Author's Notes:

Welcome back, if you've read the first chapter. This chapter is in much the same vein as the first, though with the upcoming chapter, that will change. That title of the story has been changed slightly, replacing "Stories" with "Tales," which I feel better reflects my intentions.

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and if you have any advice or spot any errors, don't be afraid to let me know via reviews or PMs.

The characters of Beatrice, Ambrose, and Ansger the Mighty are original. Aside from that, all of the spells listed are accurate. Such rights belong to the creator, J.K. Rowling.

At 28 years old, Salazar was too young to be as angry as he was. That was, at least, the opinion of Beatrice, his current courter. And he's only starting, she observed, knowing where this most recent tirade was heading, having heard it before.

"If people just looked around at our world, it's obvious. With blood-mixing, our abilities become less," Salazar stated adamantly. "Of course, it does us no favors that so many of our kind take to courting the non-magical as though the world will end on the morrow."

"Salazar, dear," Beatrice interjected warily, "I am well-aware of how you see those people, but you're ignoring some facts. Merlin-"

"Merlin," Salazar spat, incredulously. "Merlin has had successes, no doubt, as has a few other wizards and witches, but it is far more the exception than the rule. In my ancestors' time, such foolishness would not be put up with."

Exasperated, yet too tired to really put strength in her arguments, Beatrice replied, "What can we really do? Kill all those non-magical? They outnumber us heavily, as I know you're aware."

"The problem," he began, his voice losing some of its anger, and replacing it with an almost formal tone, "is multi-faceted indeed. Most troubling is the lack of connectivity between those of us with magic – never in this current system can those," Salazar paused for a few seconds, searching for the right word, "Mudbloods be weeded out. Our kind should either conquer the non-magical, which I fully admit, would by a Herculean task, or we could all make the choice to separate ourselves from them."

Though she's heard many a prejudiced statement from the man she, more often than not, admired, this idea was new to Beatrice.

"You mean like hide," she repeated, knowing her confusion showed clearly on her face, as evidenced by Salazar's contemptuous reaction. "How could we hide? It's not as though they know not of our existence."

"We have magic," Salazar replied, each word annunciated sternly. "Concealment spells, Obliviate, Apparition. Believe me, dear, when I say hiding ourselves away from the non-magical would not be a very complicated process."

"And what would we gain from hiding ourselves away," Beatrice inquired, genuinely curious.

"Two immediate benefits," the young man quickly replied, "those being we would be far more safe, and more so, it would show those of us with magic that mixing with those without would be, at the very least, questionable. With the separation complete, and us magical beings willing to avoid showing off our abilities in front of the non-magical, the future for our kind would indeed be brighter."

Unsure of how to phrase the question on her mind, Beatrice began hesitantly asking, "So you're, well, willing to live side-by-side with the non-magical in peace?"

"If implemented, I see it as followed," Salazar replied. "As there are few wizards and witches compared to the non-magical, we should convene in small groupings around the area, using spells and charms to ensure our settlements not be detected. Those that remain in non-magical villages can do so as long as they take precautions, using the same methods I've stated. Details can be bickered over at a later time, though; one of the few things I know for sure is that our current system is not sustainable."

She didn't have to ask for clarification before he went on.

"Our kind, along with goblins and other lesser beings, make no attempt to conceal our abilities or our house-elves, dragons, or any number of magical beasts. Centaurs, from my understanding, are the only ones willingly exiling themselves from those around them. You don't see them being hunted down," he spat bitterly. "There are other issues too, such as our decline in magical ability, but I have a feeling that those would fix themselves over a period of time should these actions be instated."

"What you're suggesting is, well," Beatrice stopped, unable to find the right word. "Well, you will never be able to get the whole of our people to agree to it. The inter-mingling between the magical and non-magical is too common."

At this, Salazar smiled, surprising Beatrice. "This is true. You have a good head on your shoulders for seeing this problem." He curtly bowed his head to her, and she felt a blush rising onto her cheeks, and understood once more how deeply she cared for this brilliant, but so anger-filled, man.

"It is not as though we are unable to learn new ideas, though," he continued, his grin faltering slightly. "This thought can be spread, and we will learn that separating the two worlds would be for the best. Yes, I concede, there will be some who see it as counter-intuitive, and others who want not to give up their rights to duel the non-magical for slights against them. The Wizards' Council would prove particularly troublesome. However, when living in a small subset of a larger community, some individual ideas of freedom must be restricted. For the greater good. I believe our fellow witches and wizards will accept this, as it keeps not only them safe, but also their children, and most importantly, their bloodline."

"Did not Ansger the Mighty spout similar sentiments before slain by the young Gryffindor," Beatrice pondered aloud.

"It may have sounded similar to untrained ears," Salazar replied, "but there are three facts to consider before comparing him with I. Firstly, Ansger promoted the idea of conquering the whole of the world, and keeping it under magical rule. While such would be ultimately ideal, it is so far from practical that nary I can think of a worst example. I say not to conquer them, but to live side-by-side with them, concealing ourselves, and having only limited dealings with them. In a way, it would be like two cities propped up next to each other, but each city ignores the other and only follows its own pursuits."

"Secondly," he continued, "Ansger was mad at the time Godric killed him, and likely much longer beforehand. I know this from Godric himself."

"Oh, are you two talking again," Beatrice asked, surprised.

"The spat was short-lived," Salazar replied, his tone bored, "much like I predicted it would be. Godric would not want to ignore my council for too long. To the point, however, in his last owl, he unto me said, in no uncertain terms, that Ansger's sanity had long ago taken leave. In fact, as I understand it, when Godric finally caught up with him, he was absolutely raving. As Godric put it," he began, a cruel smile forming, "the mad man hadn't ceased wagging his tongue until his head was detached from his torso."

Beatrice made a disgusted face, which prompted Salazar to swiftly add, "He had to do it, as I hope you are aware. As a people, we are destabilized enough, but with Ansger running around, the whole of our people would face massive resistance from the non-magical, likely led by their king."

"You're defending him," she spoke softly, the surprise not absent her tone.

"He and I," he huffily began, "may have our differences, but our friendship is true. He happens to agree with my ideas of the concealment of our world, just so you are aware."

This took her by surprise. "Does he really? I've not heard of any such like sentiments come from him."

"Godric was never the brightest of blokes," Salazar conceded smoothly, "but over our continuous correspondence and conversations, I've shined the truth in his eyes, and thus, he now sees as I see."

Stunned that the man crowned as Gryffindor the Gallant could so easily be led, Beatrice knew not how to reply, and the two of them sat in silence before a question came to her mind.

"What's the third difference between you and Ansger," she inquired.

"Why dear, I would hope that obvious," Salazar said, his common expression of superiority again etched on his face, "I an infinitely cleverer and more cunning than Ansger ever was."

Beatrice, try as she might, could not stifle the shudder she felt.

"For the third time, Ambrose," the young man insisted, his voice not quite shouting, but close to it, "it was not my bravery that led to the defeat of Ansger."

Ambrose shook his head, one hand rubbing his temple. He was nearing 70, but despite his relatively healthy state, headaches came so much more easily to him then they did in the days of yore.

"Godric, Godric, just for once accept the praise and gratitude of your elders. Your father, I'm sure, is beaming with pride," Ambrose replied, knowing full-well that the elder Gryffindor was likely doing nothing of the sort.

Godric scoffed. "My father did more than subtly suggest Ansger should have been dealt with weeks earlier, and that I perhaps lacked, as he put it, the proper ability to track dark magic."

The scowl did not soften as Ambrose replied, "Tut-tut, now. Always, it seems, the youth forget to respect their elders. It's happening more and more, these days, and if it continues-"

"When one is clever than his elders," Godric began, "respect should be much harder to come by."

"You are sharp of tongue, Godric, but please note that-"

"The point I was making before your interruption," the young man continued, the arrogance in his tone heavy, "was that the death of Ansger had little to my perceived bravery, and more with the lack of magical skills others possessed."

Ambrose groaned. "Not this hogwash again. While we all can do magic, there is little doubt that it's only natural some of us are more gifted and endowed as such. Merlin-"

"You know," Godric interjected, ignoring the man's disappointed expression, "it's a shame to me that the pinnacle of greatness the whole of the Wizarding community has is nowhere to be seen in times of crisis."

Shock and outrage immediately covered Ambrose's face. "Merlin has done more for the Wizarding community than any other-"

"Even if that is so, it matters little to the point. Merlin easily could have dispatched Ansger, but he's off courting the non-magical king-"

Ambrose swiftly pulled out his wand, despite his age, surprising the young man. "So help me, I will curse you if you insult Merlin once more. I do not care who your father is."

Godric said nothing, though his displeasure was obvious. The tension slowly subsided, and a minute later, Ambrose placed his wand back into his robes.

"This is my real point," Gryffindor continued calmly, though eying Ambrose far more cautiously than before. "I understand that Merlin is oft-considered one of the most powerful wizards we've known. I do take concern with your idea that some wizards are more naturally inclined to do great things than others, though."

Ambrose shook his head lightly. "Godric, Godric, understand please. I am not saying that most wizards are naturally weaker than Merlin. It's the opposite – Merlin and his ilk are just naturally stronger than the average wizard, myself included."

"I see that as selling yourself, and the Wizarding community, short," Godric replied blandly. "If no steps are taken to ensure that every witch and wizard has an equal opportunity to learn, then it's a foregone conclusion those with more wealth will fare better than those without."

"And sad as that may be," Ambrose concluded, "such is how it is done. It's not as though our children aren't learning a variety of magic from their parents."

"But the parents themselves only have limited experience with certain spells," Godric replied insistently. "There are those who know not the idea of battle magic, and as such, teach their children only the more pedestrian spells which they know. It's not as though they're bad parents; they just only teach what they know, and that's limited."

"Now Godric," Ambrose gently said, "are you suggesting that grown witches and wizards do not know spells?"

"In their own trades, certainly, they do," Godric replied. "The blacksmith knows incendio, as the farmer knows aguamenti. The builders know wingardium leviosa while the tax-collectors know accio."

At this, Ambrose chuckled, but the young Gryffindor impetuously pushed on.

"But the blacksmith may not know anapneo or petrificus totalus."

"And why would children need to know such spells," Ambrose asked, confused.

Godric had to restrain himself before answering, knowing that this conversation was not one taken lightly. "They will be children for only so long. Ansger was able to uproot our people for a month before I finally took him down. If everyone knew and was able to use the spells I know, it would have happened much quicker."

"Ansger was a, well, troubled individual," Ambrose replied delicately. "Are you aware that his herd of Hippogriff was slaughtered by a non-magical mob before what transpired?"

"Be that as it may," Godric replied, his voice gentle, yet firm, "it is the duties of those with the ability to do so to ensure the safety of our children. I am not suggesting an 11-year old take on a fully-grown dark wizard, but if they just knew some basic spells to protect themselves just in case they ever need to, I feel it'd be greatly beneficial."

Ambrose sighed. "There is some truth in your words. The Wizards' Council would never hear a word of it, though. They'd see it as a warning to their children. Either learn how to fight or be prepared to die. We don't live in an overly dangerous world, not compared to our ancestors."

"Countless stories cross my ears," the young man began, and not for the first time, Ambrose wondered why he had not strived for political power. "Just last year, those five Goblins were killed. That vicious slaying of Nakrag in the south last month. Harold Whittle, the squib who was dragged out of his grandmother's hut and burned to death by the non-magical. Our ancestors may have had it worse, but we don't seem to be doing much better."

"What do you want me to do about it, Godric," the older man asked, his voice dulled. "While the Wizards' Council has implemented mild changes to our society, you cannot seriously expect them to create an academy of sorts for every single child to attend. It's just not reasonable."

"The Wizards' Council is part of the problem," Godric said, his tone dark. "With them standing in our way, we can never make the progress we need."

"I am a member of the Council, Godric," said Ambrose sternly, "and while I may have been friends with your father for four decades now, I will not hesitate to brand you a traitor. Don't think just because I dine at your castle every fortnight that you can speak treasonous words to me. I will not be party to such a conversation."

Frustrated, the younger man sighed. "I am not yet 30 years of age, but I can tell you, if our world does not institute certain changes, the circumstances will be dire."

Ambrose eyed him carefully. "If you could have one single change, what would you hope for," he asked, a mixture of curiosity and hesitation apparent in his voice.

"A stronger, more centralized governmental system," Godric replied quickly, "much like the non-magical have. Instead of a loose bundle of towns and cities overseen by members of the Council, collecting taxes for themselves and not the benefit of their subjects, we should become much more unified. Maybe create whole magical towns away from the eyes of the non-magical. Force the Goblins to stop dealing barred substances to the non-magical and magical alike. Forge an alliance between the magical of distant lands and us. These are all steps that can be taken."

At first, Ambrose didn't reply. He was one such overseer, having taxes collected for him, and the accusation of him mishandling his power stung hard. What hurt more was the lack of his friend's sons' hesitation. Yes, a headache was definitely going to plague him tonight, he well knew.

"You are speaking," Ambrose began, not feeling this old before in his life, "of nothing short of revolution. What you are suggesting cannot be done. The Wizards' Council will make sure of that."

"That is because those on the Council are too focused on maintaining their own power and stake of the land. Instead of doing what is best for the whole of the community, they continue blighting the very idea of public service. All we – I mean I, want is-"

"We?" A few seconds passed as Ambrose mused. "Ah, it all makes sense now. Are you still speaking to Slytherin? You do realize that family is no good."

A very pronounced frown came upon Godric's face. "Salazar is a good friend, Ambrose. He has made mistakes, but do not tell me, as my father does day after day, that he is nothing more than a dark wizard."

"I've heard he can speak to serpents," the man replied, shaking his head. "That is a sure sign of a dark future."

"Are you a seer, now, Ambrose," Godric snapped, his face red in anger. "Salazar is a very clever wizard. He and I both see the future we face if our world continues down the path we're on. What we propose may sound revolutionary, but it would benefit us all."

"Your intentions, well-founded as they may be, will help you little. You cannot upheaval our world – your world – just because you and your friend perceive problems that no one else does. People will fight back, and history will not look fondly upon you, no matter how many power-hungry wizards you are able to defeat."

"How history will view me makes no difference on my actions," Godric sternly said. "It's for the greater good that we have a central government, an institute where our children can learn, and concealment to keep us and the non-magical separate."

"You are not a poor boy," Ambrose stated. "If you so wish, you are perfectly capable of funding small war to bring the Wizards' Council to its knees, thus endangering the whole of the Wizarding society. Slytherin can help you, and that radical Ravenclaw girl up north. Just know that if you so choose, we will stop you any way possible."

"It won't come to that," Godric said, sourly. He stood, bowing his head at the slightest of angles toward his host. "You are right, though. With the combined funds of myself and friends, some changes can be initiated."

He turned, and went to the door, saying, "You old lords may not enjoy the ideas of the youth, but we have reasons for thinking as we do, and we have every good intention. It really is for the greater good."

With that, Godric Gryffindor, son of Ambrose's best friend, left his home.

Ambrose sighed.

I fear for that boy's future. He may be able to fight with the best of us, but he's a danger to us. If his father doesn't make him see sense, then only Merlin himself will be able to handle it.

He slowly stood, and hobbled over to his warm cot where he's slept most of his life. Lying down, sleep graciously came to him quickly. He was haunted, though, by the conversation he'd just had, and Godric's insistence of his ideas, but mostly, the thought that struck him as the young man left. A thought of war.

Please, let it not come to that. Please.