembered designing them with his fellow founders. Each represented one of the houses, which was unintended. They had created the stained glass windows long before they had separated the apprentices into four groups.

He wondered how many knew the animals depicted in each pane had been their Patronuses and representatives of themselves, a signature in a largely illiterate world. That was one of the points of seals after all. And any magical capable of a Patronus used it as their mark. Even the seven Houses of the Wizards Council had used their founder's Patronus as a representation, though the family magick also took the form of the animal.—Anneleah with their bear. Burhstrod with some type of moth so many of the family had traveled in search of. Prouet and their red squirrel. And the Langbothm's bumblebee.(1)

Langbothm. Longbottom. Salazar tilted his head as he considered the possibility. Neville might be from that ancient House, old a thousand years ago. They had been one of the druid clans turned rulers, though Neville showed little signs of druidic status in his clothing.

The windows allowed light to stream in and over the scattered study tables. The stained glass gave a rainbow effect which Salazar watched as he waited for the class door to open. Faint memories of lost days came and went. They were less painful today but sadness settled across his shoulders, weighing them down.

Hufflepuffs slowly trickled in to make a line behind his leaning form. Ronald glanced furtively at Salazar from the back of the line. Salazar helpfully ignored the boy. Oliver, his deskmate for Astronomy, also glanced at him but with an embarrassed air. The founder assumed he would have no stimulating conversation with either child he knew. The child standing right beside him was imitating the Ravenclaw girl from charms with her deep red blush. None of the children seemed to know what to do with his presence.

Luckily for all involved, the doors opened and older students streamed out. Salazar found a front-row seat. The Hufflepuffs scattered across the back rows. His fellow Slytherins entered and Draco, after a long pause, took the seat beside him.

This was Rowena's old classroom. The windows were still set with blue cobalt glass. It even still had the basic setup with three long rows of tables facing a large desk. The wall behind the desk was covered with a huge chalkboard. Bookcases covered another wall. (He liked the idea of them being Rowena's original bookcases that had stood there a lifetime ago.) Instead of books, they were filled with skeletons of various animals. A human skeleton was set in a standing position on the other side of the classroom where diagrams of animals, things, and wand movements covered the wall.

Beyond the classroom itself, there was the cat. From his years under Mrs. Figg's care, he knew it was a fine dark gray female tabby. The odd square stripes around her eyes reminded him of Professor McGonagall's glasses. It might indicate some type of familiar bond, though it would be an odd way to show it.

Said cat sat on the professor's desk, gaze intent on each child as they entered. Otherwise, the cat did not move. The children couldn't be prey so Salazar couldn't see what kept the cat's attention on them.

He leaned over the table and caught Gregory's eyes for a second. The boy gave a short nod of agreement before Draco elbowed him.—The cat was suspicious.

The bell rang for the start of class and the cat jumped off the desk. Her form blurred in a vertical pattern entirely unnatural to the trajectory of her jump. Where she should have landed suddenly stood their professor.

Gasps filled the room.

Salazar's eyes lit up as a new ambition formed. He was going to become an animagus, as she called it. (Taking on an animal form, while keeping one's mental facilities, had always been rumored but never proven as far as he had known.) Of course, Professor McGonagall started out with the fascinating ability to draw students in, Salazar realized with grudging respect. He had little interest in transfiguring a match into a needle.

All the same, the founder paid attention to the lecture on various laws of transfiguration. It was simplified guidelines to help the child understand how to achieve an identical transformation as the rest but it was a start. He found that, while Transfiguration had not existed as is back in his day, an advanced form of it might have in the form of conjuration. It also reminded him of alchemy but less permanent.(2)

It and potions were the two greatest signs of progress within the various magical studies he had seen so far. Unlike potions, he might actually learn something in class.

oooP2ooo

Dinner was when Salazar realized more was going on with his house than children not following the prefect's orders. He was missing important facts on the why and how it all worked but he knew one thing with certainty.

Salazar frowned down into his tea as he watched from the corner of his vision. On one side, his fellow first years had slowly shuffled further down the bench away from him until a good person-size space was between him and them. No one was on his other side.

He was being ostracized by his bloody schoolhouse: So much for the orders to stay united in public.

Part of him wanted to make it clear exactly what the foolish children were doing. Another part of him realized the advantage of having all the children avoid him. If he didn't have them near him, he didn't have to worry about acting like a child. At the same time, the children were ostracizing another child. The professors should step in to stop it.

The founder slowly looked up from his tea, swept a look over the table, and watched as children of all ages jerked their heads about to avoid eye contact. His gaze slowly rose to the teacher's table. Snape sneered down at him from his seat. Quirrell frowned over at him also. It looked like the two had been discussing him.

He could feel a headache coming on as he found a certain old man's blue eyes hidden under half-moon glasses also watching him. Dumbledore caught Salazar's gaze and tilted his golden goblet toward him in a strange little toast.

None of the adults rose to stop what was happening to him.

Salazar dropped his gaze back to the children. A number of children at the other tables were glancing his way also. The redheaded Gryffindor twins were frowning, their gazes moving in sync from him to the other Slytherins to the teachers and back. Many, many girls were taking turns peeking and giggling in his direction. And not a few boys, mostly older, were shifting between staring at a girl they liked and glaring at him when the girl glanced at the founder.

He could feel his headache growing. Salazar had entirely forgotten about childhood crushes and had never considered his own fame in regard to them. It was going to be an absolute nightmare in a few years.

The feeling of tiny fingers tugging at his ear startled Salazar. Before he did more than jerk in an attempt to escape the tugging, an image flashed across his vision of him at the welcoming feast and a shimmering circle of magic about him. An image of Hogwarts replaced the vision and she lifted a finger to her lips before cupping each hand over an eye.

It took a moment for Salazar to understand. She had been the reason everyone had ignored him at the welcoming feast. The castle was offering to hide him once more.

Salazar reached out in the vision and tapped her nose. She dropped her hands and frowned up at him. He shook his head as he found he could make no noise. Hogwarts pouted at him but nodded back.

A blink and the vision was gone. All that was left was the sense of Hogwarts wrapping herself around him protectively. He needed to have a proper conversation with her, find out more about the bond he now shared with her, and what all could be accomplished through it.

The bond reminded him of another. His gaze dropped to one of his forearms and Salazar pulled the sleeves up to trace the missing runic ritual marks, leaving echoes of the long-lost markings behind. He couldn't help but wonder if the bond with Hogwarts was similar to the ritual bonds he had had with his brother. (Something he had purposely avoided thinking about until now.) The anchor was similar, felt similar at least.

His gaze rose back to the room and he couldn't help but sigh. He was alone at the end of the table now. An imaginary barrier stood between him and the rest of Slytherin. It was as if he had the plague.

He pushed his cup and plate back across the table and swept from the Great Hall. Frustration ground his teeth together as all the unknowns bubbled up. In this case, all he wanted to know was why. Only his potions class and Snape's actions stuck out to him but one man's actions should not dictate the actions of an entire schoolhouse.

There had to be another reason. Salazar churned that thought about as he slowly headed down to the Slytherin dorm. What did he know about his house?

Many of the children in Slytherin had death eater parents as the hat had been cursed to place such children there. That could explain their decision to ignore him. He could imagine such an order being passed around from the more influential adults. It did not explain all the children following it unless all of them were connected in such a fashion. There was no way all the Slytherins were children of death eaters, though.

There was also the simple fact that the war was over.

Salazar stopped. His mouth went dry as he considered that. Wasn't it over?

"Does the death of one man end a war?" His quiet words rolled over the otherwise empty hall. The answer echoed in his mind but he didn't voice it out loud.

No.

The books he had read covered the war but centered around him or other influential figures. The one that went into the most detail on the war itself was The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts but that book was propaganda at the best.

There was no light and dark magic. There was no grey. There was no twisting evil nexus of the Mother's gift. There was just magic. It just was. Is.—A piece of existence, a part of the soul, one of the essences of all living things.

The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts claimed the war was because of the supposed Dark Arts. It made out as if the practitioners of the apparent evil magic had been twisted into insanity and turned towards terrible deprivations. Yet there had been no hint of daimōn or other extra-dimensional monstrosities walking in the death eaters midst. Those things were not of the world and twisted magic into terrible vulgarities. If anything could be considered inherently dark, it was those things.—And, Salazar supposed, human sacrificial magics. But even that was debatable.

According to the book, Voldemort and his lot did what they did because of the magic they used. They had used a few torture spells, a couple of destructive battle spells, mind-altering curses, and that killing spell he had survived. They hadn't even scratched the possibilities for mass combat. There was no morally questionable twisting of death into a mockery of life that procured more death. War magic had been entirely missing from the descriptions of their supposedly great and terrible battles, even. What had made them terrible was what they had chosen to do with their magic.

Leaving aside the absolutely vulgar twist of blaming magic for the actions of man, a group of people did not go to war because they became insane. Nor did people follow an insane man to war for entertainment. They went to war over injustice or need or idea that was worth their very lives.—Of course, the injustice or problem could be entirely imagined or even horribly selfish in nature. And with any group of people following an idea, there will be the crazy ones.

Did he know what had started the civil war?

He knew Voldemort and his band of death eaters were terrorists, apparently appearing from nowhere to attack and kill and strike fear into the average witch and wizard. They demanded the death of muggleborns and the subjugation of muggles. People were blackmailed, brainwashed, and bespelled onto their side, causing mass panic and distrust throughout society as none could be certain who to trust.

None of the books explained why the war had started or how. Only the deaths and horrors done by Voldemort were detailed. That, and how Voldemort died when attempting to kill Salazar. The attacks nearly stopped overnight once he was gone.

Salazar's frown deepened.—The unfortunate portrait he was glaring at squeaked and fled her canvas.—He hadn't paid it any mind at the time of reading but he distinctly recalled one book saying that: the attacks nearly stopped. The war hadn't ended with Voldemort. It hadn't started because of him either. That is not how war happened. It was never that simple.

"Does the death of one man kill an idea? Kill a need? Kill an injustice worth fighting for?"

No.

That could only mean the war had never ended. It had only paused into a standstill because one side lost a juggernaut and the other was happy with the status quo created from the temporary truce. Or, perhaps, the war had moved battlegrounds. Would he find signs of the war within the political maneuverings of the British Isles? Or somewhere else?

It was a good bet that he would find it someplace where it had gained a different name and facade.—Salazar pivoted and stalked down into the dungeons as he realized he had been standing, staring at an empty frame for a while. He didn't really notice anything around him as he swept through the halls, his mind preoccupied with his estimate of what was going on with his house.

He could be wrong. He had an issue seeing enemies where none were but the fact remained that the only known thing that separated him from the other children was that he was The-Boy-Who-Lived. The foreign magic placed on the hat had the children of his potential enemies sorted into his dorm. And they all were avoiding acknowledging his presence after something—the potions class perhaps? A letter from some prestigious death eater?

Unease rolled through Salazar as he started to place himself on the field. All he saw were potential enemies and shadows that, knowing his luck, hid more enemies.

He would get nowhere looking into the shadows. His mind would only conjure monsters.

His first priority was his home turf: Hogwarts.

Dumbledore had too many fingers in Salazar's life to be the kindly old man he appeared to be. He had too many political positions to not attempt to utilize The-Boy-Who-Lived to his advantage either. And if the war had gone political, he was still the general guiding the troops of one side. (Was he seeing an enemy within an ally? Were the actions and inactions he had attributed to the old man purposely done or simply the result of ignorant attempts at helping? If only the others were here to confirm or pull him from the edge of paranoia.)

While he didn't see his fellow first years doing anything to him, even if they were children of death eaters, the older years might. They had been children during the war. They would have recalled what had happened and would have been raised on their parent's propaganda. A number had to see him as an enemy simply for living.

Perhaps it was for the best that he was being ignored. (Perhaps the teachers were helping the ostracization with that thought in mind, too.)

The stone wall slid open without prompting and allowed its founder into the common room of the Slytherin dorms. Salazar pulled out his wand and twirled it between his fingers as he passed the various groups of children relaxing and studying. A number of the older ones had glanced up when he had entered. They watched him until he passed down the hall to the boy dorms.

Olivander's ominous words whispered in the back of his mind as the headache grew.

If war was coming, he would make certain Hogwarts would weather it. The wards would have to be his priority. Then he would investigate the headmaster and teachers. Only the ones who would protect the children, and not use them in the war, would be allowed to remain. After that, he would have to determine which side—if any—he might join.

oooP3ooo

Mipsy brought him the next morning's edition of the Daily Prophet as he settled at the table in the kitchens. It promised more headaches.

He was on the front page.

Salazar imagined the photograph was taken when he had been waiting for a classroom to empty since his image self was leaning against a wall, staring off into the distance. The Hogwarts hat had pulled his black curls up away from the runic scar, showing off the sharp red mark against his pale skin. Every once in a while his pictured self would shift and push his glasses up his nose.

ooo

Harry Potter, the next Dark Lord?

It is with great concern that we inform our devoted readers that against all imagining, against his very blood, Harry James Potter was deemed a snake in disguise. The-Boy-Who-Lived was sorted into Slytherin house this past September 1st.

"That's terrible news," said Daisy Hookum when informed of the development, author of the up-and-coming novel, "My Life as a Muggle", and close friends with the deceased Lily Potter, "Lily must be rolling in her grave. It's as if he's following the Dark Lord instead of his parents."

Of course, we always knew that Harry Potter would amount to something great. We just didn't expect him to join the snake house when the Heir of Slytherin had committed such atrocities against him.

Many Slytherin has been great. Merlin had been a Slytherin.–

ooo

Salazar's eyebrows shot up at that. Merlin had lived a good five or six hundred years before Hogwarts. Propaganda of a different form, perhaps? Not that he could complain about that. It was the first good propaganda for his house that he had seen.

ooo

–It could be argued that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was also great in his inhumanity.

Perhaps the question, my dear readers, is how our boy hero will become great. He had already defeated an evil most foul. Where can he go from here but down? It is with great concern that I point out that every great man falls.

"Ambitious young men and women should be encouraged," said Minister Cornelius Fudge when asked these questions, "We can all expect more great things from young Mister Potter—with the proper guidance, of course."

Harry Potter has already become great. How can he possibly rise any higher?

The mightier they are, the harder they fall. I fear that The-Boy-Who-Lived may fall harder than any hero before him.

ooo

Salazar heaved a sigh as he imagined the children's reaction to this nonsense. He couldn't do anything about it either. Only time would take care of the gossip and panic. He couldn't help but wonder if this was the tip of the war he believed still existed. Could some death eater have nudged this article into existence?

It didn't matter. He had no way to find out.

The Slytherin dropped the newspaper and looked over Helga's kitchen. House elves swept through the place, working to feed the entire castle. Mipsy appeared and took the paper after a questioning glance. She replaced it with a plate of warm sweet rolls and another cup of tea.

He stared down into his first tea cup and frowned at the dredges of the mint leaves. He tried to recall what Helga had claimed about tea reading, once again.—Maybe being here, in her kitchen would help.—There was a bumblebee forming but Salazar couldn't guess at how a bumblebee was a good sign. Or a sign at all. (3)

He'd have time to start investigating the wards after class, he decided as he turned the cup about. Salazar blinked down at the lion that appeared in place of the bumblebee. He set it down with a shake of his head, deciding against figuring out how a bumblebee turned lion would mean anything.

Divining had never been his forte and Helga had some odd ways to go about it. What could someone learn from chicken intestines anyway? (If you were Helga, a great deal, in fact.)

He looked up at Helga's fireplace. The flickering flames danced about the giant stew pot. Salazar rested his cheek against a hand and nibbled at a roll.

oooP4ooo

Classes were a struggle between the children's fear and avoidance, Quirrell's stutter causing another headache, and the drag of learning childish forms of magical theory he already knew on some level. He should have simply skipped the classes for the day. The only highlights were starting with transfiguration, and so learning something new, and ending in herbology where Neville surprised him by claiming his seat at Salazar's side once more.

He finished at noon for the day, which had him itching to map out the school schedule once again. Instead, he slipped through the courtyard and headed for the inner walls at the edge of the dark forest. They had built a wall around Hogwarts Proper and most of the loch. Each corner had pointed with its cardinal stones at North, South, West, and East. There were supposed to be gates on each wall, South-East, South-West, North-East, and North-West. He vaguely recalled that they had been directed through the South-East gate at the start of the school year, so at least that one still stood.

Sabotage was a weak word for the devastation of the inner walls of Hogwarts. The entire Northeastern wall had been pulled down. Only random column-like sections remained. A forest, which must have grown out of the groves, stood tall and dark beyond it.

A yowl from a section of lichen and ivy-covered ruins drew Salazar's attention. Omorose sat where a hog-gargoyle should have stood watch.

"This is a mess."

The kneazle climbed partly down and yowled again. Salazar helped her down and she claimed his shoulders even though her pregnant belly made it difficult. He was relieved the ridiculous thing seemed inclined to have kittens only every other year. Salazar didn't think Omorose carried her pregnancies with much dignity and he had to deal with her moods—Kneazles carried twice as long as cats which didn't help matters either.

Salazar turned back to the ruined wall. How could this have been left to fall? Didn't anyone understand the many layers of wards in place? An entire group was imbued in the inner wall—had been since the destruction of a section of the wall had shattered those wards.

"Yearss," hissed Salazar in frustration, his parseltongue accent rising up, "yearss and yearss of work gone."

He took a sharp breath and forcefully reminded himself that it had been centuries since this wall had been completed. It wasn't the few short years he remembered. (Godric and he had just finished whitewashing it to hide some of the outer, more obvious runic markings before the war.) The knowledge of the passage of time was more difficult to keep in mind when he stood within his home.

The Slytherin founder yanked his school hat off and tugged a hand through his hair, leaving it to stick up in all directions. He fought the urge to throw it.—Omorose started to groom his head.—He stuffed the hat into his satchel.

The wall had held most of the wards to keep foul creatures out. The wards against ghouls, valcore, trolls, daimōn, various forms of homunculus, and even some magical vermin were gone. Some of those creatures were worth protecting within the outer wards, where this forbidden forest now stood, but had no business near children. Many were warded against in the outer wards also because they were that dangerous. One could never be too careful against some of the more devious monstrosities of the world.

Salazar stepped past the line of rumble to take a look from another angle. If he could learn how it had fallen, he could begin planning ways to prevent it the second time around. Magic rippled over him and his eyes fluttered closed as he focused on it.—The taste of something bitter. The rough rub of rope across his skin. Restraining demand.—An enchantment filtered through his thoughts.

Someone, most likely the headmaster, would be notified the instant a person with the Ministry's Trace on their person stepped through. There was nothing preventing the person from continuing, though. Dumbledore would know when and where a student left the property. The simplicity of it also meant he would be informed when and where a student came back onto the property.

He opened his eyes as Omorose decided to lick his ear. Salazar grimaced at the sensation and pushed her head away. His gaze moved over the broken, but enchanted wall and beyond to Hogwarts. It was too bad he had removed his Trace. It would have been interesting to see if the headmaster bothered reacting at all.

His gaze returned to the wall as he considered it once more. He took a step backward, towards the forest. Nothing else seemed to trigger so he stepped forward and felt the same enchantment wash over him but also a minor curse.—The echo of static fluttered across his form. A rumble reminiscent of thunder whispered across his mind.—It was a curse that would activate on anything that held ill intent toward a resident of the school. It was weak and easily bypassed for as long as the person didn't consciously consider ill intentions at the time of entry, they would be able to pass through.

Salazar sighed at the rudimentary protections. He reached out and brushed a hand over the rumble and felt hints of inactive magics. None of it felt particularly powerful but, hopefully, it was enough to keep the children safe.

He needed to understand the entire situation of the wards before he could do anything to help.

Salazar Slytherin looked over the edge of the forest. Pines rose high into the sky. Moss covered their northern sides. Ivy climbed the trunks of many of the trees. Honeysuckle and juniper claimed the sunlit parts. There was the start of a family of poplars, their leaves dancing in the afternoon breeze. The sounds of wildlife chittered in the backdrop of children playing on the grassy fields of Hogwarts Proper.

"Omorose, you might not want to come along," he muttered. The kneazle's grip tightened around his shoulders. A few claws pricked against his skin in warning. "Fine."

The parselmouth closed his eyes. Knowing he had no idea how to find his groves with an entire forest claiming the land, he mentally reached out to one of the ward anchors. The specific ward, an illusion that made non-magicals think the entire property a dangerous ruin best left alone, sang under his mental grasp. He could feel it stretch across the entire land given to Rowena centuries ago.

It took a moment to stretch his sense through the magic to feel it separate into eight focal points and a single epicenter. He mentally followed the closest focal point and latched on to it. Salazar physically turned with his magical senses as he oriented himself to that specific focal. Green eyes opened and he smiled as he estimated his direction to be Northeast.

He vanished into the woods, following an invisible rope to his desired destination.

Magic grew heavier and the trees grew enormous. Poplar and pine were the primary species he traveled through for a good hour. Moss and shrubs and baby trees claimed most of the ground as the forest was dim but not dark.

All of this reminded him of ages past, of a childhood long gone where he wandered and lived in the wild with only snakes as his companions. Salazar caved to a childish desire and pulled his shoes off, tossing them into his satchel. Omorose sprang down when he did this and pranced about his legs. He stroked her back and tail as she rubbed against him. His eyes closed in contentment. Earth magic pressed up into his soles in joyful greeting.

The warmth and welcome soothed the aching pain he had tried to ignore at being home and finding it not quite home anymore. Salazar heaved a sigh and felt strain fade from his physical form. His shoulders relaxed.

He reached out to the closest trunk and rubbed his fingers over the pine's dark, old bark. Wonder filled him once more as he took in the old forest. There wasn't a single tree, excluding the tiny babies, where he could wrap his arms around the entire trunk.

Fingers caught against the bark's jagged edges. Salazar traced it thoughtlessly as he took a moment to enjoy being immersed in nature. Omorose had moved on, poncing at bugs springing from some honeysuckle.

The lines made a rune.

Salazar's gaze snapped back to the tree and he retraced the bark's edges. It was still there. Green orbs slowly traced the pine's bark. He spied more and more runic marks. Except the runes weren't carved into the tree. The bark had naturally grown to create the marks.

And they were in a very familiar array.

Protection against beings that wish the Hogwarts population harm—Protection of the ward stones—Protection of pathways so none may find their way when they were not welcome. Detection to notice ill-desires against the residents of Hogwarts—Detection of dangerous magical items—Detection of the hurt and hungry so they may be found. Purification of residual magic accumulated by so many magicals in one place working active magic daily.(4)

His mouth went dry as he spun about and looked to the next pine and the next. Each pine had the same runic array he had set into the original pines of his groves.

He had ignored conventional wisdom when he had grown his groves. Salazar had not waited until the trees had grown for a few years before adding the markings into their bark. He had imbued each nut and acorn with the arrays before he had planted them. (He had even included arrays to support and protect the tree as thanks for it supporting Hogwarts.)

Salazar had thought, the Mother willing, that the trees would grow with the magic as part of them instead of in addition to them. It would make them stronger without their skins being carved up. If it hadn't worked, no harm done. He would have simply continued setting the groves by carving the arrays instead.

It had worked, though. And it had been more successful than he had expected at the time. The groves had been some of the most stable new growth groves he and Master Hardwin had ever come across. If not for the size of the trees, one could have mistaken them for a few centuries old.

He had not paid any mind to his trees' children. There had been too much to work on. Hogwarts had needed to be built. Children needed to be taught. Then the Normans came and he had died.

Salazar changed tree species and investigated the poplar thicket that had danced about at the edge of his invisible path. They were the same. Each had grown with bark taking on the patterns of the runic arrays for his groves' poplar trees.

The primary rune arrays for shielding the grounds and groves from unwanted eyes and to support the illusion ward were present. Endurance against twisted magics and twisted minds wrapped about the thick root system. Even the runic arrays twined into the tips of branches and the veins of the chattering leaves were present—Aid in breaking down language barriers between residents and a boost towards the learning of the magical languages believed needed to truly begin to understand one's magic.(5)

Salazar wondered if he could claim he did this on purpose. He might have helped create one of the most magically active forests in the world.

Unease also whispered through him but the golden magic of the earth flowing through his veins kept it from taking root. Woodland was always magical, being saturated in the Mother's magic, but this was that magic directed with a purpose for a thousand years, and across acres. (Hogwarts was sentient because of her connection to the Mother. What kept his trees from being more than just trees?)

He continued to wonder as he traveled deeper into the forest. Eventually, he came across scattered pockets of the other trees—Rowan that added to the protections of the other trees and wards, adding a touch of beguilement directed at any intruders, and helping connect the forest and wards altogether. Yew who helped the regeneration process of the land and magic, sustaining the cleansing and healing of any harm done to Hogwarts lands, grounding of the illusion that protected it all, and aiding in the beguiling of the Rowan (adding a touch of the seeping danger of poison to the more aggressive side of the protection magicks). Oak who stabilized all the magicks at work, who made the protections solid, and offered strength to any section that might be weakened.

The forest grew thicker and darker before he finally reached the entrance to the first grove. Like his grove in Surrey, poplars stood as gatekeepers. Unlike Surrey's poplars, the magic didn't fight him. It immediately knew who he was and welcomed him home.

Breath escaped in a rush as he stepped between the poplars and into the hidden grove. Omorose made a little noise too as if she also was startled by the change. The forest had been heavy with magic. It was nothing compared to this.

Magic, as thick as a wool blanket, settled over them. A quiet, a hush filled the air as if not even the bugs dared speak up. What sound reached Salazar's ears was dampened as if snow had fallen and it could not stretch as far as it would usually. Dew clung to the ground though it had long since passed midday.

The largest trees Salazar had ever seen rose up before him. The Poplars and pine edged the grove, creating a protective wall about the place. All the trees stood in thickets now but he could tell the original trees from their children by the girth of their trunks. Of course, directly in front of him, standing as tall as the tallest pine and just as wide, was the oak. Behind its mighty, stable presence were the six other oaks he planted after the original success. They were just as big.

To the oak's right, technically a few hundred feet apart even though the oak's canopy shaded the edge of its own, was the original yew. Even from where he stood, he could tell the tree's heartwood was gone, leaving the core of the yew open for wildlife or a hedgewitch's home. (Perhaps a bench or two would do?)

At the oak's left were the three rowans he had first planted. Like the yew, they weren't quite as tall as the other trees but they were magnificent all the same. That they still lived was a testament in itself of the power behind all the magic saturating the grove (and perhaps of his runic arrays to support each tree). (6)

This was no longer a simple cornerstone of the wards to a school. It reminded Salazar of the great groves, the centers of the triad and faith of the Mother. It was a place of contemplation and meditation. A holy place, some would say.

Omorose sprang off to investigate the grove on her own, prompting him to finally move further in. They did not remain for long, though Salazar wanted to. The founder took his time looking over and feeling the magic of all the runic marks shaped into the various trees' bark. (They all responded with a warmth down his hands and a whispered greeting that reached his soul.) He may have taken longer than necessary.

The cornerstone to the outer wards was buried in the center of the grove. It only took a minute to look over. The thick stone was a spike buried into the depths of the earth. The top looked like a pile of moss and Salazar saw no need to scrap the plant off to see the runic markings etched in gold. Hiding it in plain sight was more important than a visual check. Instead, he simply dug his fingers into the moss until he reached the stone and pulsed his magic through it. Everything came back normal, though strained.

Salazar reluctantly rose and headed out. He could spend an age in this grove and never feel the touch of the 20th century. He could make believe he was still in his original time, in his original body, simply on one of his sabbaticals from the school while they waited for the harvest to be completed and the children, their apprentices, to return.

But Salazar Slytherin had never been complacent. He had never been able to live a quiet life. The boy blamed Godric for that fact. Godric would have, had in the past, laughed at such a claim.

Salazar shook his head at the nostalgia. He turned his head up as he left the hidden grove and squinted through the canopy to the sky. There was time to check on another grove.

He paused, looked about, and ducked back into the grove, "Omorose?" he called out.

A meow answered from one of the main oak's branches. He searched her out amongst the leaves and finally spied glowing orange eyes.

"We're leaving."

She didn't move.

Salazar frowned and corrected himself, "I'm leaving." And he left.

A few minutes into his hike to the next grove, Omorose prowled from some bushes and stalked through the shadows a few feet from him. Salazar rolled his eyes at the ridiculous thing but didn't comment.

The second grove, due North of Hogwarts and the diamond point of the inner walls, had lost its poplar gatekeepers. Because of that, the grove was not hidden and the heavy blanket of magic rolled out and around the grove, announcing its presence to any magically sensitive being before actually reaching it. Part of the grove itself had turned into a swampish pond.

The protections would have to be fixed, Salazar decided as he investigated, but the pond would stay.

Omorose ran up to his side with a soft hiss. Her warning didn't come quickly enough.

"You do not belong here."

Salazar paused in his investigations of the grove's main oak and looked up. The muffling effect of the grove had kept him from hearing a centaur sneak upon him. It would have been even worse if Omorose hadn't given him a slight heads up. He stood with a narrowed gaze.

The centaur was tall and fair, with a cream coat. Little had changed in the appearance of the Mediterranean race that had invaded with the Romans so many, many centuries ago. They may have gained thicker fur, Salazar concluded as he compared his memory to the creature before him.

There had not been any herds this far north because of their thinner coats back in the 11th century. None had ever been allowed within a grove either. Of course, this grove was compromised. There was no magic to keep unwanted things out.

"Human," hissed the centaur, "Leave."

Salazar sneered. "It's you who are trespassing, centaur."

The humanoid creature slammed a back hoof into the ground before he dragged it outward. A sign, Salazar knew, which was meant as a warning and an indicator that the creature was annoyed. "This is our lands."

"No," the eleven-year-old countered, "This is Hogwarts' land."

"Hogwarts ends at the forest entrance, human."

"Hogwarts Proper ends there but not the land. The wards stretch over the whole forest. I could have you evicted with but a word. Why shouldn't I?"

"You lie."

Salazar pressed his hand to the ancient oak he had been looking over. He twisted the earth magic flowing through him and the tree. He directed the protective magics of the wards to remove the threat and gave it a boost of earth magic.

Runes flared to a golden glowing life across the oak, from root to tiniest branch tip. The magic spread outward and other trees began to glow. Newer oaks, children of the one he stood beside, joined in his call. The intertwining of the forest's root system had the pines and yews and rowans and poplars join. Within seconds the entire grove was a light with magic.(7)

Then it abruptly stopped spreading. The wards gave a lurch as they attempted and failed to follow Salazar's will. The centaur didn't realize there was a problem though.—Didn't know he should feel the weight of the wards and forest's magic pressing down onto his shoulders.

The centaur understood the threat well enough without that added pressure.

"Druid," the centaur gasped.

Salazar's sneer turned into a smirk, even though he very much wanted to frown. "Centaur."

The two stared at each other for a long moment, then the centaur did something truly unexpected. He folded his front legs and knelt, bowing at his waist. "The night sky has spoken of your return. Mercury has glowed bright and steady these past ten years...has Hogwarts opened its doors to a year younger now?"

"Why would the centaurs care for my return?" Salazar asked as he ignored the alluded question about his age. Ten years of his return meant that he had returned after he had survived the killing curse, after whatever ritual his mother had completed assuring his life. Did this mean he had possessed Harry Potter? Was there a little boy trapped in the back of his mind, somewhere in this body?

Salazar didn't want to consider the option. He had assumed that he had simply taken a while to regain his memories. The reincarnate wondered if he would ever learn the truth or if it even mattered at this point. He was decently certain he'd notice a spare set of thoughts in his head. Since he hadn't, if there was a separate Harry Potter, the child would have been isolated since he was one. There was no way the child would ever handle the real world in that case.

Not that this hypothetical scenario was particularly useful, Salazar reminded himself. There was no point in worrying about the issue since he wouldn't give up the body if he was possessing it. Maybe that made him a bad person, a dark lord so many believed him to be. He didn't care. There was too much at stake. (He would make certain Hogwarts stood another thousand years. The one thing he succeeded at in his past life would not fail now.)

"Saturn has grown steadily brighter as we came to this day. The waning of Mars has ended. Its glow grows, flickering with uncertainty but growing all the same. Now a Druid comes before us; the first for an age. One that can connect with the ancient, forgotten magicks of the world. What else could we think?"

"You mean, you think. You're the only creature that knows I'm here, what I am. Perhaps I should simply remove you and the rest of your herd can continue to stare at the stars and wonder at what they see."

The centaur shifted but stayed kneeling. "You would not harm a child of the Mother."

Salazar paused at that, surprised. His fingers dug into the bark of the oak as aggravation snapped through him. "The Mother?" He shook his head. "You are of Apollo and Artemiss. Your kind hass never undersstood the Mother.—Could never undersstand."

"All creatures may learn," the centaur claimed in earnest, "We have learned. Where all others forsook us, she remained. The only constant."

"The only consstant? You mean to quote the primordial versse?" Salazar snarked back as he tried to hide how disturbing the concept was that centaurs followed the Mother and understood nature's magic.

The centaur shifted about in discomfort but said nothing.

They still look to the stars though, Salazar reminded himself, Perhaps they only acknowledge her existence alongside the Grecian gods they have always preferred.

"You have not answered my question," the eleven-year-old reincarnate stated, instead, finally pulling in his parseltongue accent as he forced himself to calm. "Why shouldn't I remove your clan from Hogwarts ground?"

"We care for the land forgotten by man," the centaur finally answered, worry and fear flickered across his face and his pale eyes, "It is...difficult as time goes on and the ancient protections fail but we do what we can."

Salazar's expression blanked as the oak and natural magic he was still connected to whispered acceptance to the humanoid's words. The land would know better than he on this matter.

"Very well. You live," Salazar snapped out as he dropped his hand and released the earth magic.

The trees faded back to their normal state. The centaur rose with visible relief. And Salazar was disgruntled. There was a centaur in one of his groves. What has the world come to that such would happen and the land would be alright with it?

Next thing, he'd find a clan of goblins practicing the Druidic arts.

"If I find any hint of your herd harming my land, you will be removed."

"As you will it," agreed the centaur.

Salazar was annoyed at the world and the creature but said nothing more. Instead, he returned to the grove and its condition. He'd consider the 900+ years of change later, when he was alone.

Omorose twined between his legs and stalked off after the centaur. Salazar paused and watched her go, meeting the centaur's gaze for a final time. The creature gave a slight nod before it walked away, careful not to step on the kneazle. It was times like this he wished he could understand that cat. The things she must learn on her little outings.

He shook his head at the wild thing, wondering when he'd see her again. Probably after she popped out her latest set of kittens. And with a centaur entourage seeing to her every need. Felines.

oooP5ooo

Salazar glared down into his cup of tea as he claimed a whole end of the Slytherin table for breakfast. He didn't particularly care that the rest of his house squashed themselves together as they tried to act normal while avoiding a good four feet radius around him. (Let it not be said that children knew how to ignore a person in a discreet fashion.)

He heaved a sigh and glared down at the tea leaves left at the bottom of his cup. It looked like a very large pile of mush today.

Centaurs were in his groves. Ignoring their newfound faith in the Mother and her apparent acceptance, the wards should have never let them in. This was a magical sanctuary but Centaurs were men killers. He had originally restricted their ability to enter. Did that mean anything could come in?

A hoot cut through his thoughts and drew his gaze back up. Hedwig sat in front of him, her feathers ruffled in a hint of disgruntlement. Besides her was a stack of packages, each with a letter tucked under the rope she must have used to carry it all. A piece of bacon changed her opinion of him and Salazar stroked her chest feathers as he looked over the items.

"Thanks, Hedwig," Salazar muttered. The first package and letter were addressed to 'My Fellow Historian'. Salazar opened it and smiled, pleasantly surprised.

ooo

Harry Potter,

I should claim disappointment at your sorting but the fact that I hadn't ever learned your name, and never realized this fact before I saw your picture in the Daily Prophet, is a blatant sign that the hat placed you correctly.

Congratulations on your sorting and start in academia. The Hogwarts house you are placed in can be an important milestone. Let no one tell you any one house is bad. Each has its potential.

By now you have learned for yourself about the abysmal situation with the history class and you have, no doubt, taken the time to plan a self-study of the material. Of course, it's wishful thinking since you aren't an actual Ravenclaw and I have heard that everyone utilizes a standard master study guide for the class at this point anyway.

What none have concluded, though, is that the ghost does not grade their papers. How can he? Ghosts cannot alter the physical world. So, instead, the stack of papers are given the exact same grade every day. If you're always the first to submit your paper, you will always receive an Acceptable and so forth. Of course, there is absolutely no reason to participate in the class. You'll receive whatever grade the student in your place received over eighty years ago. It all depends on where your name falls in the alphabetical list. So the grading of your papers does not matter in the slightest either way.

I have good authority to inform you that your overall grade will be Exceeding Expectations until the fourth year. You'll somehow jump, temporarily, to an Outstanding before concluding the fifth year with the usual grade. You're welcome.

In turn, I hope you do not spread the fact around, particularly to any of my grandchildren. They have yet to prove any substantial interest in history and will have to endure the class so I might force some historical substance in between their ears. I will be most disappointed if I learn you've spread the fact around.

Now to explain the actual point of this letter, beyond making certain someone gives the congratulations you are due from your sorting.—I hope you understand, from our past talks, to take the media's words with a grain of salt.

After our various conversations over history and history books, I've concluded that you may actually care about learning the material. So I've included the first of a long series of books on history from ancient times to the 1900s. Do not damage these. I expect utmost care towards my property. If you wish for a set of your own, I can direct you towards the establishment that still sells these particular sets whole.

Attached is a separate sheet of assignments and discussion topics we will cover through letters. I expect you to receive, at least, an Exceeding Expectations for your History O.W.L.. This first book will take approximately three months to cover, and that is generous as I will assume you only do your history work during history class. Complete the work quicker and you'll receive the next part sooner. Continue to work swiftly and intelligently, and eventually, you'll complete the O.W.L.s (and I hope N.E.W.T.s) level ahead of schedule.

If you do not desire to work hard and learn the in-depth history of our world and culture, please return the book post haste to my nephew Florence. He is a fifth-year Ravenclaw and one of the prefects. Otherwise, I expect a letter on the first discussion point next Wednesday evening. If I do not receive such a letter by Thursday morning, I will note it as late. Enough late homework and I will have to restrict your access to my ice cream.

Any questions about the material, which you cannot wait for a return letter, may be sent to Florence. I've informed him that you may be joining the history studies I've conducted for the interested children in the family

Sincerely,

Florean Fortescue

Proprietor of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, Diagon Alley

Historian of the First Degree, World Order of Herodotus(8)

ooo

The founder unwrapped the book. Volume One: Magical Society and Wars from 11th to 19th Century Europe was scripted across the worn leather cover. A quick flip through found that it was handwritten in a tiny but clean script.

Salazar glanced over the list of discussions and homework. Norman Invasion, Hogwarts, Statute of Secrecy, multiple wars, religious conflict, Witch Burns (that it was capitalized was rather disturbing), the establishment of the Wizengamot and Statute of Secrecy, and colonization all made an appearance in the list. It was quite a bit to cover but was restricted to magical history at least. A second sheet had a breakdown of when they would study what.

The second semester would shift to the second volume which covered the same time period but for Africa, the Middle East, Asia, and Asia-Pacific. The eleven-year-old smirked as he saw that the studying would continue into the summer holidays with the third volume of that time period which covered the "New World" land masses.

He supposed that a normal child would scoff at the extra work. For him, this was exactly what he needed to help understand the world he now lived within. It didn't mean he'd cease his own research but he appreciated the help.

Salazar offered another piece of bacon to his now content owl and turned to the other package. A smile quirked up as he read the short note.

ooo

Honey,

Congratulations on your sorting, you sly little thing! — I expect a visit during the holidays.

Love,

Granny

ooo

The founder of Hogwarts stared into the package for a long moment. Warmth and amusement rushed over him as he took in the present. The box was stuffed with biscuits, pastries, and mini cakes all either in the shape of snakes or at least decorated with green and silver.

He picked up a pastry, marveled at the delicate scales and then took a bite. Flaky crust crunched under his teeth. Fig, almond, and lemon filled his mouth. Salazar hummed in pleasure.

It seemed like most of the magical world was worried he was an evil bastard but at least he had two showing otherwise.—Salazar wondered if it said something that one offered him, or threatened access to, ice cream and the other gave out biscuits by the dozen.

oooP6ooo

Mipsy was happy to store his sweets in the kitchen while he went to class. Potions was as terrible as the first class, though Salazar completed his work this time around. Defense still gave him a headache. Herbology and astronomy were pretty decent though the Irish boy in Gryffindor physically dragged Neville away from him right after class. Salazar skipped history and stalked around the loch annoyed that he was annoyed at the children avoiding him. He decided to head back into the forbidden forest to continue his investigation as he spied the crumbled remains of the Southwestern wall.

As with all the groves, this one took him a decent hour hike to reach. Unlike the other two, the forest surrounding the area was dark. He could barely see. It was an entirely different part of the forest but strange as it consisted of the same type of trees. There was no reason for the difference. Salazar found himself staring up into the branches as he walked. The trees stood in the same general spacing as the rest of the forest and yet there was less light than he had expected.

A particularly diffused beam of sunlight illuminated a strange bulking structure near some tree tops. It looked to connect multiple trees together. Salazar frowned thoughtfully as he tried to recall any particular creature that would infest a forest and leave such nests. He couldn't think of a single bird or pest. Not even pixies lived in such large structures and those were some of the worst infestations.

There was no hint of the gatekeepers when he reached the grove's entrance. The wall of trees protecting the grove was visible. The depths into them were even darker than the rest of the forested area. He couldn't see anything within the pitched darkness.

Salazar had the sudden realization that he couldn't hear any wildlife. It was silent, unnaturally so. He had walked into a dangerous nest of something. The reincarnate was only glad Omorose was off, elsewhere. That was one less thing to worry about.

And at least Godric wasn't around to tickle the thing this time around.

Salazar pressed his feet into the ground and began to twist the earth magic into a light spell but dropped and rolled as something flew at him. As he rolled, he released the magic. Light flooded the area and screeches of outrage rang out—many, many screeches filled the air.

He rolled onto his feet and staggered back with a hissed curse as a white ball flew by, leaving strands to trail behind and stick to everything and anything surrounding its trajectory. Some hit Salazar's robe.

The founder tried to wipe the substance off. It was sticky and clung. It was especially unpleasant strands of spider silk. Salazar snapped his head up towards the screeches, eyes round.

Spiders—Giant spiders twice the size of Salazar's head—surrounded him from the tree tops. More joined as he watched. Some were closer to the size of a horse. A few looked just about his height in length. None of them were particularly normal-sized.

A spider, six times the size of the largest Salazar had just deemed giant, lowered from the heights of the pines and looked Salazar over with its many eyes. It made a round of clicks, almost like a purr, as it spoke English, "A feast, my children. Just in time for your first hunting practice."

Salazar stared, his mind stuck on a repeat of 'giant' and 'spider'. Rowena would have pulled out scrolls, set up some protective circle, and camped out to observe the strange creatures until Evander dragged her away for substance.—If he hadn't joined her and made it a camping trip.—Helga would have burned the entire forest down at the sight. Godric would have helped after he had tried to fight a few off single-handedly.

'But Sally, you never know when you'll need the practice!' Whined Godric in the back of Salazar's mind, a common response whenever Salazar complained of the odd things Godric dragged him into.

The especially large spider leaned towards Salazar and purred out, "Run little morsel. I'll count to ninety. Make it a good hunt." She, it had to be a she, began to count. "One...Two...Run...Four…run little morsel…"

His thoughts caught up to her words and he obeyed. Salazar bolted back the way he came. A moment of running and his mind cleared enough for him to reach out to the anchored magic that was Hogwarts. His direction was off; he veered to the right and ran.

Salazar pressed a hand to his chest as he shifted past shock and horror and refocused on survival. Hyperfocus jumped several possible options through his mind before a singular idea took precedence. Memory of runes of elder and younger fuþark, the straight lines of the ogham, and futhorc mixed into the straight lines of a square split into two triangles. It was an array he had used a time or two before. Not to the extent he was about to though.

Clicking and cracking filled the woods. The trees surrounding him whispered a warning. Salazar dived into a roll as a spider, the first of hundreds, lunged down at him. He mentally reached out and ripped a jutting rock out of the ground and smashed it into the spider's head. Gray matter splattered across the ground. The body collapsed where it had been hit.

Springing back to his feet, Salazar pulsed his magic out of his hand and onto his chest. It curled into his desired shape but fought Salazar's grip every second, unused to speedy, complicated demands. The runic array glowed on his chest. Salazar stumbled as a spider slammed into his back, only to have another slam into it, throwing it off. He staggered into a pine and his magic, already churning across his hands, pressed into the tree.

The pine moved. It bent forward and walloped the spiders with its lower branches.

Salazar gawped for a short second before he saw the army of spiders charging through the trees and used the chance to activate the runic array on his chest. Two other versions of himself materialized on either side of him.

The eleven-year-old dodged through the trees with the two illusions. As he twisted through some poor imitation of shuffling, he pulsed his magic again. Six more appeared.

The confusion of the spiders were audible in their clicking. Salazar took that as an opportunity to steal his resolve, ignore the pain radiating out from his chest, and used another pulse of magic to create eighteen more versions of himself.

Spots appeared in his eyes, a clear sign he had overdone it but that wasn't surprising, he hadn't used any magic that physically separated the effect from the runic array before today. It was a taxing form of runic magic, one best avoided when physically a child.

The illusions bolted in all different directions and the spiders scattered after them. Salazar continued to run towards Hogwarts. He didn't try to call the trees for help. Adrenaline kept him from thinking beyond the fact that moving trees indicated where he was. It didn't cross his mind the spiders might not be that intelligent.

His lungs struggled as he tried to breathe correctly. His legs burned as he ran as fast as he could. The throbbing from his magical core began to beat in time to his speeding heart. Tears stung his eyes as he tried to ignore the pain.

A screech of outrage filtered through the forest. A spider had attempted to attack one of his copies and found it unsatisfactory. The canopy filled with clicks and screeching rage. Each illusion's destruction sent a soft pulse through the runic array on his chest.

Salazar counted each pulse as he ran. His lungs burned alongside the screaming of his magical core. Three down.

Five.

Seven.

Nine.

A thought struck him suddenly. Salazar felt like an idiot. He pulled out his pendant.

Eleven.

Warning burst through his connection to the trees and he dropped into another roll. A spider flung past him. Another landed on his back. An appendage pressed into his side, the exact spot he had been stabbed right through years and years ago.

Panic stabbed through Salazar. The world shifted and echoes of the bastards that killed him (that he had taken down with him) washed over his mind. Uncontrolled magic, accidental magic, whoosed out and sent the spider flying.

Salazar squeezed his eyes closed and sucked in air. This wasn't a trap. He wasn't going to die. Spiders didn't have magic or blades.

He staggered up and yanked the pendant on.

Two spiders clattered and clicked at each other from across a small patch of pine leaves. Their attention was still directed towards him.

There was a strange sort of three-way staring contest where Salazar wasn't entirely certain he was actually having a staring contest. Then the three moved. Another ball of webbing was thrown at him—he mentally smacked it back. A spider flung itself at him—Salazar dodged.

Then he ran. Again.

The pendant magic didn't work on the spiders already aware of his specific position. Hopefully, it would keep the rest from finding him once his illusions were gone. (But it would likely only delay them. Their interest in eating him was likely strong enough to push through the pendant's power.)

The runic array pulsed on his chest once more. "Fifteen," he gasped out to himself as he ran. Or, hopefully, twelve or thirteen. He didn't have the magical muscle to create any more illusions.

Perhaps he should have used his magic to enhance his speed instead. But the trees parted. Rumble of the destroyed inner wall rose before him. Hogwarts loomed beyond.

Salazar dived out of the forest and into Hogwarts Proper with a groan. Only one spider was stupid enough to follow. The curse from the broken wall, not his wards to his disgruntlement, zapped the spider dead.—It had had ill intent towards Salazar, who was a resident since he had been in Hogwarts Proper first.

"Huh." Salazar stared at its curled form, mind boggled that the little curse had actually worked. Maybe Dumbledore, or some past headmaster, had a decent idea placing the insignificant little curse on the inner walls. Sometimes the simplest solutions were the best answers.

This particular baby spider was twice his size, he noted in dull horror. "Mipsy."

A pop-click answered. "Master Sally shouldn't be sleeping here." The house elf shifted to stare down at him. "Master Sally should be sleeping in his proper rooms. After a bath."

"Mipsy, would you put that somewhere out of the way? I'll dissect it later." Salazar said, ignoring the elf's words for the moment.

"Of course Master Sally." Mipsy snapped her fingers and the baby, giant spider corpse rose into the air. "That be all?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You be welcome, Master Sally." The elf paused to stare down at him once more. "Master must not be missing dinner and should be sleeping in his proper rooms though." With that, she and the spider corpse vanished.

Salazar snorted in amusement before he relaxed across the grassy ground. A nap was an excellent idea. The fact that he couldn't get himself to move was entirely beside the point. Magical exhaustion was easily fixed with sleep after all. (No matter what healers like to say otherwise.)

Tomorrow he'd worry about the failing wards.

oooPooo

1. These are old spelling/old forms of surnames. While surnames didn't exist in the 11th century, I did make an exception for the seven original Houses of the Wizards Council, and the various Houses that were formed when the Norman conflict reached a resolution. (Hence House Hufflepuff, Gryffindor etc. existed before the 13th century, if you caught that.) Though only the "Pater" or "Mater" would have likely gone by such names in Sally's time. It would have still come across as a title instead of a surname. ie. "The Bulstrod" or "The Gryffindor".

Ainsley may have been an OC House I created, it's been a while and I have no actual character noted for the House. The rest are canon:

Anneleah = Ainsley (scottish/"pictish")

Burhstrod = Bulstrode (Briton)

Prouet = Prewett (Scottish/Viking)

Langbothm = Longbottom (Welsh)

2. The study of alchemy is historically more similar to transfiguration than potions.—I mean literally, in real life.—That Dumbledore studied it implies that Rowling also determined this fact. In general, alchemy is the study of changing one object into another permanently. Transfiguration is the temporary change of an object into another object. Alchemy's historical main focus has been the creation of the philosopher's stone.

3. Tasseography, tea leaf reading, was technically popularized in the 15th century, or thereabouts. But divination was done in many ways over the centuries. I figured looking into the remains of a person's drink, whether it was tea or not, wouldn't have been a stretch before it historically became popular. Salazar's main tea since coming to Hogwarts is also a herbal tea because tea leaves come from Asia. They didn't reach Europe for a number of centuries after Salazar's life (approximately the 15th century also). Herbal teas likely existed before then (likely as medicine), though. So I took a few liberties with all his tea drinking and reading.

4. Pine is connected to the symbolism of Purification, Detection, and Protection. Its needles are used (often burned but also as a broom) to cleanse and purify homes and ritual areas.

5. Poplars are connected to resistance, shielding, speech and language, endurance, victory, transformation, and vision. Its wood was used in the making of actual shields. (The other trees I summarize decently enough in the chapter, though Oak has many symbolisms and is one of the triad of trees considered most sacred to druids.)

6. Obviously, magic makes trees huge and very long-lived. General estimates for normal trees vs. the Hogwarts Forbidden forest trees:

Pine: 100-1000yrs old, 46.6 m tall vs. Hogwarts Pine: ~900-1000yrs old, 60 m tall

Oak: 50-1000yrs old, 44 m tall vs. Hogwarts Oak: ~900-1000yrs old, 60 m tall (can be as wide as tall)

Poplar: 30 to 50yrs old, 15–30m tall vs Hogwarts Poplar: ~900-1000yrs old, 60m tall

Yew: 100-1000yrs old, 12m vs. Hogwarts Yew: ~900-1000yrs old, 30m

Rowan: up to 200yrs old, 12m vs. Hogwarts Rowan: ~900-1000yrs old, 30m

I should note that not all the rowan or poplars would be ridiculously old in the forest, just in the groves. These particular trees have a specific purpose within forests which their quick growth and ability to travel help promote. Magic wouldn't stymie their natural purpose.

We can assume that the poplars are one to eight organisms though, as poplars spread through their root systems, making many poplars one organism. The largest poplar organism can be found at Fishlake National Forest in Utah. It is believed to be over a thousand years old and occupies over 100 acres.

7. A forest's trees are interconnected through the ground by both roots and various forms of algae and bacteria that allow the plants to work together, helping each other with nutrients and boosting each other during times of difficulty. It is not just between trees of the same species. This has been found to be true between species of trees where the two, or more, species both benefit from the connection.

This system has also been found to allow electrical signals to pass through the ecosystem - the trees communicate with each other. This communication allows trees to synchronize the release of their pollen, the release of various smells or chemicals to fight pests (bugs), etc. Here, this connection has allowed Salazar to unknowingly connect with not just the wards but many of the trees intertwined together. Of course, the forest is part of the wards. The implications of that are not fully realized as of yet.

8. Herodotus was a real Greek historian. He is known for his book The Histories and is often referred to as "The Father of History". Look him up, he's pretty interesting.