980 AD- South Ireland

"Salazar! It's time to get up!"

An eleven year old youth awoke to the call of his perturbed mother. Despite the darkness of the loft, what few threads of sunlight that broke through the thatch clearly indicated that it was well past the dawn… in other words, well past time for his morning chores.

"I'll be right there mum!" he called down. As the black haired youth vacated his blankets, he hoped to see the cot next to his occupied by an equally lazy kid sister. Much to his disappointment, it was already made and settled, thus Salazar would truly be alone in reproach…

"Spirit's mercy boy, what gave you leave to wallow the day as such" his mother continued to berate him as he descended into the mundane living quarters. Unlike the wizarding homes of the future there was little in the way of animated instruments (such enchantments had yet to be invented or shared). In this day and age the only give away of a magical bent were the myriad of ingredients strung from the ceiling, and the bubbling cauldron that one Aine Slytherin was slaving over.

"I'm sorry mum! I just couldn't sleep with dad comin' back!"

"oh preserve us…" his mother couldn't argue further. She would be lying if she said that her husband's return didn't also draw a restlessness in her heart. It had already been five moons since the formerly spaniard magi had departed their shores. True his wanderlust has taken him on far longer voyages, and his seafaring charms have drawn a reputation that bordered on 'miraculous' among the non-magical; but that didn't stop his ginger-maned missus from fretting over a potential doom.

"Just get to your labors" the druidess continued "the kelpie won't bridle themselves".

"*maybe if ye nagged them enough they would*" he attempted to mutter to himself.

"What was that!?"

"Nothing mum!" He exclaimed as he rushed out the door, only just barely escaping the vengeful spank of a levitated druid staff.

Just as any other day, the inlet was absolutely splendid. From the water any passerby would see only a drab, nobby hillside. But from land, dozens of perfectly quaint hill homes nested together in a tight-knit community. For centuries this natural illusion has kept the secluded druid circle safe from the eyes of invaders (with a few well placed wards for good measure of course).

Racing toward the shore Salazar saw the unmistakable locks of equally black hair belonging to his sister, Caterina Slytherin. Long equipped in diving attire, the lass of 8 summers bore a rather irritated glower for her elder brother.

"You're late." she declared shortly. At the same time she nearly caught her brother off guard by tossing him a slimy wad of what could only be gilly weed.

"Rubbish! I'm just-... getting even for your sleep-in last week" The boy struggled out.

"Uh huh. Well for 'morrow i'll wake you up personally" she then swallowed her gillyweed with practiced ease, "hope you like crabs on your face!" she further exclaimed just as she dove into the briny depths.

You're a right demon you know that!"... he retorted to thin air…

Salazar sighed and began de-gowning himself for his labors. He may have shared harsh words, but at heart he thought the world of his sister. There were the occasional sibling tussles, and her pranks bordered on "traumatic" (nothing quite like a fictitious banshee wail to get the heart pumping). But whenever it came time to reign in the Kelpie he never needed so much as a word to take on the lion's-share of the workload, and in turn she would always lend a gentle-hand when tending to the herb garden. Siblings will always be siblings, but they could always rely on each other.

The lad was quick to follow his sister into the brine, and even before his gills could fully form he was nearly bulled over by a rampaging steed. A screen of bubbles clouded his vision as he was spun around in the wake. It was fortunate that he was made accustomed to the water from the moment could crawl, for even the most seasoned of swimmers would struggle to handle what came next.

The rampaging Kelpie blindly charged at the supposed intruder for a second time. Ready for the tussle, Salazar maneuvered and grabbed the firm of the emerald mane. The beast bucked and dragged the wizard with the force of a tidal wave, yet Salazar was persistent. When at last the youth fought through the burn of protesting muscles and properly seated himself; he wasted no time in unfastening a rope from his side. Using it as an improvised bridle he fastened a loop around the beasts gnashing maw and pulled back with all his might.

The water fiend was feisty, but the enchantment of the fibers took immediate hold. Then, with one last mighty snort, the mount relented and became docile, at last relieved of the madness that took hold.

Salazar was exhausted by his ordeal, but his first and only priority was ensuring the safety of his sister. Fortunately he did not have to look for long before finding her a handful of meters away in the weed stalks, shaken but on the whole unharmed.

Raising her index to her forehead she sent out a bridge of mental magic to him (Legilimency was the family forte of magic, and the lesser form found in telepathy was an invaluable tool for subnautica delving).

"By the Divine Salazar, what on Earth was that!?" She communicated with obvious terror.

"I haven't the faintest sis. That has NEVER happened before".

Truly, the worst that has ever happened was a stray nip or a half-hearted wrestle against the reins. But for an outright attempt of murder… let alone from the matriarch from the herd… the boy had to investigate further. Dismounting the enchanted creature with the utmost caution he began to lead it back towards the clearing it typically dwelled in. arriving at the site… his fears were confirmed.

Pieces of torn bridle scattered like flotsam, and trenches in the stony floor were all that remained of the equine monsters' stampede. There was no indication of even the attempt of predation, and even if there was, Kelpie were not known to ever give ground in a fight.

There was only one thing that would cause such undaunted creatures to go mad and flee with such desperation: the portents of absolute doom.

The siblings, still shaken from their experience, returned to land just as the gillyweed subsided. They had full intention of returning home and relaying what had happened, but a familiar shape on the water stole their full attention.

"Da!" the pair exclaimed in revelry.

There may as well have been fanfare, for like a growing storm residents of the village began to gather at the shoreline cheering for the voyagers' return. In a few moments not even their mother was exempt from the impromptu party. By the time the long-ship had touched ground, there were at least fifty souls ready to embrace its crew.

Salazar and his sister were quick to pick out their father from the masses. His skin was tanned by the months beneath brilliant sunlight, and he was arrayed head to toe in the finery of distant Arabia; yet a single glance at his boisterous and toothy smile was all it took to identify one Alonzo Slytherin.

Wasting not a moment the Slytherin pair darted through the crowd and flung themselves into the open arms of their father. Unprepared for the additional growth of his children, he was swept off his feet and fell back in laughter.

"Lord above! Just look at how you have GROWN!" the patriarch managed through his mirth.

Taking no heed of his statement his children snuggled themselves deeper into his side (taking no mind of the salt water that still clung to their skin).

"We missed you so much!" Caterina squealed.

"Did you bring us anything!?" the other entreated childishly. Before the man could so much as blink his scamps began pilfering his pockets. All in attendance were carried away by the jovial atmosphere as the captain gave half-hearted admonishments towards his would-be nifflers… that was until Salazar accidentally came across a well hidden pocket in the folds of the silken tunic.

"What's this da'?' ' the boy asked as he retrieved a haggard scroll, thoughtlessly unrolling it and observed a pair of foreign words. The instant his father noticed what he had the explorer viciously snatched it away… and everyone was made privy to a panic that the wizard had never let slip before.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the crowd, and after a moment Alonzo realized his error. Screwing up his expression into a facsimile of typical cheer he declared "No son, this is- uh, a bad thing, and your da' is just making sure bad folk can't find it." he accentuated by tucking the ominous parchment into the pocket.

"Oh… um, okay" the startled youth acknowledged.

Hoping to lessen the tension, the family's matriarch came from behind them and embraced her boy.

"Now son, I'm sure that your da' has a VERY fetching gift for you and your sister if you give 'im a moment" she consoled, "Isn't that right dear."

"It is INDEED, love." the man added with return mirth. Kneeling he made a flourish of his hands and emphasized his empty palms. "Now, have you two been good?"

"Yes da'!" proclaimed without missing a beat.

"And have you been minding your ma' and all that she says?"

"Yes da'!"

"Then with a wave of my hand and a blink of your eyes, I give you~" the man made grandiose shuffles of his hands before revealing a pair of silver lockets in his hand. "YOUR PRIZE!"

The children were awestruck by the jewelry. Each bore the bold S of their family name. Gingerly opening the containers they discovered immaculate portraits of their family (so lifelike that they could've sworn they moved).

"They were crafted in a hidden city called Ubar, a place that has sand as far as the eye can see" the man continued with a tone filled with wonder. "They told me, that no matter how far away you travel, with this, you will ALWAYS have what's most important close to your heart."

The children donned their presents and firmly embraced their father. The crowds' hearts melted at this display, and they gave a sort of informal applause.

"Well, what're we standing around for!?" One of the crew mates exclaimed. "We've got a homecoming to celebrate!" This drew a mighty cheer from the villagers, and they quickly dispersed to organize a proper feast for the occasion.

No longer at the center of attention Aine sauntered up to her spouse."So sailor," she whispered seductively, "what have ye for a lass such as I?"

Alonso whispered something into her ear that elicited a giggle. Then like young fools they began to snog (an act that elicited disgust from their children, which only made the couple tease them further by exaggerating it with mushy talk).

"Well family, I think it's time for your da' to lay his weary feet by a fire, and share a wonder or two from my travels. What say ye'?" One after the other they answered with a loud 'aye'.

Unfortunately for all in attendance youthful exuberance pushed the topic of rampaging kelpie to the back of the Slytherin childrens' minds. But as for the eldest son, there was one topic that refused to be drowned out: the haunting spell of the scroll. No matter how wonderful the party became, or more spell-binding his father's stories became; the cursed letters haunted him. It was almost as if they had a life of their own, and frankly, it was starting to terrify the boy.

Hours passed since the festivities died down, and the children were secure in their beds. It was only now in the realm of dreams that the image of terrified water steeds began to return to young Salazar, along with a cacophony of terrified neighing. In his mind he tried to swim away from the chaos, yet only became louder and more violent. When at last it reached a crescendo it all suddenly stopped… and was replaced by… whistling?

Opening his eyes Salazar realized that the thatch over his head was being perforated by arrowheads!

And they were setting the whole of it ablaze!

Salazar didn't even bother waking his sister before dragging her out of her blankets. She began to scream and thrash when she realized their predicament, yet the brother soldiered on and managed to safely get them both down the ladder and out the door.

Sadly the world outside was no better.

"The Danes have come! The Danes have-" the villager was cut off by an axe to the throat.

All around them fearsome and howling men pillaged the settlement. The blood of their neighbors, all of whom they knew by name, drenched the streets in dark pools. The druids obviously fought back with all their might, yet whenever their spells neared a viking the enchantment crumbled like ocean spray. All that was left to them was strength of arms; a discipline that the raiders had them hopelessly outmatched in.

"Da'/Ma'!" The siblings cried, "where are you!?"

This drew the attention of a particularly gruesome looking Dane dressed in pelts, one that began to scramble towards them like a wild beast. Before he could reach the pair he was struck down by a flying dagger. Looking to the source of the projectile they saw none other than their injured father.

"Get inland children!" The man screamed as he hobbled towards them "Now!"

Caterina was openly weeping, but she managed to ask "what about Ma'!?"

"She's fine, jus-" he was cut short by a spear to the back, and both of his children screamed in absolute horror. But out of the din there was suddenly a cry that surpassed them all; the vengeful roar of a murderous bear.

It tore through the battlefield crushing invaders one after another. They pierced its flesh with dozens of blades, but all failed to even slow it. Finally it reached the Dane that had wounded Alonzo… and proceeded to make him unrecognizable.

Finally the area was clear for the moment, and recognizing that her family was safe, the bear's injuries finally caught up with her. Achingly the creature made its way towards their way to their husband and collapsed beside him, transforming back into the Aine that they all knew and loved.

The children immediately rushed to their parents' side and wept. "How could this happen!" Salazar exclaimed "magic was supposed to make us safe!"

His father weekly reached over to a fallen soldier and revealed a series of tattoos. "Runes-" he struggled to explain. "Stops- magic-. See- through- ward-. Probly'- saw- me-. Followed."

Both of his parents could no longer speak at this point. Before grief could grip his mind however, a psychic bridge with his mother was formed.

"Come closer my son" his mother's soul whispered.

Dutifully he closed the gap, and with shaky fingers the druidess painted his forehead with her own blood. Despite losing her voice the mother muttered out a chant of blood magic, the kind that only absolute love could facilitate.

"Save those you can" was the last message carried before her hand went slack, dragging a crimson line all the way down his face.

The siblings wailed as their parents' souls departed at the same time.

And then the memories came flooding in.

Decades- no, centuries of experiences filled the young man's head. Witches, wizards, saints, druids; all of whom stem from his mother's bloodline. And by extension, a legacy of Ireland itself; all the way back to when the Tuatha Dé Danann themselves first shared their craft.

Out of the sea of lifetimes there was one that consumed him more fiercely than all the others: The life of his British forebear, Patrick.

He was perhaps the most famous of all his ancestors. By the grace of the spirit he brought great magic and wisdom to the land, capturing the hearts of all who met him. One of his greatest gifts was his ability to communicate with and sway the will of serpents; a gift that through blood magic, had now been passed on to Salazar. As the story went he used this ability to destroy them, but according to these memories this was far from fact. In truth he ushered them into a sack containing a whole other world, one ruled over by the greatest of all serpents. It now resided ten paces behind him, hidden in a cellar opened only by those who can speak in the snake's tongue.

For a brief moment, Salazar's mind was like that of the rampaging kelpie. But thanks to the influence of Patrick, it was now reigned in, guided to a singular path forward.

"... Caterina, come with me" the boy commanded with an eerie calm.

His sister was still consumed by her fear and grief, but upon hearing her brother's voice she felt no choice but to take his hand and follow. As the pair approached the bonfire that was once their house Salazar reached out his hand, and from within the devastation came hurtling his mother's snakewood staff. Caterina looked on in wonder as he then struck the ground twice, and just like that, the flames dispersed as if they were never there.

Walking to the farthest corner of the hut she was once again rendered speechless when her brother hissed like a snake and a great opening appeared in the ground.

Having reached the end of her rope she wrenched her hand away and exclaimed "What the hell is going on brother!?"

He only needed to say one word: "Ma'..." He once again extended his hand to her. At any other time, it would have only given the girl more questions. But after everything they had just been through, the youngest of the surviving Slytherins couldn't bear to think on it further.

Hand in hand the siblings descended into the embrace earth.

At the bottom of the path they came across a large cavern. Crystals of every hue decorated the walls and the ceiling, coming together to form a dome of intricate patterns. Neither child realized it at the time, but they would one day learn that it was in fact a planetarium, detailed in a manner that any astronomer or astrologer would weep in envy.

At the center of the chamber was a table, and laid out upon it, untouched by time, was a belt pouch of what seemed to be ordinary sack-cloth. Even though Salazar was the only one to know its true worth, her sister didn't even blink when her brother retrieved the accessory and immediately began leaving without her.

"No matter what happens, you wait here until I come back." He ordered in an icy tone.

"But what if you don't!? What if they hurt you like Ma' and Da'!?"

Salazar stood stock still at the first step of the ascent. "... That won't happen." He declared with absolute determination. "Ma' gave me a task to protect ya, and seeing it done is a promise I intend ta' keep." Turning fully to look his sister in the eyes, she saw the first genuine smile to come out of this hell of a night, and it was beautiful.

"That's what brothers are spose ta' do."

With a tap of his staff the passage closed between them. Now illuminated by the crystals of the chamber Caterina was no longer afraid. In fact, just when her world had crumbled all around her, she began to feel hope again.

Salazar exited the hut and found that the raid had all but been concluded. Down at the shore where just this morning he was celebrating his father's return was the Danish warband, divvying captives and perceived valuables like an average day's meal.

…

…The awakened wizard relished the idea of sending them to hell.

In front of his sister he made a good show of tenderness and civility. But inside, his heart was consumed in a dark and bitter rage. Being honest with himself he wasn't truly motivated to save those he could… no, he was really in it for revenge at the moment.

He may have walked a proverbial mile in a saint's shoes, but that didn't make HIM one. And that is why he couldn't quite hold back the venom in his voice when opened the purse and gave the command.

"Kill the muggles" the man essentially hissed in parseltongue.

It was as if the sky itself collapsed. A basilisk, seemingly large enough to swallow the moon, lunged with impossible ease from the tiny pocket. Its weight crushed the village to splinters, and those unfortunate enough to gaze upon it began to collapse (even those few spared by their runes were, at best, blinded).

"Jormungandr!" The raiders cried as the colossal beast descended upon them. And once again the night was consumed in blood.

The battle was unexpectedly fierce. Even when arrayed against a horror that could shake the foundations of the earth; many of the Danes were able to carve a place in their Valhalla with Basilisk blood.

Much to Salazar's chagrin, one of them managed to outlast his basilisk entirely.

It was almost like a scene from Ragnarok; there stood a lone warrior, blind and envenomed beyond rationality, taking in futile lung-fulls of air. In his hand was the broken hilt of a perhaps legendary blade, and at his feet the lifeless corpse of the once god-like basilisk (the missing blade planted firmly into its skull).

If there were anyone else present they would begin composing songs in this warrior's honor, for what mortal man could do as he'd done 'cept a hero of insurmountable legend.

But to Salazar, who was the only magical with enough recklessness to not avert his eyes from the battle… he was just a damned nuisance.

With the confidence of a warlord the eleven year old marched across the shattered field. When he reached the victorious viking he didn't even flinch at the fact he was four times his size, just rested the head of the oversized druid staff square to the murderer's breast.

He knew that the man was already as good as dead, for even a nudge was likely to dislodge the ghost from form. All he had to do was wait for the basilisk venom to complete its agonizing work, and his hands would not be sullied any further.

…

But the curse's sweet temptation was more than he could handle.

Every part of his lingering humanity cried out against it. The wisdom of his ancestors, the basic morals that his parents instilled in him… the last taste of innocence that ended with the sunset. At his core he knew that he would one day come to regret indulging the dark magic, for it would cleave a part of his soul that may never come back.

…But so what? He thought to himself. That part of me is dead anyway.

"Avada Kedavra"

A/N:

And so it begins, my offering to the potential lost history of Hogwarts founders. I'll admit that the audience for this kind of story is sparse at best, and I've sat on the concept well past the hayday. BUT! After becoming enthralled with Hogwarts Legacy (and admittedly binging a no small portion of Vinland Saga), I finally mustered the confidence to put pen to paper and write about the most likely (and period appropriate) source of Sal's fear of Muggle world turning magic against wizard kind: the wars with the Danes and the eventual Norman conquest.

If you've read this far you are already aware that I'll be making A LOT of conjectures about the nature of the wizarding universe, many of which will be considered heretical and subvertingly omnitheistic in the same measure… but that's just how it melted down to…

To whoever reads this, PLEASE share your thoughts. Feedback helps me forge a better narrative.