Chapter Nineteen
oooP1ooo
(Harry)
Gregory snagged his sleeve as they left transfiguration. "Harry! I've been thinking and the best bet is getting some piskie sheep wool pillows for her bed. The fairy folk wool is so soft and with a decent size basket she might actually accept it as her birthing bed. I just know my cousin Everett could get us some! If you think it's a good idea, we can ask Asher to owl his da and we could get it here in a few weeks..."
He dragged Salazar down the grand staircase and towards the Great Hall as he yammered away about everything he had come up with. Salazar didn't really know how to respond to the manhandling. On the one hand, he very much wanted to encourage his fellow Slytherins to interact with him. On the other hand, he was being physically dragged about in an undignified manner that only usually occurred when Godric was about.
The rotund boy smacked Salazar in the arm, rather hard, but clearly for emphasis as he exclaimed, "Did you know she could be carrying up to eighteen kittens! We need a large enough bed for all of them but still nice and cozy so she will use it."
"Eighteen?" Salazar repeated, the manhandling forgotten. "Eighteen kittens?"
Gregory gave a serious nod with eyes wide. "Have you noticed how big she is? She's got to be carrying a dozen at least!" The dark haired boy nudged Salazar towards the Slytherin table as he added, "We got to be careful how we handle her. Even a good petting on her tummy could harm the kittens. And then when they're born we'll have to keep a good eye out for any she's not feeding properly. We can feed them ourselves so we don't lose any."
The larger boy plopped down at the table, amongst the other first year Slytherins and, seeing no space for Salazar, forcefully pushed one of the slighter boys down the bench with an, "Excuse me." Then he waved Salazar to the opened space.
Salazar slowly sat down, eyes flickering up to the teacher's table half expecting a glaring potions professor or staring headmaster but neither were present. A number of the ministry officials and apparent members of the Hogwarts board were. None of them knew how unusual the moment was, Salazar was seated amongst his peers, not at the edge of the group and not excluded from the rest of the house.
He had been toying with the idea of observing how the rest of his house interacted with each other but he hadn't gotten past how to sit at his table without the lot spending most of their meal glaring at him. It had been a plan in progress, involving exuberant use of his spelled pendant to hide his presence and other magic to keep anyone from noticing him or anything odd. This was considerably better.—And perhaps he had been a little egotistical thinking the older years would pay him any mind now that the novelty of his presence had worn out because no one was glaring.
Draco, seated on Salazar's other side, didn't shift down the bench away from him. That was an even better sign as the boy was difficult to nail down. Something kept him at arm's length while he obviously wanted to be friends—Considering everything he knew, it was probably the orders of Draco's father and Snape's blatant dislike from Salazar. All of which seemed tied to his status of The-Boy-Who-Lived and so the past, probably still on-going, war was the real answer in the end.
The other boys were still acting like he didn't exist, which might be why there was no glaring or complaints. Salazar assumed none of them wanted to raise attention to the issue out in the Great Hall but at this point he really didn't know. He left it be, feeling like he was surrounded by a herd of startled deer.
Salazar kept some of his attention on the children immediately around him and further down the table, but mostly on Gregory. He hadn't considered learning about kneazles. The species was an ancient one, thought to stem from Egypt or somewhere close to the Nile. Everyone knew the basics about the creatures. He should have considered learning everything he could since he had one, or half of one—he had never asked Mrs. Figg if Omorose was half or whole kneazle. He should have.
When Gregory rambled about facts Salazar knew, he took a moment to consider the older Slytherins present. There were obvious groups and pairings of students but nothing stuck out as odd. The quidditch team was near the center of the table and highly popular but that wasn't surprising.—It was a fact for all four house quidditch teams.—Multiple groups were of children wearing the same club pins about their collars. The off duty prefects present sat at the end of the table nearest the teachers.
There was nothing he could pinpoint as concerning. The whole pureblood nonsense Draco had explained was probably evident to anyone who knew who all the children were and who their families were. Salazar frowned into his tea as he realized he might actually need to learn all that to see possible issues like bullying.
Observing his fellow Slytherins was botched until he learned a few more details. That they all seemed like groups of normal children soften some of his unease about everything, though. These weren't a bunch of little death eaters in training like some people thought. They were just children. Their futures were not set in stone.
He refocused on Gregory as the boy shifted his ramblings to pet food. Salazar blinked a couple of times to make certain he was hearing the boy correctly before he asked, bewildered, "You buy jars of specially made food for cats?"
"Yes," Gregory answered, equally confused now, "There's so many options to choose from. I think Auntie preferred a brand with doxies in it...or maybe gnomes?"
"Are you talking about your cat?!" cried Draco in disbelief, his tone taking on a whining quality, "She's shedded all over my cloak the other day, Potter!"
Salazar turned to his other side and found Draco seated almost uncomfortably close, probably to overhear the conversation. "She what?"
"It's your fault for leaving it on the floor," countered another boy. "Omorose just likes blankets."
"What?" repeated Salazar.
Zabini something or other (Or was Zabini his surname?) wrinkled his nose as he explained, "I found a hairball in my shoe the other day. But that's the worse she's done to me."
Vincent shook his head while Salazar mouthed another what. "That wasn't Omorose. Smith's cat got stuck in our dorm the other day. Wasn't as smart as our Oromorse!" He leaned over the table towards Draco and waved his fork about as he added, "And we've known she likes blankets since the first week. You should have known better than to leave your cloak like that. It looked like a blanket."
Malfoy dramatically huffed before he leaned towards Salazar and announced. "Potter."
"Draco," Salazar said back wearily.
Draco puffed up like a pleased peacock and continued his dramatic announcement, speaking just a little louder so the other groups near them could overhear him. "Father asked me to pass along an invitation to the annual Midwinter Ball—the Malfoy Ball, which is the ball of the season. It's informal for now, proper invites go out in a month but you'll have one. I hope you're able to join! You'll meet all the right sort there."
The other boys perked up at that statement.
Gregory leaned closer also and said, excitedly, "It would be bril if you came! We end up in one of Draco's game rooms–"
"–Has Potter ever even played the games?" interrupted Zabini, his nose rising in the air. "He's not on my team for–"
"–We got to play Warlocks of Avalon!" announced Nott. "We'll have enough players with Potter." He turned to Salazar, excitement gleaming in his pale gaze. "You'll get the rules quick! It's not a hard game to understand."
Salazar tried not to grimace at the realization that he didn't know half the boys' full names even though they were in his dorm room. It was way, way too late to ask even though it had been the children's fault for ostracizing him until now.
"I think we should have a chess tournament," countered another, older boy as he scooted into the group. He looked to Salazar and demanded, "You've played that, haven't you? I hope you're decent at it!"
Salazar didn't miss the fact that they stopped ostracizing him the instant Draco brought up his father inviting him to this ball.—Their whole conversation about Omorose had been directed at everyone but him.—Malfoy senior had some type of sway that superseded Snape's, at least in this group of children and what looked like some of the second years. (Or maybe he was reading too much into it. He was as much at fault for not even trying.)
The group talked over each other in excitement at everything they could do during this ball. None of it was dancing. Salazar never got a chance to dig for information before he found himself pulled along with his fellow Slytherins to history of all classes. It wasn't terrible, though. He ended up digging through his history books for whatever answers he could get instead.—Not on the ball but on Malfoy and other people he needed to learn about.
His godfather was the only one he successfully hunted down during class. Sirius Black was probably a member of the House of Black.—That was the only potentially useful bit he found. The rest was about how he had betrayed the Wizarding community by betraying the Potters and even some backhanded thanks for doing it since it led to Voldimort's downfall.—Since Black was in jail, and Salazar really didn't want to spend time on breaking into a jail with everything else he was figuring out, contacting a relative that could request a meeting with his godfather would be the best route.
How to go about it was the next question. Salazar considered asking Draco or Gregory, or even one of his other first years peers but they were eleven year olds. Some might eventually be heads of Familia and Houses but they probably didn't actually know more than the basics now. He needed to go to someone older.
Salazar pulled out a worn, folded parchment—glad Godric finally gave it to him. Ignoring the magic's echoing sounds of laughter and jokes that filled his hearing, he pushed a tiny amount of magic through his fingertips into the parchment and muttered the required password. Unfolding it revealed the marvelous magical map of Hogwarts.
oooP2ooo
Salazar poked his head into room 604. A long table sat directly across from the door and was filled with studying children. None of them looked up from their books as Salazar entered.
The right of the long table were rows of ornately carved wooden cubicles. To the left was a sitting area surrounding a large fireplace. Floor to ceiling windows let afternoon sunlight in and revealed rolling clouds spreading out from the horizon. It was going to snow again and soon.
A crowd of students were lazing around the fireplace, quietly talking and working. Amongst them he spied a Prewett, the Prewett he was looking for. He caught the older boy's eye and the redhead rose with a smile.
"What brings you to the Spellmanship guild? Have some essays you need checked over? Finally caved and want a mentor? Got a spell you can't seem to cast proper?" Tristan asked as he stepped up to Salazar. "Or got questions about something you think particularly odd? Muggleborns usually have a list." He grinned at the last part, as if it was a bit of a joke.
Salazar looked curiously at the older boy and decided he could probably ask many questions without the Ravenclaw wondering about it. The entire club seemed to exist to answer questions. Salazar had a list beyond the Black situation. It was just a matter of remembering everything he wanted to ask.
"I've a few...odd questions," Salazar explained even as he mentally noted down which club this actually was and how useful it could be, "They...are private matters."
Tristan nodded cheerfully, "Of course...is there anyone specific you'd like to ask them to?"
"You, or your brother would be best, I think." Salazar answered since he had no idea who else might be in the club.
The redhead raised a brow at his request but waved Salazar to follow. Tristan led him down through some cubicles until they reached his own, or at least Salazar assumed it was Tristan's. Noise from the general room faded to nothing as they stepped through.
Salazar relaxed at the taste of snow and the soft feel of cotton from the magic wrapping the small cubicle. Silence enchantments covered the enclosed area. No one would be eavesdropping on this conversation.
A desk and two chairs took up the majority of the room. A family picture of red heads waved out at them. He recognized Mark and Tristan. Between them was a younger girl and behind were their parents. They took after their father though both parents had similar coloring.
"So?" Tristan prompted as he leaned back against his desk.
The parselmouth shrugged and said as causal-like as he could, "None of them are interrelated really...I've overheard that purebloods use a purification ritual. I am curious what those do and intel….sounds...important, you know?"
Tristan blinked owlishly at Salazar before a grin split his serious expression. "Seriously?—I'm sorry. It's just there aren't any purification rituals, not real ones. The ones I've heard of are baths with some variety of herbs added." Tristan shrugged. "The older women use them and insist the younger women do too—particularly right before a marriage and such. History does hint at various lost rituals but no one knows anything about them now...I think there are some cleansing hot springs in various parts of the world. They're the closest thing we've got.—And nobody can really say what good they do!"
"Ah, of course," Salazar said as he offered the redhead a helpless smile, forcefully keeping the bitter feeling from showing on his face. Purification rituals didn't exist. Gods. "I should have known. I heard the goblins had their employees take purification, uh, baths and...well...Do you know of any books I could read about the lost rituals? They sound fascinating."
The redhead smiled back in amusement. "I've heard about the goblins doing that! Merlin, I'd never lower myself to working for them." He shook his head in amusement and, not so feigned, disgust. Tristan shifted until he was sitting on his desk before he said, "Books? Afraid not here. Hogwarts has a wonderful library but if there is anything on rituals it'll be in the restricted section...and I doubt there's anything in there…" He rubbed his neck. "You'd have to...I don't know...get in good with some of the really old families, I think...I mean, Pater has a few old books on rituals but he's protective of his library–" He paused, seemingly realizing what he may have implied and rushed as casually as he could in saying, "and uh...I think they're more history based than actually explaining rituals."
"Right, thanks," Salazar said, feeling less than thrilled but not surprised.
"O'course. Your other question?"
Salazar shifted, purposely tilted his head in a sheepish manner and said, "Well...you see, I'd like to know how I should request a meeting with someone. It's–I've questions I need answers for."
"Who?"
Green eyes watched Tristan's face carefully as he answered, "Sirius Black."
Tristan frowned as he leaned back into the cubicle wall and folded his arms in front of him. "He sounds familiar. Related to the House Black? They've had a few Sirius Blacks in the family...can't recall one still living, though."
"Yes," Salazar offered with no plans to explain. He had no need to remind the older boy exactly who his godfather was. There was a chance Tristan would refuse to answer. Of course, he might need the information to be able to answer the question but Salazar was curious what he'd say first, without the knowledge of the man's incarceration.
"Well," Tristan said slowly as he thought through the question, "a normal owl post would do as long as it's polite but I'm guessing you've tried that?" Salazar tilted his head but didn't give any actual response. Tristan assumed the head tilt was a nod and continued. "Next best thing is to connect with other family members but the Blacks are pretty sparse these days...So that might leave the Head of the House and Pater Black is a known recluse. He's not likely to respond."
"So what should I do?"
"Honestly? You're unlikely to get any response but Pater Black is the proper person to contact. The Head of a House can force family members to meet with them. They don't get a say in the matter, really."
Tristan hopped down from his desk and pulled a drawer out. "I've a sample or two–" He pulled a messy pile of parchment out and flipped through it all before he pulled out a box. The box was filled with more parchment which he searched through before he returned to the first pile. Finally the boy made a noise of success and presented a long piece of parchment to Salazar. "–This gives you the basic letter structure expected when you're sending a request to a Head of House."
"Thank you Tristan."
He shrugged with parchment flapping about in his hands as he waved them in a discarding motion. "It's nothing when it might not even help! Anything else?"
Salazar shook his head but paused in the middle of the motion and turned to regard the redhead for a moment. Screw it, asking someone was going to be ten times faster than him hunting for answers in the library. "Do you know anything about Draco Malfoy's father?"
Eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. "Yesss," He answered, drawing out the word, "Why?"
Salazar shrugged, "He's invited me to his Winter Ball." And, Salazar thought, suddenly my roommates aren't acting like I have the plague.
Tristan turned grim. "Look...Harry...You know how you're the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"Yes," Salazar answered dryly, "I lived when my parents did not."
The redhead startled at that, eyes widening as if he had never considered that fact. He swallowed and said, voice suddenly soft and his words spoke with care. "I'm sorry. It's just–There are some people you need to be careful around...Malfoy was tried for being a Death Eater. He got pardoned because he claimed he was bespelled under one of the unforgivables."
"Unforgivables?"
"There are three curses designated by the Stumps(1) Law of 1815 as immediate death penalties if used on another wizard or witch. Pater Malfoy claimed to be under the imperius curse," Tristan explained grimly, "It forces people to do what the caster orders. People have killed others while under that curse...but...but it's–umm...there's no way to prove that the person was under the curse after the fact. I mean, unless they're caught with the signs when they are under it, you just can't tell. When you–uh–got...got rid of You-Know-Who a bunch of people swarmed the LED and clamored abou–"
Salazar interrupted, "LED?"
Prewett startled, gave Salazar a look as if remembering something, and explained in a rush, "Law Enforcement Division of the DoL...uh...Department of Law."
"People swarmed it?" Salazar prompted, bemused at the idea that people would go after their law enforcement after Voldemort was gone.
"Yeah," Tristan tugged a hand through his hair before explaining with a grimace, "They all came rushing over claiming they had been imperiused by You-Know-Who. There's no proof that someone can hold more than one imperius at a time...but there isn't any proof otherwise either."
Salazar slowly nodded. "So there was no way to know if any of them was lying. And Draco's dad was one of them."
Tristan nodded. "Most think there was some money exchanged for all the Death Eaters that got off. Others think most of the counsel was bleeding daft at the time. Or imperiused themselves to let so many taken to court through the LLCs...err…the local lower courts. There was a special post war tribunal set up for them all. They should have gone through that but then there was a huge scandal with the Head of LED(2)..."
"So," Salazar said slowly when it was clear Tristan had trailed off with nothing more to say, "Draco's dad is a free Death Eater who may have or may not have been imperiused into doing the things he did during the war?"
"Yes," Tristan said. His brown gaze sharpened onto Salazar. "There's a whole group of them but Malfoy–Lucius Malfoy was thought to be in You-Know-Who's inner circle…He's the Head of the Malfoy House and one of the main players of the Avalonians, the traditionalist group. It's bloody rubbish how they try to make themselves out as Merlin's descendants and all with connecting themselves to Avalon."
"The traditionalist group is," Salazar asked slowly, regretting before he even heard the answer since he could imagine it—this was where the war went. "a political group within the Wizards' Council?"
Tristan shook his head in a no motion. "It crosses over all parts of the Wizengamot and is one of the main political powers right now. They've the majority seats within the Wizard's Council and are tied as the second largest faction with the Progressives within the Circle. The Estates are more complicated...but they've definitely have support there. Dumbledore's fraction is the majority in the Circle and has more support in the Estates...and you really don't need all that. Just–Be careful, Harry. Lucius Malfoy isn't your friend. "
Salazar nodded but didn't say anything. This was going to be a pain.—The Slytherin founder left, following the brother's bonds to Godric so he could get beaten with a stick. It sounded pleasantly simple after that peek into the political mess waiting for him.
oooP3ooo
(Neville)
Snow flurried across the grounds. Godric watched through the windows as he moved the smoldering smudge stick of sage slowly through the circular room, filling the place with the aroma while purposely drawing long, deep, slow breaths. Candles were stuck to the floor with slightly melted wax and flickering with firelight. The runic array was already drawn out in charcoal.
His muscles ached as he stretched before claiming his seat on the poof. Salazar had been particularly vicious in training. He would be the one covered in bruises tomorrow. The physical effort left him feeling at ease and oddly confident at this new attempt at finding memories.
He considered the little he learned from Sally and from the Potter novel. Memories were pulled forward from familiar things. That was the key, it had to be the key to his memories. He just had to determine what fit that requirement.
A potted plant had been the first idea and could have worked like Salazar had claimed. Godric discarded it, though, since the only potted plant he technically could bring up here was his basil. He didn't need to accidentally burn his school project. His fears over burning down the greenhouses kept gardening at an odd juxtaposition of relaxing physical activity and terrifyingly edged toward disaster. It was probably why he hadn't found the odd memory surface during herbology classes. Just detailed facts he couldn't remember learning came to him.
Finding a stick similar to the one in his most recently returned memory could have pulled similar memories forward. Except Godric had the strong impression there wouldn't be any other memories of him playing knight or hero as a child. He was ordered to stay put and as far as he could recall, he did.
His toad was dead but all the various things he had for the toad still sat in his dorm room. The aquarium might have pulled memories forward but the jars of dead bugs wouldn't have. Without the toad, its cage didn't seem particularly personal.
Personal things should be used.—There were very few personal objects in his trunk: He found three.
Godric pulled out the first item. The short letter from his apparent grandmother was as impersonal as could be for a letter but it felt important to start with her. She was an obvious fixture in his new life. (Even though he had yet to receive a letter from her since recalling his past.)
The blond avoided considering the tone of the letter. Instead, his mind focused on the shape of the script, on the name of his relative. His grandmother... he couldn't recall anything about her off hand. Only a sense of dread and a spike of desperate hope filled him. And there was the sharp jumbled need to straighten his spine and stand straight while wishing to curl up to avoid notice. (She disapproved of fighting without a wand. That's all he knew at this point. That and the letter's words.)
He folded the letter back up, stared hard at the marked vulture in the wax stamp, and then set it before himself on the floor. Hazel eyes slid up and locked onto the candle directly in front of him. His thoughts focused on the information he had, prompting recollection as he mediated over the sparse knowledge. He could taste the details at the tip of his tongue.
Augusta Longbottom...Grandmother, but that wasn't quite right. He had called her something else. In the memory of her scolding him for playing with imagined weapons he had called her Gran.
That was who she was to him. Gran.
His eyes slowly fluttered shut as he fell into the focused mediation. The flame glowed through his eyelids as a faint orange haze. Whispered facts filtered to the forefront of his mind as he allowed his thoughts to zero in towards the hidden information. Lost knowledge was unearthed with this stimuli.
Gran….his father's mother...once a Dippet(3), married into the Longbottom House...his grandma who bore...Fran...Franklin. Franklin William Longbottom.
Franklin.
Frank.
The name revibrated through his thoughts. Memories tied to that name surfaced in a swirl of images and impressions, full memories and simple, faintly remembered conversations echoed out and interlinked together. This new information flooded his mind, captured his entire attention and he began to remember.
"Frank manifested his magic within his first year."
He was curled up on the top of the stairs. It was late. Hands tightened their grasp on a blanket. He had had a nightmare.—His brother had died. There had been so much...so much...It was slipping away but it was bad and terrifying and all he wanted was a hug.—All he wanted was some comfort but she was angry. He could hear the anger in the voices filtering up the stairs. They all were angry at him.
Again.
Whenever Frank came up, they were mad at him. He didn't understand why. What had he done this time?
A tremor shivered out and down his spin.
"He's still young," croaked out some lady, one of the many Gran had over for tea multiple times a week. He didn't like them and avoided them as much as he could. The ones he met liked pinching his cheeks. Then they complained about him with Gran. And this time they were still here even though the sun had gone down and it was past bedtime. They were here, had been all day.
And they had been complaining and talking about Frank the entire time.
"What about the night light?"
His gran's voice filtered up with a distinct edge. "It doesn't light for him!"
"Bring specialists in." Came a third voice. "Nip it in the butt before Pater Longbottom demands the boy's time."
Yet another voice huffed out, "It's the mother's fault—I told you the Bargeworthys have a squib problem!"
"Shh, don't speak like that," hissed one of the other ladies, "Don't take it personally dear, he's not a squib. The Mother wouldn't do that to you on top of everything else. The very thought!"
"No," Gran spoke up, "I knew that Bargeworthy girl was trouble. I told Frank—"
Frank...Frank…It was always Frank. All anyone had ever cared about was Frank. Not him. He wasn't Frank so he wasn't ever good enough. The memory blurred into another. He was no longer curled up on the top of a set of stairs. Now he was in some study.
"Your father had learned this easily!" snapped Gran as she slapped her willow pointer across his hand, "Try that letter again."
Neville struggled with the quill as he attempted to write legible cursive across the parchment, all the while ignoring the blooming red lines on his hands. He didn't like these lessons. He couldn't get it right. The ink left splotches everywhere. The sounds of the letters went in one ear and out the other. He couldn't remember any of it.
"Frank picked this all up immediately," complained his grandmother as she shuffled around the room in agitation, "He was a natural...Why couldn't you have been more like him?"
He was always compared to the man. A father wouldn't want that, would he? Frank Longbottom was his dad but Neville wasn't Frank anymore than Godric was Alger.
The study shifted and blurred until the back of a couch solidified within his view.
"A bit of a disappointment, eh?" groused an elderly man—Great Uncle Harfang whispered through his mind.
"The boy is nothing like Franklin," said another elderly man in frustration—Pater whispered in his thoughts, Pater of Longbottom: His great grandfather.
Neville tightened his grip on his legs and tucked them under his chin as he tried to stay quiet. He was hidden behind the couch, in the curtains of the windows he had snuck into for a nap who knows how many hours ago. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He'll be in so much trouble.
"He has no balls," continued Pater, "No character. Nothing. The boy is nothing—has there been any luck, Harfang? Algernon?"
"I'm afraid not, father," a third voice said (Algrenon - Uncle Algie whispered through his mind), "Not a wink; not a spark. Augusta has been trying. I've seen her efforts but the boy is damaged. Might have lost any hope of ability after the attack."
"My son should have never married that woman," grumbled Pater, "To think a granddaughter of such a renowned Headmaster would fail so miserably."
"She did have Frank in the end," Uncle Algie offered.
Great Uncle Harfang snorted derisively at the statement.
Pater snorted also as he continued to complain, "It's too bad you had only daughters."
"We did try, especially after Frank and Alice seemed incapable of children and uninterested entirely in their duty...Inconsiderate, what with the war," Uncle Algie countered, "We had Odette. Tis neither her fault for being a girl nor Enid's fault for the complications.–" Uncle Algie's voice turned cold. "–That midwife never helped in another labor after that, I assure you."
"Yes, well your eldest could have married better."
"The Hitchens family is well to do in the Colonies(4)." Scoffed Algie. "It gives our family connections if ever we have to leave—if Albus is right and Tom Riddl–"
"That man is dead," Pater snapped, "The Boy-Who-Lived took care of that."
Great Uncle Harfang rejoined the conversation. "Ophelia could have married a man into the family–"
"She's only bore girls." Uncle Algie countered. "They're sweet little things–"
"Magical?"
"Oh, yes. Clearly so," Algie quickly assured, "but they are girls nonetheless."
Silence fell in the room for a few minutes. Neville squeezed his eyes shut. Cousin Ophelia's daughters were younger than him. They've shown magic already.
"Have Augusta write down all the specialists she's brought in. I'll make sure to expand the search," Pater ordered, "I will not have a squib for an heir...If only Franklin was well."
Franklin...well—Frank Longbottom wasn't dead. He was alive and a constant reminder of what could have been. The back of the couch faded out and he was suddenly in a whitewashed, sterile room.
Neville stared down at the candy wrapper. His heart hammered, his mouth dry, and tears clung to his lashes. He slowly, achingly so, lifted his head and stared at the gaunt woman. Large hazel eyes, too large for the haggard and thinned face, stared at him. No recognition registered.
The four year old jerked as Gran's voice floated over from the other bed, forcing him to acknowledge once more who the gaunt woman was. "Frank, dear, Healer McCollins said you've made some progress. That you'd like to hear about my day. Well it isn't terribly interesting, the usual really.—Neville has nothing of you, as I've told you. He prefers plants. A classic Longbottom trait as Egbert always claimed but you didn't bear that ridiculous past time any mind, more concerned with justice as you should…"
He clenched the candy wrapper to his chest. His eyes locked once more on the other hazel pair. "Mum," he whispered.
The woman didn't respond. She didn't pay him anymore mind now that she had handed the little wrapper over. Alice Longbottom turned back to her bed, startled at the paper and crayons before her as if she hadn't been using them a moment before. Then she happily returned to doodling nonsense.
His lip trembled. He backed away from the sight, struck at the knowledge that she was alive—his mummy was alive! But she didn't know him. Or didn't want to know him. He was a poor son, why would they want him?
Neville turned towards his father but the bedridden man stared blankly ahead, not acknowledging Neville but also not acknowledging Gran. He must be mad at both of them, then.
"Oh Frank, dear...Egbert...your father...he died. I'm sorry I haven't been in to tell you...Terrible case of dragon pox. Neville didn't catch it, only good thing h–"
Dragon pox. Grandpa—
"You be a good boy, lad...for your gran," his grandpa said with a slur as he lay covered in scaly dots and slightly green tinted skin. His eyes were glazed but stared directly at him. "Be good for her...you've Frank in you, somewhere...I...I'm–" His eyes fluttered as if the lids were too heavy to hold up. "–sure…"
Air escaped his grandpa's cracked lips. His chest went still. The glazed eyes seemed to fade. Neville couldn't stop staring. He had only come in because he couldn't sleep. Grandpa had always told him stories, as long as Gran wasn't around. Gran was downstairs, it had been the perfect chance after weeks of being told to stay away from Grandpa.
A dinging sound revibrated from the room. The door exploded open. A wailing filled the air. Gran pushed him away from the bed with a sharp shove, dropped to her knees and grasped at Grandpa. Pater appeared on the other side alongside one of many healers that had been by. Great Uncle Algie was a step behind Pater.
A wrinkled hand grabbed his shoulder in a tight grip. Neville looked up into his very Great Uncle Harfang. Cousins Humphrey and Samuel and their children stood behind him.
"Stayed with him at the end, did ya lad?" asked Uncle Harfang, "Mayhaps there's a hint of Longbottom in there after all."
"Bleeding hell, Da, he's four," hissed Humphrey, "I don't care if he's a squib, no four year old should see someone die."
More and more memories flashed through him, beating at his soul as each were tied to his father's name. He was forever compared to the man. He could do absolutely nothing to convince his gran of his worth or that he was as good, if different from Franklin Longbottom. His distant relatives weren't nearly as bad, at least in these memories. The memories that surfaced of them was usually when they thought him not present. Maybe, just maybe he had memories where they interacted with him without comparing him to the mythical figure his father was made out as.
The only thing Franklin Longbottom had ever done wrong was marry Neville's mother. Alice Longbottom was given the brunt of blame for his squib status. All his failures were because of her, not Frank.
Godric forced his eyes open as the onslaught dragged his emotions down. There was only so much negativity a person could handle. It was particularly hard as these weren't some memories he was looking into from the outside. He was Neville. Everything he felt as a little boy hit him like a blasting curse.
The founder buried his face into his hands. He hadn't even gotten close to whatever they did to try to force his magic out.
This would take time. Godric had known that. It still dragged him down.
Light streamed in sharp lines from the eastern windows. The sun was setting. He had spent all day meditating. A deep breath and slow release of air helped steady him.
Godric was drained. He was exhausted. He was done for the day.
oooP4ooo
(Harry)
"Quidditch!" Salazar twitched as Draco grabbed his arm the moment he stepped out of the bathroom, as if screeching the odd word hadn't been enough. The blond was thrumming with excitement surprisingly early in the morning. Usually the boys were sound asleep still.
"We're going to slaughter those Gryffindors!" Zabini crowed as he appeared on Salazar's otherside.
"Sorry?" he asked, startled to a sharp focus at the claim of violence so bleeding early in the morning. (Don't get him wrong, he was a morning person. He just wasn't an early morning people person.)
All the boys, even Gregory and Nott who preferred sleeping until noon on the weekends whenever possible, were up and vibrating in excitement in the common room. The various first year girls stood waiting with them.
"Finally!" cried one girl, the one that had gushed over Omorose months ago. "Let's get going!"
"We're not going to get any seats at this rate!" grumbled another girl.
"We'll be fine," sniffed Draco as he continued to pull Salazar along.
The lot traveled in a large pack up through the main hall, past breakfast which Salazar stared at mournfully for all that he only really drank tea in the morning—the Great Hall looked nearly deserted—and out through the main courtyard. The sounds of hundreds of children filled the air as packs similar to their own traveled across the green to the Qudditch stadium. Even more sound rang through the air as they filed into the stadium in search of seats in one of the green and silver decorated boxes. (He clearly should have paid some attention to all the rumble about brooms and quaffles all week. Somehow, between everything, he had missed that the Quidditch season had begun.)
It became clear rather quickly that they'd have to break up into smaller groups to seat themselves in the Slytherin colored boxes. Salazar felt a tug on his brother's bonds and turned, following the tug. Godric waved down at him from a box filled with a mix of first years. Most of them were familiar Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws but he spied a couple Gryffindors seated with Godric. There was enough room for all of the Slytherin first years. They would still have to split up but they would do so amongst fellow first years instead of the dozens of older years none of them knew.
Salazar twisted Draco's grip so he was the one holding the boy's sleeve and tugged. "Come on, this way."
Draco squacked, "Potter–"
"There's enough seats for us all this way," Salazar called out louder.
His cute little peers (not students) followed willingly enough.—Salazar made a mental note to send Malfoy senior a thank-you letter. Imagining the possible response was, perhaps, a little too entertaining.—Possible conflict flickered to life as they reached the top of the wooden tower and his fellow Slytherins realized where he had led them. A frown appeared on Seamus's face from where he sat by Godric and Draco sucked in breath for what sounded like a harsh scolding.
"Draco, Gregory, everyone, you know Susan and Hannah, don't you? They're cousins of mine.—Ah! Zacharius too, didn't see you there." Salazar stated loudly, tone bluntly cheerful as he waved at the two girls seated just above Godric. "Of course you also know I'm good friends with Neville and most everyone here. Anthony, Justin, Earnest—"
"It's Ernie, Potter!"
Salazar gave a slight nod at that and added with a little wave at the very red redhead besides Earnest, "And you've met Ronald on the train...I'm afraid I'm not the best at names–" Salazar flashed a disarming smile at the various children he hadn't named off. (Godric snorted.) "–might not get it right if you haven't been in a study group with me a few times—Sue, right?"
Sue turned vibrant pink and ducked her face away with a squeak even as she waved shyly at the other Slytherins. A snort escaped one of the Slytherin girls. Green eyes flicked over to the girl. Greengrass, if Salazar recalled the right face to the surname.
The willowy girl stalked over, shuffled through the mix of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws until she reached Sue. There she sat down at Sue's side and took the Ravenclaw's arm in hers, leaned in and announced in a staged whisper, "You are too sweet.—He is oblivious, you realize?"
Godric snorted once more. Startled giggles escaped Sue even as she nodded in agreement. Multiple other girls gave various grins and side eye looks at each other amongst further giggles.
Salazar frowned but decided to move on by claiming the seat besides Godric and dragged Draco into the seat beside him. (He very firmly ignored how both stiffened at each other's presence.) The rest of the Slytherin children followed suit, dispersing amongst their non-Slytherin peers since other, older years were starting to fill the area. This promised something rather marvelous, if he could get them all to show up to some study groups in the future.
Draco looked like he had sucked on a lemon. Zabini had his nose in the air but he was talking with Zacharius who also had his nose in the air so it looked like an oddly balanced pairing. Gregory was shly chatting with Hannah about cats. Vincent was looking slightly constipated as he stared wide eyed at Dean and Justin while Seamus glared in warning over Dean's shoulder at him.—That probably had something to do with blood status but he'd leave it to the children to proceed through unless it looked like a fight was about to break out.
"So, Quidditch." Godric said, tone held a note of disbelief.
"Yes," drawled Draco, tone clearly full of annoyance at Salazar. He leaned back with his arms folded across his chest and darted a daring gaze at Godric that just screamed are-you-really-talking-to-your-superiors before he stated, "Not that I expect you were let out to watch any games, eh? Only properly magical children are seen in society." Gray eyes flicked over at Godric. "You were never at any of the balls or festivals so they wouldn't have taken you out to a game of all things…"
"You're joking, right?" Salazar countered, "I've never seen a game either."
"But that's different." Susan remarked from her seat behind and slightly above them.
Salazar shifted to look up at her. "You cannot be serious." He glanced from Susan to Draco and back before he shared a look with Godric at the serious expression on the two. Neither seemed like the type to agree with each other often. That they did, did not bode well.
"Children aren't supposed to be heard or seen, in general," Susan explained with a shrug. "Auntie never paid much attention to it...but, then, I had my first accidental magic long before she took me in."
"And she'd never have gotten to her position if she didn't at least acknowledge tradition," huffed Draco. He folded his arms as he stated as if it were fact, "Older children are allowed to be seen, if they have proven they have magic. Otherwise, they aren't seen by anyone but family. If they don't have magic, it's best they aren'tpart of society."
Susan's lips thinned and she leaned forward as she countered sharply, "You mean, they aren't to be out and about alone because no magic means they might not be able to protect themselves with accidental magic or otherwise. Youdon't mean the terrible business with families letting squibs go with only their clothes on their backs! That's been illegal for centuries."
Draco wrinkled his nose but mumbled something about that being what he had meant.
"Letting squibs go?" Salazar repeated slowly, gut dropping. History class with Florean had not gotten past the first book yet. There was nothing about squibs in it so far. And his search for squibs had come up with nothing—admittedly Godric had sidetracked Salazar from some of his research. Hermione might be hording some of the answers also.—"What do you mean by that?"
"Well," Susan shifted uncomfortably about, her hazel eyes jumped to Godric and back a few times as she tried to think of how to respond.
"Squibs were turned out or out right killed," Draco answered with a faint sneer directed at Godric before he flicked a hand at Susan and added, "Both are illegal now, of course."
"Turned out." Salazar repeated again, feeling like he was doing that more and more often but distasteful or startling facts from children kept happening. He didn't really know how to demand the answers when they had to be rather horrendous truths. These were eleven year olds he was learning all this from after all.
Godric was the one who answered even though he had turned from them and was staring off at the children in the seats across the field from them. "Tossed into the muggle world with just what they have on."
"Almost happened to you, I bet." Draco sneered out as he leaned forward, almost on top of Salazar.
Godric snagged the sleeve of Salazar's robe. Salazar snapped his gaze at his brother even as the whiff of something smoldering hit him in the face and the feel of sharp, almost uncomfortable warmth spread up his arm. Godric hadn't turned his gaze from the distant wooden tower. A haunted look clouded his face. Salazar had the uncomfortable feeling Godric was recalling something, getting some impression or spark of knowledge like how he just knew all those plant facts. Except this spark was far less pleasant.
Susan snapped something at Draco, her tone clearly defending Godric, but what she said was drowned out as a voice rang through the entire stadium. Godric jerked at the sudden voice ringing in their ears. Heat spiked up Salazar's arm.
"Welllllccccommme to the first game of the year!"
A roar from the spectators filled the stadium in response.
Salazar wrapped a hand across Godric's wrist. Godric responded by grasping Salazar's wrist with his free hand.
"To kickoff Hogwarts's annual house tournament is GRYFFINDOR VERSE SLYTHERIN!"
Draco sprang up along with a scattering of the first years surrounding them. The other stadium tower seats swarmed with children and teens on their feet waving and shouting. A blur of children on brooms flashed across the sky as the two teams flew out to circle the stadium field. The first years that hadn't sprang up to shout and roar with their elders began to rise.
Heat flowed up Salazar's arm as elemental magic was pushed into him through his wrist. Godric's fiery magic burned through his veins and arteries as his brother shared his magic. Salazar didn't try to stop him, for all that he didn't know how well he could handle such raw magic now as an eleven year old. A wooden stadium was possibly the worst place to have a fire elementalist lose control and Godric would only attempt this now, in public, if he feared he was about to lose control.
Their brother bond of magic allowed them to work each other's magic, to turn it to each other's will, to commune with each other. Salazar closed his eyes and breathed as Godric sent all the magic brimming to be free into him. The smell and taste of Godric's magic—of campfire and pine needles that brought back memories of them traveling and living off the land—pressed against his senses.
He shouldn't have worn so many layers of clothing. Sweat trickled down his back. The cold November air was starting to heat, he was so overheated himself.
Salazar focused on the burning power and worked to cycle it to try to burn it out and slowly turn it to his will and make it his raw magic instead of an invading force. Fire desired freedom. It wanted to consume. To not consume was to cease to exist. It did not want to obey but Salazar had years of experience controlling fire. Once he began, the burning sensations faded and calmed.
Slowly the magic grounded itself, which was odd. Fire did not ground itself. (A concern for another time.)
A tug pulled Salazar to the present and he followed Godric's lead as his brother rose to clap with the other children. Large puffs of air escaped Salazar, larger than anyone else's breath made at the moment.—Hopefully, the children wouldn't think it strange.
He vaguely copied Godric as he continued to cycle the magic about—clap, sit, clap again for some random reason (Draco elbowed him). Salazar would have to use up all this magic after. The energy would keep him awake all night if he didn't. It would place more strain on his core and the pathways magic flowed through the body. (Salazar very firmly pushed the sudden thought wondering how the circulatory, and perhaps nervous system, was interconnected with whatever modern magical society had named the magical bodily system. Now was not the time.)
By the time he could focus, the game was on—had been on for a while if the score of 40 to 20 with Gryffindor leading was any indication. Children in their house colors flew about the air in chaotic coordination. Six children were battling over a red ball. The chasers, he supposed. Two pairs were rushing about after two smaller, black balls, which made them the beaters. There were the keepers floating about their spindly hoops and two children flying circles above them all, who had to be the seekers.
Salazar realized he knew almost the entire Gryffindor team while he couldn't name a single Slytherin player. He frowned and leaned back as Angelina almost made another goal. That needed to change. He needed to figure out his Slytherin peers' names, he didn't know any of the girls and he still had first names for Nott and Zabini to figure out.
Draco leaned over at him with a pout as he shouted over the general roar of the other spectators. "I don't know what's taking them!"
Seamus leaned over Godric with a wicked grin at Draco, "Our team is just better! You can't beat skill–"
One of the Slytherin beaters slammed a black ball at Oliver, and hit George as the redhead flew up to hit the ball too.
Dean sprang up with the rest of the Gryffindors—Godric included—and cried out, "Red card! Red card! That got to be a red card!"
Boos and cries about playing foul rang through the air.
"I'd say it's a yellow card at the most," Salazar countered.
"What?" spluttered Draco, "There aren't cards involved–"
"–You think?" scowled Dean as he pushed past Seamus to talk properly at Salazar, "He's a bloody cheat!"
"That was clearly an accident!" Salazar countered back, waving his hands at George as the redhead flew by, "He's running it off! Clearly not a red card–"
"That's ludicrous!"
"Snitch!" screeched Draco as he sprang up and tackled one of the Slytherin boys seated in front of him while also snagging Salazar's shoulder to drag him into the odd bear hug.
"HIGGS HAS SEEN THE SNITCH!" roared the commenter.
Slytherins jumped up with yells of excited joy as one of the seekers shot almost vertical down towards the ground. The other seeker made a sharp flip in the air and shot down after Higgs, slowly shifting into his own vertical dive.
"CLAGG IS CATCHING UP TO THAT SLIMY SLY–"
"Jordan!" Snapped out a familiar voice. Professor McGonagall was in the announcer box.
Salazar choked as Draco's grip shifted to about his neck in the boy's excitement. "Get it. Get it. Get it." Cried Draco in a shouted mantra he seemed to be saying to himself.
"Sorry Professor—CLAGG IS ALMOST NECK TO NECK–"
The green and silver clad boy twisted out of the dive and shot back into the sky.
"–FEINT!" There was a rumble from whatever enchant mic the boy was using even as the stadium filled with roars and boos and screams. "A WRONSKI FEINT!"
Clagg jerked up an instant later and grazed across the ground with his feet but his broom wobbled. A moment later it was clear the Gryffindor seeker had lost control of his broom. Grass and dirt shot up as the boy rolled across the field.
"CLAGG HAS HIT THE GROUND! THAT WAS A TEXTBOOK WRONSKI FEINT! Damn that it was done by a bigotted–"
Professor McGonagal's voice rang out once more, "MR. JORDAN! You're to give unbiased commentary."
"Hooch has called a pause in the game," Jordan announced in response, "Everyone take five while Clagg is looked over."
Salazar pulled himself free from Draco and found himself sharing a look with the other abused Slytherin, Nott. Both of them had hair sticking up in every odd direction and clothing in disarray. A silent intune thought, what the bloody hell, passed between them via near twin expressions before they each tugged their robes back straight and reclaimed their seats.
"That can't be right!" spluttered Dean as he continued to lean over Seamus towards them. He turned from the field to stare in open outrage at Salazar, "That's got to be a red card!"
Godric nodded. "Not sure on the color of card or whatever, but that's not right! Clagg's gotten hurt from it."
"That was a perfect Wronski feint." Draco groaned out in appreciation, flobbing back onto the bench, vaguely arguing back at the Gryffindors but more in awe than anything.
"It's a proper move."
The group of boys paused for a long moment and then turned as one towards the voice above them. Salazar hadn't noticed her. It was clear not even her fellow Gryffindors had realized she was there.
Hermione shifted about, Quidditch through the Ages tucked under her chin as she hugged it to herself. Leanne and Megan were also staring at her as if surprised she was there even though Hermione was in their row.
"Really?" Dean asked, bewildered.
She slowly relaxed as she nodded. "It's all here–"
Dean brightened. "You've all the rules in there?"
"Oh yes, it has the rules and all 700 penalties, and the various allowed feints and tricks! It covers the most exciting games to date and the best players and what they're known for. Did you know there's a world cup for Quidditch? Wouldn't that be exciting to go see?"
Dean climbed his bench and claimed a seat beside Leanne, dragging Hermione down beside him before she could go reclaim whatever seat she had been hiding in. The two were soon picking through the rules and penalties to compare against what the Slytherins and Gryffindors had done in the game so far.
Vincent shuffled closer to Seamus after the two stared at each other for a long moment. Neither boy said anything but Salazar left that be. Like the rest of the mixed group of first years, those two would find common ground. Earnest and Ronald actually moved up to sit at Vincent's side and dragged him into a conversation with the other boys below them.
"Clagg," announced Jordan, "Is fit to fly! Game on in one minute! Get your hot chocolate and find your seats! The score's–wait a minute? How...40/40 tied?!—Professor!?"
Madam Hooch flew up to the announcer's box as the stadium rang with more boos and shouts about cheats. Salazar's lips pressed together as the children about him grumbled about cheating Slytherins.
"Hold up," Godric asked loudly, "Seekers diving doesn't stop the rest of the game, does it?"
"Nah mate," Seamus answered, confused. "The game goes on."
"Then what's the problem? We all were focused on Higgs and Clagg but the chasers and keepers were still playing against the quaffle."
Justin flung his arms up as he twisted about in outrage, "But it's not sportsmanlike! Everyone was watching the dive!"
"It's resourceful to use every advantage given," Salazar snapped, "It's only the fault of the Gryffindor team if they failed to keep up with their positions."
"But–"
Salazar twisted about to Hermione. "Is it illegal?"
She stared wide eyed at him and the rest of the first years that turned towards her.—A few older years had also turned to look at her.—"I...uh…" She bit her lip and flipped the library book open. "I don't think...umm...page 120…" She flipped to the page and skimmed it, her finger tracing across the lines in a rapid motion. Then she looked up, brown eyes round. "No. It's entirely correct and even a strategy to have the seeker or even the beaters run interference like that to attempt distraction against the other team!"
Groans filled the area as the children were forced to accept the legitimate play. The announcer confirmed the fact a moment later as he said, "Game on! 40/40 with Gryffindor in possession!"
Hooch flew from the announcer box out to the field and blew her whistle. The two teams flew back into action. Seekers rose high in the sky once more. Beaters flew about following their two black balls.
"Johnson in possession—pass to Spinnet—Flint on Bell's tail!—Quaffle pass–Pucey almost caught it! Johnson in possession once more...Where's Gutierraz?—Bell's got the ball and...Bletchly caught it! Slytherin possession."
Godric leaned over to Salazar and said, "Bet you next score's Gryffindor's."
Salazar narrowed his gaze as he watched the match. A faint smirk slowly grew. "It's clearly Slytherin's."
"Nah, my teams solid–"
"–Clagg doesn't know shit about seeking."
"Like you know anything about bleeding flying!" Godric countered with an open grin.
Salazar opened his mouth to counter when a tiny gold light flashed at the corner of his eyes. He snapped his head about and stared. "Snitch."
"What?" Draco perked up, gaze shifting from the chasers to the seekers and then looked at Salazar to follow his gaze to the tiny ball.
"How the hell did you see that? Doesanyone see that?" spluttered Godric.
"SCORE FOR GRYFFINDOR!"
The three of them jumped at the screams of the stadium. In a blink the snitch was gone. Salazar searched the area, heart pounding. Another flash of gold flickered about towards the Gryffindor goals and he found himself naturally following the tiny ball about the area. He didn't always see it but he did have a general idea where it was for the next few minutes. During that time Slytherin had also scored again.
"Well," Godric remarked, "I won that bet–"
Salazar broke away from his search to narrow his gaze at Godric. "We're tied again."
"That wasn't what the bet was about!"
"What were you even betting over?" Draco asked with a huff as he gaze turned reluctantly to them.
The two founders shared a look, silently agreed that Draco didn't need to know their standing agreement that the loser paid the pub bill, and turned to Draco to offer almost identical shrugs.
"Oh, we'd think of something," Godric offered.
"You'd bet with a Slytherin without asking for details?" scoffed Seamus.
Godric rolled his eyes at the outrage from the Irish boy. "Fine...lets bet…" Godric frowned at Salazar.
Hannah leaned in with Megan. "Homework help! Harry's bril at charms."
Megan countered, "I'd do trans–"
"That's cheating!" scolded Hermione.
"It's not if there's no copying!" countered Ronald as he turned about to join in the debate. Vincent at his side nodded in agreement.
"GRYFFINDOR SCORED! 60/50!"
Seamus elbowed Godric. "We've the snitch, bag something personal!"
Godric frowned back at his roommate "What–"
Salazar was pulled from watching that interplay as Draco snagged him and pulled him over into a huddle with Zabini and Nott. "Higgs is guaranteed the snitch, he's been seeker since his third year–"
"–He's graduating this year–"
"–Higgs bigger than Clagg!"
"Its skill over size here!" snapped Draco before he turned back to Salazar. "We've got this, get him to bet something worthwhile–"
"Alright!" Snapped Godric over the various conversations—Jordan screeched over the mic about a Weasley banging tail, whatever that meant.—The Gryffindor founder looked to Salazar and announced, "I've a box of seeds and acorns. I bet that on Gryffindor winning!"
"Ohhh," Seamus crowed with a grin.
Susan leaned over into their area with a worried look. "Neville, are you certain–"
"He's certain!" squawked Draco.
"Longbottom seeds are worth a fortune!" Hannah gasped out, "If there's anything really rare…"
Zabini stepped up and announced before anyone could get Godric to back out, "Potter accepts!"
Susan twisted about with a glare. "And what does Potter bet that can compare?!"
Salazar looked about in puzzlement. He was missing something. Godric's expression made it clear Godric was missing something. But really, what was Godric going to do with a bunch of seeds? His brother would have probably given the lot to him anyway.
"Well?" insisted Susan, her expression turning hard as Salazar didn't immediately respond.
"His signature would be worth just as much, I bet," called Zarcharius.
He was not going with that. The very idea left a bad taste in Salazar's mouth. But he didn't really have anything to compare by the sounds of it.
"Omorose," Gregory said from his seat by Hannah.
"He's not betting his cat!" screeched one of the Slytherin girls.
"That's not what I'm saying!" cried Gregory with clear horror written across his face.
"Her kittens," Salazar breathed out. He turned back to Godric, now rather amused because the man had never been much of an animal person. "I bet one of Omorose's kittens. You'll have the pick of the litter."
Godric looked fairly exasperated at the offer. Salazar couldn't blame him. The kittens were at least part kneazle. It was entirely possible none of them would bond with Godric.
"A cat?" muttered more than a few children.
"Omorose is half-kneazle," Gregory announced.
Uncertainty from the various first years vanished.
"Oh, that is a good bet," said Anthony. At his words, the rest changed their tune.
Salazar and Godric shared exasperated looks as they were directed to shake on it. This bet felt entirely coerced by their peers. It was more a bet between Slytherin children and the other children than Salazar and Godric.
But neither of them complained. Odd as it seemed, the various eleven year olds seemed to grow closer as they argued and joked about the beat. Some of the tension between school houses had faded.
Still, Salazar decided as he settled back in his seat between an overly pleased Draco and amused Godric, they should probably not encourage the children to bond through gambling.—Oh well.
(Slytherin won, of course.)
oooPooo
1. Stump's Law is named after the Minister of Magic Grogan Stump in this story. According to Rowling, he was appointed Minister for Magic in 1911. He improved governance of the Wizarding World, including helping build out a workable definition of "Beast" and "Being".
2. The huge scandal with the Head of the LED was Crouch finding out his son was a Death Eater. Crouch was the Head of the Law Enforcement Division and placed as one of the main members of the special tribunal because of his close ties to what all was going on in the war so had the knowledge needed to judge properly (supposedly).
3. Augusta Longbottom nee Dippet is the granddaughter of the headmaster Armando Dippet II (in this story). He was the headmaster before Dumbledore .
4. The Colonies is a reference to the Magical USA or what exists of it. It's not 50 states worth of land etc., if you were wondering. Not important to the story but is a little larger than the original 13. The rest of the land is considered some other magical community(ies).