A/N: 'Castle' being written with a capital letter is deliberate, as the story is from Salazar's PoV and he believes the Castle to be alive and have personality.

"Over the hill!"

"Look out!"

"Don't kill them—"

Flashes. Spells. Glints of swords, armour, ballistas.

"They're coming over the ridge."

"Notch your arrows!""Godric, behind you!"Screaming. Fighting. Slick mud and fumbled steps.

A thick mass of bodies rocking and swaying as one.

"Helga!"

"There's too many—"

"Fall back. FALL BACK!"

Salazar jerked awake, his heart hammering like a bull inside his chest. His sheets and hair were drenched in a clammy sheen of sweat. He rolled out of bed, panting and gasping for air.

His bare feet touched the cold stone of his bedroom. Cold stone. Not wet mud. He was at home, not on the battlefield. That had been months ago. He was safe. Safe. Safe.

The thrum of the Castle vibrated beneath his feet, almost reassuring him as Salazar sat on the edge of his bed, his head bowed and raking his hands through his sweat drenched hair.

"Another nightmare, Familiar?"

The soft hiss emanated from his bedside table. Salazar took a long sigh and reached out, allowing the small, black snake to coil itself around his wrist and up his arm. It came to rest around his neck, curled like a chain around his throat. Salazar reached up, stroking the snake's head softly and finding comfort in the familiar warm weight of her scales against his skin.

"It was, Ishila. But dawn is upon us now."

The young Basilisk seemed displeased by his declaration, but said nothing. Her tongue flicked against his neck as Salazar took deep breaths to try slow down the hammering of his heart. He rose, on shaking knees, and made his way to the washbasin on the other side of the room. He splashed the cold water onto his face and wrists, washing away the panic from last night.

The morning sun was just beginning to break over the horizon. Soft, pink rays scattered over the moat and forest, stretching their way across the grounds to the village over the hill. Salazar could just make out the sounds of people calling and chattering as the Castle began to rouse to the day.

They were happy. Safe. Safe within the walls of the Castle. Safe. Away from the swords and riots and screaming men and muddy fields and blood and death and pain and—

"Breakfast, Familiar," Ishila hissed in his ear. She curled tighter around his neck and Salazar jumped, jerked out of his thoughts of battlefields and warring armies.

"Yes, dearest," he muttered quietly. Now was not the time for his nightmares to haunt his days.

The Castle was almost empty as he made his way to the kitchens. The older teachers and aids remained but the Castle was free from its younger residents. It was harvest season and most of the students stayed with their families, helping bring in the crops for the winter months. There were still a few people staying within her walls, a few students who chose to stay and study, a few who were unable to return home due to distance. And a few who had no homes to return to…

The Castle missed the people, Salazar could tell. Running his hands along her walls, he could feel the magic within her thrumming like a heartbeat beneath the cold stone. She missed the students, their curiosity, their explorations, their sense of fun. It marvelled Salazar everyday how real the Castle felt to him. With all the protections and wards he and the other Founders had poured into the foundations of the building, the Castle seemed to have come alive with it.

He made his way down the stone stairs and into the warm, welcoming smells of the small kitchen. Godric was already on the edge of the bench, poking at a large plate of meat with his dagger while pouring over reams of parchment, a quill in his right hand. He glanced up as Salazar entered.

"You look like shit, my friend."

Salazar scowled, scooping up his own meals and an egg for Ishila. He plonked his plate on the table and fell heavily onto the bench opposite.

"You would know the look of it," Salazar muttered and leant down to eat, letting his dark hair curtaining his face from any further inspection from the red-haired viking.

"I am being serious, Salazar. When did you last sleep the night through?"

Salazar growled into his plate. He did not like being coddled, not least by Godric, who was worse than Helga with his worry and smothering. "I sleep fine, Norseman. Mind your own business instead of invading mine. What is it that has you reading so early?" Salazar gestured to the stack of sheets next to Godric's plate, eager to drag the subject away from his own wellbeing.

Godric gave him a stern look but didn't press the issue. He sighed and slid the parchments over to Salazar.

"Reports from the outer villages. The violence is increasing. Reports of soldiers from the south hunting out magicians. Even the residents of the villages are beginning to turn against people with magic."

Salazar looked over the papers. They were letters, scrawled in a variety of scratched handwriting, some in languages Salazar only barely recognized (curse this isle and it's melting pot of cultures).

"Where is this one?" he asked, gesturing to the top-most letter. It was from a woman, her daughter had been seen summoning apples from a local orchard and the village had turned on her.

They killed my husband. Please, help us. They will find us. I beg of you, sanctuary.

"Bedworth village."

"Bedworth?" Salazar looked up at him in shock. "But that is so far south of here? How have they even heard of the Castle? This woman doesn't even have magic."

Godric shrugged and pulled the papers back towards him. "Stories travel, my friend. People are afraid. We have done good work, bringing as many as we can to safety, but the violence against magic only grows stronger each day."

"So we fight the invaders."

"Brother, we have been through this—"

Salazar leapt to his feet. "Godric, we cannot let our people suffer—"

"Nor can we keep losing our own fighting them!"

Magic cracked through the room like electricity. Salazar saw fire dancing in Godric's eyes, his red hair standing on end with the static in the room. Salazar's heart was pounding again. He could feel his magic rolling beneath him, itching and burning beneath his skin.

He wanted to fight. These invaders from the continent were burning through the land like a plague, ripping out the people with magic by the roots. They had tried to stop them, meeting them on the battlefield. But their numbers were so many, they rose in waves wearing metal and bearing swords of steel and bronze. Even with their wands, Salazar and his brethren could not battle an entire army.

They had lost, over and over they had been overwhelmed by sheer numbers. And each time they collided in battle, the enemy brought greater weapons. Ballistas and catapults, the enemy could fire at their defences from miles away, well out of reach of Salazar's curses.

And night after night, Salazar had to watch his brothers fall around him, taken down by an unseen arrow or misjudged sword. No healing potions could cure missing limbs or stopped hearts. Salazar could do nothing. Nothing.

"Brother," Godric's voice was soft and far away. It pulled him slowly from his thoughts, from the wet and cold battlefield and back to the warm kitchen. There was a soft hissing from below him and Salazar looked down.

Green sparks were dancing around his fingers. His plate of food had been knocked backwards, the jug of water spilled across the table and was steadily dripping onto the floor. Ishila was gliding towards him, her tongue flitting out worryingly as she made her way across the table towards him.

Salazar took a breath and clenched his fists. It took a moment for the magic to settle within him, for him to gather up his anger and control it within himself. He reached out and allowed Ishila to glide back up his arm, taking comfort in her weight against his skin. She hissed softly, saying nothing but soothing comforts against him.

Godric sighed and sat down again. "I know you, brother. I know what you wish to do with this Castle, but I cannot agree to it."

"Godric, too many people know of this place. If we continue down this path, the invaders will arrive here too. We cannot risk the safety of those we keep here."

"Your plan would segregate our community—"

"It would save our community," Salazar said. He was exhausted, tired of having the same argument over and over. "We keep some of the magical community here, the ones who already know of us. Private, hidden and safe. We don't shout our whereabouts to the rest of the isle. We keep ourselves hidden from invaders."

Godric dropped his head, shaking it in defiance, but Salazar continued. "We bring those born to non-magical parentage somewhere else, somewhere safe and unknown. We can collect them, teach them there, before bringing them to Hogwarts. If the invaders caught wind of one location, they would still be ignorant to the other. At least some of our people could be saved from their wrath."

"Salazar, no." Godric took a breath, running his calloused hands across his face with an exasperated sigh. "That is not the correct response. We are stronger together than we are divided." His face darkened for a moment. "It is not what Helga would have wanted."

Salazar froze.

"That is unfair, Godric."

Godric paused for a moment. He looked at Salazar solemnly, his dark eyes studying him. Salazar held his gaze. They had been friends for years, more than friends. Warriors, colleagues, brothers. They had been opposed many times but this, this felt different. It was more than a difference of opinion. It was a difference in values which would shape the way the entire magical community would be conducted for years to come.

Helga had urged them to reconcile. She had begged them to reach a compromise, to work through their differences. Helga would have allowed anyone into the Castle, magical and non-magical alike. She was fierce in her conviction, in her desperation to accept all who came to her.

But one cannot parley with the blade of a sword.

Her death had hurt them all.

"I am sorry," Godric said, finally. "But I stand by what I said, Salazar. I will not split our people up. We fight together."

Salazar stood up, pushing the bench back from the desk so much it toppled to the ground with a clatter. Ishila hissed angrily against his neck but he ignored her.

"You think you can single handedly save our world, Godric. Your bravery will doom us all."

"Salazar, we are fighting a war. You rely too much on your cunning and ambition to out-wit the enemy. It will leave us all weaker in the end."

Godric stood up, gathered the papers and left the room, leaving Salazar staring at the empty seat at the table.

"I need you to stay here, Dearest." Salazar bent down, letting Ishila curl from his arm and onto the floor of the enormous cavern. She looked up at him, confused.

"You are leaving, Familiar?" she asked, her black scales glinting off the torchlight and pools of water that dotted the underground stone floor. Salazar tugged his pack higher on his back.

"I have to, little one. There are people being hunted, someone has to help them."

"I can help them too," Ishila hissed, curling around his boot. "I am a fierce warrior."

But Salazar leant down to her. "No, Dearest. You need to stay here. You will protect the Castle when the invaders arrive. The people without magic will try to destroy our home. You must be here to protect our kind."

The young Basilisk looked up at him. It all but killed him to leave her here; she was still so young and small. But Ishila was a strong creature. Even in her small size, her gaze could kill a full grown man. In a few years, her bite would take out more. In a century, she would tower over her enemies and fill this cavern, as impressive as her mother had been. She was incredible, and Salazar was honoured that she had chosen him as a Familiar.

Salazar knew he had to leave, to try and save the few magicians he could. But he couldn't leave his Castle unprotected, not when it had protected him for so long.

He leant down and stroked the young Basilisks head once more before rising and lugging his bag onto his back.

"Be safe, Ishila."

And with that, Salazar Slytherin left the Castle, never to return again.

THC

House: Gryffindor

Class: Astronomy

Standard

Prompts: [Dialogue] "I know you." ;; [Dialogue, Multi-line] "No." / "That's not the correct response."

WC: 2143