Ouroboros

by Novus Ars

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

7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

oooP1ooo

The founder slipped out of the dorms, unconcerned with time, and headed through the hidden passage from the kitchen level of the dungeons up to the fourth floor and the library. The double doors unclicked at his behest and relocked as they closed behind him. (He had slept a great deal over the last few days, since the spiders. No reason to laze around now just because the rest of the school was still very much asleep.)

Salazar soon tucked into a book on native creatures and beings of the Isles.—The spiders had to be from somewhere, though he doubted they were native.—His usual breakfast materialized at his side a few hours later, a sign the House elves had awoken for the day. It was another hour before a soft, surprised sound announced another's presence. It was still too early for the library to be open, technically.

He reluctantly slid a piece of parchment into the book to hold his place and turned to see which adult had caught him out and about so early. Technically they were adults. Salazar wasn't certain if they could or would tell on him though.

Two ghosts floated before him. The male ghost with chains, the Bloody Baron as he heard the ghost called, stood with the other ghost's arm tucked to his side as if he had escorted her here. Salazar raised a brow at the oddly familiar ghost before he turned to the lady.

At first, he thought he was staring at Rowena. There were differences though, ones he'd expect to see in a sibling or cousin. Except Rowena had been an only daughter. Her eldest brother had only sons and her younger brother had died fatherless. She didn't have any female cousins around her age either.

Salazar frowned as he regarded the ghost, as he tried to place who she was. She stared intently back, like Rowena would when she was trying to dissect something particularly vexing. The lady was like the Bloody Baron, familiar but not recognizable. All he could say was she was likely the ghost from the short vision Hogwarts had shared.

Finally, the woman whispered out with uncertainty denoting her tone, "Uncle?"

The Hogwarts founder jerked as the word snapped the truth to the forefront of his thoughts.

"Helena." He breathed out.

Helena, Rowena's daughter, had been eleven when he had died but she would have continued to age and grow. (He knew this. He knew. But he had not accepted it. How could he when all he had were memories of children.)

Salazar forced his gaze to the Baron as he processed Helena's physical age. Now he recognized his once apprentice. He stared at his old pupil, a boy that had been barely fourteen last he had seen him.

"Eustace." He looked between the two. They both looked crossed between joyful and afraid. They were ghosts. They should be a little afraid. "What happened?"

Helena tensed up. "Uncle...I never thought I'd see you again. Hogwarts said you were back but I had not believed...it is a wonder I never thought possible." She smiled helplessly at him, the tension easing as he let her ramble instead of answering his question. "You have been missed. Terribly so."

The outrage at their presence as ghosts faded at the heartfelt words. His gaze softened as he focused on his niece.

"It was not my choice to leave," Salazar said as he stood, pressed a runic array into the chair, and waved her to his seat. The ghostly lady beamed through tears at him and sank onto his chair, for all the world, sitting like the chair supported her form.

The Bloody Baron bowed to Salazar as the eleven-year-old looked over at him. "I will leave you both be, Master. Hogwarts may call me to wherever you wish, if you wish to speak later."

Salazar gave a curt nod. "Very well." Eustace left with another bow. A faint warmth from Hogwarts whispered through the bond. He could feel the school's magic wrap around the area, keeping possible interlopers away.

Helena smiled sadly at him as she asked, "Do you know how you are here? You haven't possessed a child, have you?"

He tilted his head in thought as he considered the questions. "The simple answer is no," he finally said as he leaned back against a leg and stuffed his hands into his robe pockets, "To both questions."

"Uncle," she scolded him.

A soft smile spread at her tone. Helena always gained that tone when she realized he was avoiding answering her questions. Just like her mother, her thirst for knowledge could cause her to be abrasive and singularly focused. She wanted answers but in this matter, he had little. "Have you heard of Harry Potter?"

She slowly nodded with a thoughtful frown. "Yes, it is a most peculiar story with little understanding behind the truth of that night. No one seems inclined to find answers either."

Salazar tugged his curly mess of hair from his forehead and revealed the runic scar. Helena's eyes widened and her hand shot up to touch the mark but paused before she reached it. The founder caught her ghostly hand with his own and gave the transparent appendage a slight squeeze—the same runic array he had placed on the chair glowed from his palm, through her hand. Her hand tightened almost painfully around Salazar's.

"Do you know anything?" she asked.

"What does the mark look like to you?"

Helena tilted her head in thought, her brow furrowed before it rose in surprise. "Sōwilō...You've an Elder Fuþark mark on you!"

"And?" he prompted with a smile tugging at his lips.

She considered the mark for a long moment more. "It is a mark of the sun, of illumination and protection. Nothing may hide from the light and no dark may conquer against it. It has been unchanged as the runic language has evolved from Elder to Younger to Anglo-Saxon." She paused in contemplation before she added, her tone uncertain now. "You have been part of a ritual and it protected you from the killing curse."

"I think it did more than protect me," Salazar said, "I have good authority that my return was celebrated since that Halloween night, ten years ago. It is possible that the ritual, combined with the killing curse, connected directly with my soul."

"Illuminating it at the same time as protecting you," she gasped out before speaking in an excited rush, "Which would have removed any blocks, natural or otherwise, from your soul. In essence, awakening past lives your soul has traveled through before."

"Possibly," agreed Salazar, "It depends on a multitude of variables, not the least of which is whether the killing curse is soul magic or not."

She nodded. "All conjecture of course but I wonder…" She stared hard at him. "Uncle, do you remember any other lives?"

"No," Salazar answered without hesitation, "Though Voldemort is related to me, however distantly, and so that may have played a part with what past life was freed."

"Or you have only lived one life before this," she countered, "Or it's from some other aspect of the ritual done to you. Or a simple side effect from surviving the killing curse."

"Indeed," he agreed amicably as he cupped her hand between both of his and squeezed it slightly.

Silence fell between them for a moment. Her hand continued to hold onto his tightly, almost painfully. Her other hand played with part of her dress in a familiar, worried tick. Salazar stared at his dead niece, knowing what she worried over and knowing there was no avoiding the conversation. They would have it eventually. He might as well cut the worry down before she began to panic and actively avoid him.

Emerald eyes sharpened as he chose the soft approach. (There had to be a reason she and Eustace were here. Dead. Together.) His tone was soft as he asked, "Now how did this happen?"

Helena yanked her hand from his. "Uncle–"

He tucked his hands into his robe pockets to keep from folding them across his chest. "I've little time for excuses, Helena."

Many expressions flicked across her transparent features before a general look of discomfort settled with a twist of her lips and wrinkle of her brow. "It is...horrible, what I did, Uncle." Ghost of tears welled up in her gaze, making them shine under the library's torch light and the early morning sun streaming through the windows nearby. "Mother was ill. Father had been dead for years by then and mother had been pushing me to take on more and more duties at Hogwarts."

His niece bowed her head for a moment before she looked up through her curtain of transparent hair. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her eyes burned with frustration. She seemed to fight with herself for a moment as she struggled to find words, struggled with the overpowering emotions that remained with her—that consumed the dead that never passed on.

"You know what I had always wanted Uncle," she finally said, "You're the only one I ever dared say anything about it to. To see the Library of Alexandria(1), to read ancient scrolls of knowledge and learning…to travel the world over and collect all the knowledge left to rot away..." Her expression melted to a look of wonder and deep, helpless desire. "Of course, the library has since been sealed away and I am tied to Hogwarts..."

Salazar gave her a minute to collect her thoughts before he quietly asked, "Rowena was ill?"

Bitterness twisted the wistfulness from his niece's expression. It turned Salazar's gut at the sight. Helena answered with sharp emotion filling her voice, "She told me she was dying and that I was to take over for her—take over all her duties as if it was a given. I understood that I would become the Mater of Ravenclaw but why did I have to tie myself to Hogwarts and toll away at a dream not my own?"

A tremor went through the ghost as she struggled to contain some of the emotions. "She never understood! She always looked at the library, at the apprentices, and insisted that I had to help make this stand for another generation!"

"Helena–"

"No." She snapped at Salazar. The torch light flickered and a cold burst of air swept over Salazar. Helena rose from the seat to pace, seemingly unaware of her emotions seeping into the living world, "You do not understand, Uncle!"

Salazar pivoted about to follow the agitated ghost, uncomfortable with his need to keep her in sight. Ghosts rarely affected the physical plane but their emotions, if agitated enough, made it possible. It rarely ended well for any living involved.

Helena continued to pace. She ignored the physical objects in her way, though she never walked entirely through any of the bookshelves. Her gaze flashed with fury as she met Salazar's for a moment and she continued her rant, "She would bring you up as if you would expect such from me, too. You and father. She used everything she thought she had to coerce me into accepting the duties, to accepting this fate I did not want.–" She flung her arms out as if to encompass the entire castle before she pivoted back to Salazar. "–And it worked for a time. She twisted me around till I had taken the majority of those duties…"

Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she stared helplessly down at him. Her hopeless expression regained the heat of betrayal once more as she collected herself. (He was relieved that the emotions didn't reach an apex again.)

"And then!" She snarled as her hands flung out in emphasis, "And then she had the gall to claim she was dying so I might agree to take the last of those duties and seal my fate." Helena breathed heavily from the emotion expelled with each word.

Salazar stared at the ghost of the little eleven-year-old girl he had helped bring into this world, had helped guide, had sheltered, and loved. Seeing her here, broken and trapped between existences hurt. This was worse than knowing everyone was dead. It was worse than believing he had failed in so many of his ambitions. (This was one of his little girls, a daughter in all but blood, and she had hurt so badly at the moment of her death that she could not pass on.)

She continued after she calmed down. The deep sorrow returned to her voice and her eyes shone once more with the ghost of tears, "I did not believe her. I thought she was tricking me. So I concocted a plan that would force her to reveal herself. Then I would have returned the duties to her."

"What was your plan?" Salazar asked, his hands fisted within his pockets to keep himself in check. He needed to hear this. She needed to say it.

Helena settled back into her seat and tugged nervously at a sleeve. A memory of when he had forced an eight-year-old version to explain why dunking Oswin in mud wasn't acceptable came to mind. She had tugged at her sleeves and squirmed in her seat then too. (His heart ached for that girl.)

"I-I...stole her prized diadem–" She looked up at Salazar with devastation written across her features. Her lips trembled as they turned down and she physically struggled not to burst with emotion. A softer, cold breeze ruffled through his hair. "–and ran off to the mainland, somewhere. I took a spot on the first caravan I could and just kept going. The last one used flying carpets to travel but we ran into a terrible storm and were off course and–"

"How far did you travel on your own as a young woman with a highly prized magical artifact?" Salazar demanded, enunciating each word with care even as he tried to squash the fury that snapped through him from her absolutely idiotic actions.

She could have died.—Bile rushed up his throat. She had died.

His niece cringed at his tone. Her eyes shone with tears. "I-I...A boy estimated that I ended up in Albania."

Salazar clenched his jaw as he connected the country to the Mediterranean. It bordered Croatia? No, it bordered Greece.

Godric and he had gone down to Africa once and spent a few years in what was known as the Middle East now. The redheaded man had wanted to meet a real lion to compare against his Patronus. Travel was easier with magic but it still took months, even years to get far. It was dangerous and difficult. It was not something one did alone nor as a woman. Not back then.

She rushed on as she saw his darkening expression. "I found a clearing to stay for a time and hide the diadem while I looked around the local area. I had thought I could learn while I was stuck there, waiting for another caravan to appear or mother to find me...Eustace found me instead. Mother had asked him to bring me home. He claimed she had wanted me there before she passed away. That I didn't have to stay at Hogwarts or anything like that."

She clenched her dress as a deep sorrow filled her voice. "I did not believe him. We argued. He forgot himself for a moment and pushed me. And-And...I fell. Hit my head, as I understand it." She was silent for a moment before her head snapped up and she rushed out, "He killed himself because of it. He's still on this side because of his actions!"

Her wide, transparent gaze searched his before she asked worriedly. "You won't remove him, will you?" Helena leaned forward. "He's a Hogwarts ghost just like me!"

Salazar stared at her uncomprehending her defense for her killer. He remembered Eustace as a fourteen-year-old boy. His ghost was that of a grown man, though. Grown men did terrible things in the name of supposed love when it was in fact lust and possessiveness. How could he allow such a figure to stay anywhere near his niece, even when they were ghosts?

Helena shifted in discomfort as she rambled on because of his silence, "He did not mean to. He hadn't learned his lessons on controlling his anger. And we've always clashed, what with him wanting to court me...Uncle Godric sent him off enough times that he should have taken the hint! Uncle may not have been father, but it still meant no. I just–"

She fell silent with a grimace. Her words did not help her case for her killer.

"Helena, did he try anything? Are you uncomfortable with his pressence here?" Salazar finally demanded. The restrained anger slipped through with the hissing quality of parseltongue seeping into his words.

The ghost startled before she smiled. "It's nothing like that. He had issues, certainly, but he did eventually back off. He just never physically left the area and I knew he never stopped pining till the end. I…"

"You would protect your killer," Salazar said bluntly. Nothing she said led him to understand. If it wasn't for the fact that exorcising Eustace would give him peace, the ghost would already be gone.—At least, peace after the exorcising. The entire process was terribly painful for a ghost unwilling to leave the living world. It was far kinder to help the ghost pass on their own.

"It was a terrible accident, Uncle." Helena insisted. "He atones daily."

Salazar took another moment to consider the story before he stepped to his niece and claimed her hands in his. Eustace would be dealt with later. He had a niece to comfort.

She clenched his hands in desperation. "Uncle-can I-please." She choked out. Her silvery, transparent eyes gleamed with more tears.

He hesitated for a moment but obliged by pressing a hand to his chest and forming a runic array, similar to how he had created the array the day before. This array had many similarities to the runes he had used on his hands and chair.

As soon as he finished, Helena flung herself against him. She dropped to her knees and clung as she sobbed into his shoulder. Cold breeze rolled out from his niece in soft bursts but did not travel far.

Salazar held her until he felt the burning sign of magical exhaustion.

oooP2ooo

The second week of Hogwarts had little change from the first. They learned more theory, failed to learn proper potion preparation, somehow avoided killing themselves from exploding potions, either slept through or completed independent study during history, and took care of their basil sprouts while learning how to care for other non-magical plants. Most of the students followed the Daily Prophet's recommendations and avoided him at all costs.

The only true exception was Neville but his fellow Gryffindors seemed to agree that he had more of the famous recklessness than was reasonable (even by their skewed standards) and took to dragging the blond away from Salazar the instant they were outside of class. Their efforts found little traction with the boy, though. Neville found Salazar at the most random moments. Sometimes the founder found himself wandering around the loch or investigating various floors of Hogwarts with the blond. Other times, Neville would appear in the library and claim the nearest desk to Salazar's. It was oddly enjoyable having the child around. That Neville was able to distract him from memories and bygone days, made the time spent with the child even better.

Beyond Neville, Salazar had little interaction with the living or humans outside of class. Helena would seek him out at times but fell into her natural state of quiet contemplation now that she had explained the matter of her death. Eustace had successfully avoided Salazar and the founder had avoided his former student in turn. Hogwarts took to materializing in his empty corner of the library to yammer away at various nonsensical matters a sentient, 1000-year-old building cared about.

Salazar had little input about the various pixies infesting unused sections of the school nor of the mating patterns of the local mice and rats that had apparently taken up residence a few hundred years ago and had since gained a level of intelligence. They apparently had a rudimentary society with structured social classes and everything. Salazar had absolutely no interest in the peculiar jump in intelligence that she had witnessed in multiple offspring from 1973 to 1977 and then from 1987 to the present. Nor did he particularly care that she had reached the unusual conclusion that the intelligence jump could be traced back to a student's pet, thought familiar until this year when the boy's younger brother had brought the rat instead.

That she had mapped this all out was fascinating and had kept his attention but once she asked if he wanted to help her steal the rat, he had to divert her attention. It wasn't easy to do. Impossible really, though she agreed to leave the poor pet alone. He doubted she had paid enough mind to the pet to realize it had been changed out over the years. Rats didn't live particularly long.

The parselmouth was sad to say his school might be mildly insane. And it was entirely her own fault for never revealing her sentience to any human outside the dead and House elves. He hadn't given voice to the thought for obvious reasons. Salazar liked his school and he enjoyed the spoiling she offered too. It's just a matter of fact that she might be slightly mad.

Of course, he had to keep in mind that she was a building, not a child. Maybe she was sane for a building. Salazar doubted he'd ever find a comparison, though.

Now, if only the building found interests outside of pixies, mice, rats, and snot-nosed brats.

The bond between him and Hogwarts warmed with a bubbly feeling. Salazar rolled his eyes as he leaned back against his chair and smiled up at the library's ceiling. Hogwarts was amused with him. (He tried not to think too hard about how much she knew of his internal thoughts. It was entirely possible she was aware that he thought her really, very mad.)

The founder turned back to his preparations. Multiple books were scattered around him but were all for show in case someone actually broke through the notice-me-not Hogwarts had placed over his area. His engraving tool set was spread out amongst small blocks of wood one of the House elves had brought.

He should probably claim an unused classroom as a workstation instead.

Rowena would have killed him by now. Helena had confirmed that before she had cheerfully claimed the chair he had engraved for her. He glanced over to his content niece (as content as a ghost prone to deep melancholy could be). She was curled on her chair with a book on the engraved table—his second project testing the engraving tool.—She slid a thin piece of engraved wood into the book and turned the page.

The engraving tool was neat but ultimately not particularly necessary for him. It did allow him to build runic arrays before embedding the magic, which could be useful if he expected to use a great deal of magic but wanted to work on a project on the same day. He suspected he could find other uses for the tool.

Salazar tilted the wood burned with an alert array across it. One limitation of the engraver was the inability to create layers of runes. It was all very one-dimensional. He tilted his head and the cube. If he created a magic layer, basically pushing the existing array into the wood grains, he could then add another layer but that required embedding magic into the first array while engraving it. He already bypassed that by creating arrays with pure magic.

It wasn't worth his time to figure out how to make the engraver also embed magic at the same time.

Salazar glanced back over to his niece. He was certain she had been there all night. He was equally certain that she had been reading a different book yesterday.

"Stop staring," she ordered as she turned the page once more, "You've far too much to prepare."

"Have you left that spot?"

"Shh."

"Helena," Salazar said with a note of warning tinting his voice.

She huffed but relented, "I'll leave with you for dinner."

A pop-click interrupted them. "Good" the House elf Toofie announced as he folded his arms and glared (ineffectively) at them, "You'd better be going then."

Salazar glanced down at his watch. There were only thirty more minutes of dinner service. "Ah," he muttered while Helena made a disgruntled noise. "Perhaps I'll have a late dinner," Salazar decided as he looked down at his work.

"No!" Toofie stomped his foot down. "Master Sally be joining the school for dinner. Master Rie and Mistress Hellie made the rule that Master Sally and Mistress Wena would make school dinners."

Salazar leaned his chair back onto its back legs and he turned in his seat to stare at the elf in amused confusion. "That's still standing? Dinner was the only meal back then."

"Oh, yes Master Sally," Toofie said enthusiastically, "It be written into the bylaws and extended to all professors of the school. Master Sally and Mistress Lena shalln't sneak past us on this. You be going to dinner now."

"The bylaws…" muttered Salazar as he obeyed the demanding House elf and headed out. "I need to look those over."

"They haven't really changed," Helena countered as she floated at his side as they left the library.

"Really?" Salazar asked. He held one of the hidden doors open for her to float through and followed before he continued to voice his thoughts, "I'd think they would have been updated in multiple areas. It's been a thousand years."

"Almost," she answered as they wandered down the short hall where Salazar took the lead and held the hidden passage to the kitchen level of the dungeons open for her. "If any has been updated, none have gone through the proper procedure. I should have felt the changes if they had incorporated them properly, shouldn't I?"

"Hmmm." Salazar thought over the issue as he hopped down from the hidden passage and onto the lower landing of the stairs that led up to the ground floor. "I would think so."

"Then, you will find little changed," she asserted, "besides what mother and everyone added after."

"Potter?"

Helena paused at the startled voice. Salazar paused in reaction to her before he connected the name to himself and turned to the new person. A Hufflepuff stood with her mouth agape.

The founder tilted his head as the girl continued to simply stare.

Helena helpfully remarked, "Staring is rude."

"Your–You just–What?" the Hufflepuff stuttered out, clearly unsure where to begin.

Salazar helpfully walked over to the girl and tucked her arm to his side. "You headed to dinner also?" He guided the girl up towards the ground floor with Helena. "It's best to eat when one can. I was just reminded of that fact. Was in the middle of a project in the library, you see."

"He has a bad habit of forgetting the time," Helena offered as an explanation as she floated beside them, "All Ravenclaws do, really."

"I'm not a Ravenclaw," Salazar countered.

"As good as," Helena argued back with a sniff.

"He was going to forget dinner?" asked the girl in a quiet, uncertain voice as she clung to that one aspect in particular. Her hand tucked against Salazar's arm tightened. Salazar patted it comfortingly.

"Oh yes," the Ravenclaw ghost groused, "Uncle Salazar makes a terrible habit of it."

"Do not."

"Who has a bylaw in place because of said habit?"

Salazar scoffed at the ghost in response, declining to respond to the accusation. Everyone knew the rule had been put into place for Rowena, not him. It had been a matter of equality that they had enforced it for everyone.

"How'd he have a bylaw made?"

The founder and ghost paused at the question, both reminded of the particulars of life at that moment. Helena helpfully responded by floating off into the ceiling. Salazar grumbled under his breath at her easy escape.

He turned to look at the girl.

Dark eyes stared wide-eyed at him. The girl was his height, or nearly so. It made him feel particularly short as the girl had a pixie-like appearance with her heart-shaped face and splash of dark freckles across her cheeks and nose, an intriguing contrast to her caramel skin. The small, curly afro simply added to the entire effect.

He flashed a sheepish grin and proceeded to twist the conversation as he had done with Professor McGonagall on his first day of school. "Ghosts, you know?"

Her brow furrowed. "I don't, actually."

"Ah, well… I mean, she's dead so her connection to the living world isn't quite right anymore. She saw me and immediately assumed I was a Ravenclaw. As the Ravenclaw ghost, she demanded I take her to dinner and the conversation just sort of flowed from there."

"I was told she doesn't talk much," the girl answered but her tone had turned thoughtful. Salazar took the opportunity to guide her the rest of the way up the stairs to the ground floor. "I wonder what all we could learn from the ghosts. Was she as bad as Professor Binns?"

"World's better than Binns," Salazar answered with a grin as he continued to guide the girl onward towards the Great Hall.

She smiled back before a thought had her straighten her back. The Hufflepuff tugged him to a stop and stuck out her hand. "Megan Jones, a first year just like you."

Salazar took the hand. "Harry Potter, but you knew that."

Megan nodded as they continued towards the double doors. A few students wandered past them. Some paused at the sight. Salazar wasn't certain if they stopped because it was him, the Boy-Who-Lived, or because it was a Slytherin escorting a Hufflepuff to dinner.

The girl stopped suddenly, just before the doors, and stared at him.

"What?"

Megan repeated Helena's earlier words in surprise. "Uncle Salazar?"

"Err," Salazar made a face. "Yes...she, uh...hmm..." The founder paused as he half hoped the child reached her own conclusions and also tried to think about how to shrug the connection off if she reached the wrong conclusion.

Megan looked thoughtfully at him before she decided, "Maybe she confused you with the Slytherin founder...though I've his chocolate frog card and you don't look anything like him."

Salazar smiled and he pulled her through the double doors. Now that was the right conclusion. "Oh?"

"Yeah." She suddenly grinned. "You think that's possible? Cause if it is, it would be hilarious if there's a bylaw that ordered Salazar Slytherin to show up for dinner!"

The reincarnated founder couldn't stop the blush as her exclamation drew the attention of the scattered groups of students still eating. Ignoring that embarrassment, he paused in preparation to wish her a good evening before he headed to the Slytherin table. The girl didn't give him the chance.

Megan twisted his hold on her hand, tucked as it had been against his side, and dragged him across the room to the Hufflepuff's table. "Ernie!" She called out as she reached one of the Hufflepuff groups.

Salazar attempted to free himself from the girl's grip as said girl chattered in a fast, excited manner. He was quite unsuccessful in his endeavor.

"Guess what! Harry here got the Ravenclaw ghost to talk and she showed him a hidden passage from our floor to the library! It's behind the painting of the librarian on the stairwell. Sort of obvious right?"

The various Hufflepuffs made exclamations of surprise and excitement. Oliver, the muggleborn Hufflepuff who sat by him during Astronomy, and Ronald Weasley helped Megan drag Salazar onto the bench. A dinner setting appeared in front of him and Megan as she claimed his right side.

"Did you really?" demanded another Hufflepuff, this one with a shock of pale blond hair and pale eyes, leaned across the table towards him with an outstretched hand. "Zacharias Smith, call me Zach. Not Zachie.—Could you show us the hidden passage?"

Salazar accepted the hand and gave it a short shake. Hufflepuffs, he thought fondly as the group seemed happy to have him at their table. It took a good few weeks for all the bluster of his sorting to pass and now he was invited amongst the little badgers. Helga would be proud.

Another boy joked as the blond introduced himself, "What? No—I'm descended from Helga Hufflepuff herself spiel, Zachie?" Zacharias scowled at the boy even as his face turned as red as a tomato as others in the group joined in on the teasing.

Salazar's gaze sharpened onto the blond's features. Unlike Draco, Zacharias didn't remind Salazar of his ancestor. He couldn't stop the faint disappointment at not seeing Helga physically in the boy (maybe the blond hair but it was a stretch). He couldn't even spy a hint of Gareth. But then, a thousand years was a long time.

At nearly the same time as Zacharias was being teased, another of the boys spoke up.

"'Course Harry'll show us!" cried Ronald before the redhead pulled a platter of food over to the newcomers. He waved at it invitingly and the smell of roasted chicken and vegetables floated over the table. The redhead grinned lopsided at them as he explained, "That's pretty good stuff there. Right about as good as me mum's."

The boy that had teased Zacharias turned to Salazar and offered his own hand, his own mess of brown curls stil somehow more controlled than Salazar's, "Wayne Hopkins, of no important family or House but a member of Hufflepuff all the same and here to learn all I can."

Salazar shook Wayne's hand and bemusedly followed up with the rest of the group as they each introduced themselves. There was Earnest Macmillian, a reddish-blond that had to be another viking decendent, and was Ernie to anyone and everyone that would listen. Justin Finch-Fletchley who was a cheerful upper-crust muggleborn that had been destined for Eton before Hogwarts came along. Leanne Muldoon, with the darkest brown hair of the lot if one ignored the deep black of Oliver's and Megans curls, was another muggleborn but from a less well-off family who was there to prove she deserved her placement and the cost of tuition her parents were 'making work'.

Then there was Susan Bones, a determined dirty blond with contrasting delicate features, who was some many times removed cousin as her great, great grandmother had been a Potter. Hannah Abbott, a cheerful blond, that was in a similar position as she shared the same great, great grandmother. To complicate matters, even more, was his relations to Zacharias through the same woman, who was Zacharias's great, great. great grandmother.(2)

All Salazar had to figure out was what Amelia Bones (the first) nee Potter was to him, relationship-wise. Either way, he had just found three cousins, distant as they were. The founder wasn't entirely sure what to think of that. He distinctly recalled a certain letter claiming his only living relatives were the Dursleys.

The Hufflepuffs all thought it was brilliant.

Hopefully, Helga was watching this moment as the little Hufflepuffs proved that some of her teachings had survived the centuries. Helga had taught inclusiveness and kindness. She wanted all to be welcome at the dinner table and under the same hearth, no matter the person's background.

Salazar found himself lost within the bubbly, excited chatter of the Hufflepuffs for the rest of the evening. His attention was pulled in all directions. Food was pushed onto his plate by various children that insisted he try their favorite dishes. There was laughter and warmth he had missed in these halls.

As dinner concluded, the children cheerfully pulled books out and Megan remarked on Helena finding him working on a project. This led to Salazar mistakenly revealing his completed homework. That fact led to an impromptu tutoring session.

The arithmancy professor ended up kicking them out a few minutes before curfew. Salazar found himself bombarded with hugs from his two female cousins and Megan, and handshakes and shoulder claps from the boys. Leanne gave a shy little wave. All of them remarked on him not being too bad at all. One even alluded to the earlier Daily Prophet article before they separated at the stairs and headed into the kitchen level for their dorms.

Salazar continued down to his own dormitory with contentment he hadn't realized was missing. He was perfectly capable of living a reclusive life but there was a pleasure in company, no matter how innocent and naive it was at times. Perhaps he shouldn't focus so hard on his projects.

He was eleven after all. And while it left a bitter taste considering his newfound life without his long-time companions in sight, there was no point in shutting himself off from the world because it had inconveniently aged over 900 years without asking for permission. Perhaps he should search out Neville as much as the boy did him. And perhaps he should see about sitting at the other tables during meal time, as he had vaguely planned to. He might actually have conversations with people then.

oooP3ooo

"Harry?" Neville settled into a seat across from the founder as he continued to speak, surprise and confusion clear in his tone, "What you doing at the Gryffindor table?"

Salazar glared down at his work. His arithmancy, on the decay rate of the notice-me-not enchantment hiding the passageway Helena and he had taken the night before, indicated that he had either a decade or two and three-fourths of a year before it failed. He had miscalculated something, somewhere. Maybe he had misremembered the equation entirely.—There was enough decay that others noticed when people left the hidden passage. It wasn't a question of it being a problem. It was a question of how long until it was a major problem.

It was probably an issue of using roman numerals when Rowena first learned arithmancy. He should probably give it up for a loss. Her equation was just a little too fuzzy in his memory. It was probably the number of XX's.(3)

He looked up at the blond across from him without really seeing the boy. His thoughts had already turned towards the use of Hindu numerals and a combination of the arithmancy Rowena had lectured over, the magic numerals of runic array alignment, and the modern arithmetic he had learned in muggle school.(4) Inspiration struck for whatever inane reason and he quickly scribbled in the margins Check the other hidden passages and then crossed out half his work. Any roman numeral left was translated into the Hindu equivalent. He then took the three rounds of seven and turned it into four eights as he should have had originally.

Salazar tilted his head at the new answer. His brow furrowed as he considered it. The answer looked better, more accurate, but Salazar would have to look up arithmancy later to double-check it. This might be one of those cases where something looked good because it was what one expected to see when first seeing the problem. Better safe than sorry.

He bit his lip as he wondered at his decision to change numeral forms. Roman numerals had their own magic.—But no, this wasn't a case of runic casting. He was looking into Helga's notice-me-not charm that was tied to Rowena's enchantments. That it was all tied into his charging runic array should not matter. So the physical form of his arithmancy didn't matter.

Gods, why couldn't the others be reincarnated with him, Salazar wondered.

He just knew this would lead to another headache if he let it. Rowena would have known what the issue was by a glance, her mind working through the arithmancy without issue.

"Harry?" Neville said again, this time in amusement.

"This isn't the Slytherin table," huffed a familiar, bossy voice.

Finally, Salazar closed his notebook and responded, "I thought I'd have breakfast with my friend." He nodded over at Neville seated on the other side of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Salazar paused and fought a frown. The blond looked drained and tired with shadows under his eyes. There was also a hint of anxiety as the boy shifted about in his seat. He hesitated to say anything to the child, he doubted Neville would want to talk about it anyway.

The looks his fellow first-year Slytherins were shooting him from across the hall behind Neville distracted him. They had no reason to complain when they were the ones ignoring him. He fought the childish desire to wave.

A disgruntled noise had him turn to the little, bossy Gryffindor. Hermione Granger was scowling down at him. Her hands were on her hips.

"There are no rules against it," Salazar added.

"Why I never–" Hermione Granger scoffed at him. "It isn't done. You should go back to your house's table before I get a professor."

"Yeah!" cried another Gryffindor a few seats over, "This is the house of red and gold!"

"But I'm wearing red today." Salazar countered cheerfully, revealing his ruby red undershirt, "I felt quite Godricy this morning."

"Godricy?" Neville repeated, his amusement visibly growing. Salazar grinned at the boy and gained one in return. Any anxiety the blond was feeling had faded, temporarily forgotten. Salazar could do that, help Neville that way at least.

"That's not a word," Hermione interrupted once more.

"Well, it's quicker than saying I felt bold and courageous when I awoke and thought it appropriate to announce my unusual feelings by promoting the house of the brave and inter-house cooperation by joining you all in breaking our fast," Salazar pronounced before his cup of tea appeared. He picked it up and raised it to Neville. The boy grinned helplessly as he met it with his cup of pumpkin juice and clinked the cups together. "To inter-house cooperation!"

"Here, here!" shouted twin voices before two other mugs joined in the clinking.

Salazar nodded at the Gryffindors that had joined in, recognizing the identical twins. There was no obvious fear in their expressions this time. He also now had a good idea of who they were. "Fred and George Weasley?" he asked. They looked too similar to Ronald to not be his twin siblings.

The two boys grinned and nodded even as they began to stuff themselves with breakfast.

Hermione huffed in the background but seemed to realize she had been outvoted. Or she might have noticed that a number of professors were present and had not said anything to the snake amongst lions. While she had accepted defeat, others at the table made their dislike known through quiet mutterings about the dark lord at their table. Salazar helpfully ignored them.

"So, you don't usually wait this late for breakfast." remarked one of the red-headed twins.

"Usually you're watered and fed," added the other.

The first jumped back in, "by the time anyone comes to breakfast at all."

Salazar raised an eyebrow at them. He hadn't paid any mind to people noticing him. When Hogwarts didn't place a notice-me-not barrier around him, he was watched by most of the school. So, Salazar supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised but he was. He didn't think anyone paid that close attention to his breakfast habits, especially since no one actually stuck around the entire two-hour open period. He woke at dawn and usually had his morning tea in the dorms or the library but no one was around to notice. So how had they?

"Stalking him, are you?" asked a girl sitting near them. Her short dreadlocks danced about as she shook her head at the red-headed twins. "Should we be worried about your quidditch performance?"

"You better keep those Acceptables," grumbled a boy further up the table, "If you're put on probation again, so help me–"

"Oliver!" cried one of the twins, his hands flying to his chest in an exaggeration of outrage. "Your words! Oh, they strike our hearts."

"Angelina," added the second twin, his brows wiggling suggestively at the girl, "You know you're the only one I'd stalk."

Both Oliver and Angelina rolled their eyes. It was nearly synchronized to Salazar's amusement. "Quidditch?" Salazar asked Neville.

Neville shrugged. "It's a sport."

"A sport!" cried Oliver as he actually rose to lean towards them in outrage, "It's the sport. The only sport that matters!"

"Hey!" countered another boy near Oliver. The two degraded into an argument about racing and brooms and something called a quaffle. Salazar stared at the two boys for a long moment, quickly lost the conversation before he turned back to Neville and quirked an eyebrow up in a silent question.

"I…uh…I have no idea." the blond offered back.

The cry of owls announced the morning post. This didn't cut the sport argument short but did distract most of the student body from their various conversations and the Gryffindors from Salazar's presence. The Daily Prophet, Britannian Times, and Wizarding World News were all dropped in a pile in front of him. Hedwig landed on top of the newspapers to steal a piece of bacon from Neville's plate before she offered her leg to Salazar. He untied a thick letter from Florean and reviewed the grading of his latest history essay.

"What you got there, Neville?" asked the Irish first-year Gryffindor. Salazar glanced up at the boy and frowned as he tried to recall his name, it was a Sean–Shea?

Neville held up a ball of glass with smoke floating in its center, "It's a remembrall, Seamus. The smoke changes colors to let you know if you've forgotten anything."

The smoke shifted from normal gray to vibrant red. Neville frowned in frustration at that. "Only problem is, I don't know what I've forgotten."

"Oh I've read about those!" remarked Hermione, leaning over the table to take a proper look-see. She wrinkled her nose in disgust as she looked at it. "Not very useful, is it?"

Neville shrugged helplessly. He looked torn between trying to figure out what he had forgotten or just return to his breakfast instead.

Salazar set his tea down and gave Neville a long look before he realized the issue. "You forgot your robe."

The blond started at Salazar's statement and looked down at himself. Neville flushed red, even though he had a decent enough knit sweater and trousers on. Technically the robes didn't require any undergarments. He quickly explained all the same, "I'm not used to wearing robes, didn't have to at home 'cept for formal occasions."

"Really?" asked another of the first-year boys in surprise, "You made your gran out as pretty old-fashioned. Isn't robes standard fair?"

"They're just so hot!" blurted out Neville with a flush, "I could never wear them for long."

Seamus added between bites of bacon, "Nah, Dean. It's tradition but only once you're older. Bit of a hassle for little kids wanting to play in the dirt and on the brooms and such. Of course, tunics and trousers are also traditional—for us lads."

"It's the layers that are important," interrupted an older Gryffindor with a prefect's badge. He was another redhead. Salazar guessed this was Percy, another of Ronald's brothers. He looked related to them. "The more formal the occasion, the more layers expected. You want to be right-covered up also, in most cases. Then there's the matter of presentation. Certain styles and amounts of layering can define you as a traditionalist or muggle enthusiast and such. It's a combination of what you wear, how you wear it, and what you say and do that define how people see you–"

"Oh Percy, Percy, " sighed one of the Weasley twins.

"Perfect, Prefect, Percy, " sighed the other.

"We don't need another lecture."

"No one needs to hear another rant about emulating tradition and how things are done properly. It's all very boring."

"Yes, quite a bore—truly."

Salazar frowned as the twins continued. Their older brother turned red in embarrassment and frustration. The reincarnate decided to interrupt, guessing which twin was speaking last. "Now Fred, tradition is important to understand. Without understanding it, you'll never know what you're doing, whose toes you're stepping on, what insult and compliment you give, and to whom you are giving it. There are times when you want to present a particular image to bring across a particular concept or idea. Depending on what you end up doing in life, determines how important that could be."

The two boys went still at his words. An odd look crossed their identical faces before each went blank. It was startling how in sync the two were with each other. It reminded Salazar of magically bonded twins, which they could very well be.

Finally, the twin he had called Fred responded, "I suppose that's true. You'd understand it best, too. Goes with the whole slytheriness thing you've got going."

"It doesn't matter what house you're in!" said Percy.

Fred shrugged and his twin rolled his eyes.

"Potter?" a voice cut into the conversation.

Salazar looked past Neville and found Draco. The boy stood uncertainly before the Gryffindors with Gregory and Vincent in his shadow. He shifted where he stood as if ready to bolt from the house of the brave.

"Yes?" Salazar prompted.

"We've flying lessons this afternoon. They've been posted on the bulletin board. Farley asked that I made sure all of us were informed. We'll lose points if we don't attend."

"Thank you Draco," Salazar offered with a nod.

Draco shifted again, his silver eyes flicked between the redheads, Neville, and Salazar. The boy came to some type of decision as his nervous shifting ended and he asked, "Walk with me?"

Salazar paused in sipping his tea and gave the blond Slytherin a long look. No Slytherin had so much as spoken to him since the first day of class. Draco still had the slightest hint of nervousness in his expression but he held himself steady under Salazar's stare. Interesting.

He turned to Neville, "Breakfast has been enjoyable, Neville. See you in potions."

Neville nodded before he added, visibly slumping and paling as he spoke, "I think we might have flying lessons together too." A grimace crossed his face but he shook his head at Salazar as the founder tilted his head in question.

Salazar offered Hedwig another piece of bacon and a short stroke down her feathered chest. Then the reincarnate left the Gryffindors and followed his fellow Slytherins into the dungeons. Unsurprisingly, Draco directed Salazar into an unused classroom. Gregory and Vincent followed. Both leaned on either side of the door.

Salazar looked over the stacked desks, the smell of dust and age heavy in the air, and sighed at the sign of disuse. A shocking amount of the school had been left in disrepair. Their belief that their population would grow exponentially—like the muggles—had not come to fruition. War was only part of the cause. Salazar wanted to know the entire reason but doubted any one person knew it.

There was the other side of Hogwart, too. The side seemingly forgotten through time. Its position as a sanctuary to magicals had never come to much. They had built it as a fortress to protect. That it was not teeming with magicals should mean that protection was no longer needed. (Salazar wished he could believe that was the case.)

Salazar turned back to the present and the children before him. Draco shuffled about, rubbed a finger down across a desk, and wrinkled his nose as he saw dust smeared across the pad of his finger.

"Draco–"

"I'm not supposed to talk to you." Draco interrupted, still staring at his finger. "You shouldn't use my first name."

Salazar frowned. "Who decided that for you?"

The blond snapped his gaze up and met Salazar's green. Disbelief almost radiated off the boy, it was so deeply felt. "Our head of hous–"

"Decides who you talk to?" Salazar snapped, annoyed at the child and himself for being annoyed.

"You don't understand," Draco whined, "You aren't one of us–"

Salazar pulled his wand out and flicked it at a chair by Draco. A burst of magic shot from his yew wand as quick as he had flicked it. Draco stumbled away from it and Salazar with wide eyes. Vincent and Gregory rose up, startled. Vincent took a few steps forward. Gregory drew his wand.

The chair began to dance.

"What," Salazar asked cooly, "Did I just do?"

"Wha–" squeaked the blond, eyes round and stuck on the dancing chair, "I-I don't know the spell!"

"It's like making pineapples dance," Gregory said. His tone turned accusing, "We're supposed to learn that next semester."

He huffed as he placed his wand back into his robe pocket. "Not the specifics. Tell me the basic fact before you."

Gregory and Vincent shared looks, expressions uncertain though each clearly had an answer they were reluctant to give.

A myriad of emotions flashed across the blond's face as he turned to look at Salazar. "Magic." His brows suddenly furrowed and a pout teased at the edge of the boy's lips."You're a halfblood," he said as if that explained everything. The poor child probably thought it did.

"Oh, yes." sneered Salazar, "because my mother was a muggleborn—Magic is magic, no matter who wields it."

"That's not true!"

"It is." Salazar countered, "Magic–"

"No!" snapped Draco with a stomp of his foot, "You aren't one of us! You were raised in the muggle world! Even if you had been a pureblood, you still wouldn't understand!"

Silence fell between them. Vincent walked closer to Draco as if giving moral support to the blond. The last child looked between Salazar and Draco and back before sliding his wand back into his robe pocket. Only the sound of Draco's harsh breathing filled the space between them all.

Salazar heaved a heavy sigh and climbed onto one of the desks for a seat. They would be here for a while. "Enlighten me then."

Draco startled at the request and then flushed pink. "Uh..."

"Magic runs through our veins," Gregory answered quietly.

Salazar turned to the larger boy and nodded. "True but are you saying some have more magic than others? That some blood is more saturated? Is that how your blood is purer than mine?"

The three pureblooded boys looked at each other in uncertainty. None of them had an answer. Salazar suspected they were only repeating their parents' words.

A buzz broke the silence. Vincent pulled a sleeve up and revealed a ringing watch. "Class is about to start," the large boy said quietly.

Frustration and then determination fashed across Draco. The blond said in a rush, "I just wanted to warn you away from Longbottom and the Weasleys."

Eyebrows shot up in surprise. Salazar stared. "I'm sorry, what?" This had not been what he had expected.

"The Weasleys you're hanging out with—Arthur Weasley's children—they're blood traitors."

"I...see," Salazar offered. Though he wanted to understand what constituted a blood traitor, he suspected the children couldn't say since they couldn't explain their pureblood status either. "And Neville?"

The heir of the Malfoy House started and gave Salazar an odd look, "Well you don't want anything rubbing off from him. Mother Magic left the family because they did something wrong. Not sure what the Longbottoms did so that Neville became magical but it had to have been huge. I wouldn't hang around him if I was you. Who knows what'll happen."

"Squibs steal your magic," added Vincent.

Gregory nodded. "Makes you as weak as a mudblood."

"Neville is a...squib?" Salazar asked with a frown as he tried to understand the word. It had not come up during all his discussions with Florean or Granny. He didn't think the waitress, Nimue, ever brought it up either but their conversations focused on muggle fiction. The boys' explanation didn't make much sense either. Steal magic? He had never heard of anything or anyone capable of stealing another's magic.

Block it, seal it away, share it, or drain it temporarily: yes.

Steal it: no.

"Well," Draco answered, "it was thought he was one but he's here, so apparently not."

Salazar Slytherin hummed as he considered that explanation. To not be at Hogwarts could mean Neville was expected to go to a different school but the way Draco had said it implied something more. The only thing he could think of involved Neville's magic. To have the Mother leave a person was a general concept of a person losing their magic back, a thousand years ago. Perhaps the concept had survived time. (Though, Salazar had never actually met a person that had lost their magic.)

Then there was the claim Vincent had made. To steal one's magic implied the stealer didn't have any magic before the stealing. Of course, Salazar couldn't begin to figure out how someone would steal magic without using magic to do the stealing.

He asked, to clarify, "A squib is a person without magic?" Draco nodded so Salazar continued with his questions. "What makes a squib any different from a muggle?"

"Oh," breathed out Draco, some realization glowed in his pale eyes and some of his confrontational bearing softened. "A squib is a non-magical with magical parents. They're the opposite of a muggleborn. It's a curse to have one. A sign of bad faith to the Mother and a terrible shame. Everyone hides it at all costs. You don't usually hear about the squibs in a family but Longbottom is not only the heir apparent to House Longbottom but, uh…He's been in the news off and on with what happened to his parents. Everyone has been worried that what happened might have broken him somehow. My father says it's an important fact to know for the future."

"What happened to his parents?" Salazar asked as he hopped off the desk.

Draco grimaced. "Ah, I don't know the details." He looked over to the other boys.

Gregory answered reluctantly, "They're in the hospital."

"Yes," Draco agreed before reluctantly adding, "I...uhmm…happened to overhear that they've gone bonkers...I suppose Longbottom might have been hurt too from whatever made his parents loony."

That sounded serious. What harm could be done to two magicals that kept them in a hospital for the long term? Salazar could think of possibilities, none pleasant but most he hoped had a cure now. "I see...I would like to continue this discussion at some point."

The blond shook his head quickly back and forth before Salazar even finished the request. "I'm not supposed to jeopardize any connections for House Malfoy...I just...I can't."

Salazar watched the children rush off to the potions class. He was left with a bad taste in his mouth. Salazar mentally pinched off his magical connection to the dancing chair, canceling the charm. That left him with only his questions for company. (Draco's words echoed in the back of his mind. How could he be one of them when he wasn't even a child, wasn't even in his proper time?)

oooP4ooo

Neville looked worse than a little anxious when the Slytherins joined the Gryffindor first years out near the quidditch pitch. Salazar quietly claimed a place at the blond's side, nudging the Gryffindor's shoulder with his own in greeting. A tremulous smile peeked through for a second before Neville returned to his look of abject terror.

Salazar glanced over to Seamus in question.

The Irish boy shrugged. "Granger was rambling off facts from Quidditch through the Ages."

"She focused on all these right bizarre accidents!" added Dean.

"Well," Seamus said, careless of the effect of his words, "some of them are fairly common actually."

Salazar sighed and turned to Neville. Draco unhelpfully made a loud, death-throws reenactment as Salazar leaned about to catch the nervous boy's eye. Neville snapped around in surprise and smacked his head into Salazar's nose in the process. The two jerked back from each other with yelps from the collision.

"Owe," grumbled Salazar as he pinched his nose and held it up towards the sky in an attempt to cease the blood flowing from it. He pulled his robe up to wipe the blood away and made a mental note to buy a handkerchief. "Why do Gryffindors have such hard heads?"

"Oi! What's that supposed ta mean?" demanded Seamus even as Neville looked up and met Salazar's eyes. Neville broke into warm laughter, ruining any potential inter-house argument before it could begin and easing a tension in the air.

Salazar ignored the children around him as he waited for his bloody nose to stop. All he could see was the quidditch stadium's high-rising stands and the hoops on each side of the long pitch. Long-curtained fabric covered each stand in checkered patterns of the four schoolhouses' colors. There were two towering stands for each house and two stands with all four main colors in the center. He imagined the professors and guests claimed the center stands while the children all rushed to claim seats in the stands representing their houses. It was all large enough to house the entire school population at once.

The flying instructor found the first years like that—Salazar holding his nose in the air though the blood had stopped a few minutes before and Neville stifling his laughter, surrounded by the rest of their classmates. "What happened here?" she demanded as she noticed the blood.

"An accident, ma'am," Draco said, though it could be said he was the culprit in the end.

She frowned in disbelief but didn't push the subject when both Salazar and Neville nodded in agreement. "Very well, You may call me Madam Hooch and I will be your flying instructor. I also referee the Quidditch and racing matches." Sharp, hawk-like yellow eyes narrowed over them all. "You will get to know me if you join either team or if you join the causal flying club. Now form two lines, here and here."

Salazar ended up across from Neville, with Draco and Blaise on either side. Madam Hooch handed a broom to each child and had them place it on the ground under their wand hand.

"Everyone hold your hand out like so, palm facing down, fingers spread. Yes, like that." She paused in front of a few children to adjust their hand so the palm was more readily held above the broom handle.

"Now, on the count of three, you will say 'Up!'" Her own broom shot up to her hand, smacking the palm so she reflexively grasped it. She glanced around at the group before she counted to three.

At three, the children called out, said, and even asked, "Up."

Salazar was one of the few that did it correctly. The moment his magic connected with the broom's, the world faded away.

All that mattered was him and the broom. His magic curled around the broom's internal charms. He recognized the cushioning charm, something he would forever toast the creator of and something he had not known about until that moment. The charm was tied to and wrapped protectively around the internal enchantment that held all the spells that made the broom work as well as it did. He quickly recognized three different magical signatures—three wizards had worked on this very broom. Then he was lost amongst the hundreds of charms. There was a feather-light, a floating one, directional stirring, water resistance, and so many more. Some were eroding. A few had failed entirely but were of minor importance in the overall design of the broom.

Salazar forcefully shook himself and drew his focus back to the physical world. Draco gave him an odd look as he stood with his own broom in hand. No one else seemed to notice Salazar's visible reaction. Hogwarts pushed a breath of warm assurance through their bond.

Two other Slytherins, Greengrass and Blaise, had also succeeded with their broom summoning. One of the Gryffindor girls, a cute Indian lass that Salazar could have sworn belonged in Ravenclaw, had also gotten her broom to respond properly. (She was cute, as in an adorable girl-child with the looks required to get anything and everything she desired with a simple pout—not as in he thought she was fetching...Salazar couldn't believe he was having this internal exposition with himself...He was stopping.)

The eleven-year-old, ancient wizard called out to Neville when he noticed the Gryffindor struggling. "You need to order it, not beseech it."

Hermione shot him a dirty look, which was when he realized she had been in the middle of saying something to Neville herself. Neville looked at Salazar and then at his broom before he held his hand out once more and followed Salazar's instructions. His broom floated up. It wasn't quite as fast as it could have been but it had obeyed.

"Hermione, maybe you should try Harry's idea," Neville offered the bushy-haired girl, "If it doesn't work, we could try yours after."

She huffed in annoyance and began to ramble, "But according to Quidditch Through the Ages we are supposed to call to it as if calling a friend. In chapter fourteen–"

"Alright, everyone with their broom, take to a mounted position. Everyone else, start over at the beginning. Hands, palms down!" called Madam Hooch, interrupting the muggleborn. Then she went over each successful student's mounted position and adjusted those that needed it.

Draco had started his own ramblings about his years of experience before she forced him to change his position to his embarrassment. Salazar was startled to learn that he was a 'natural'. How one was a natural at sitting on a broom, he didn't really want to know. He had avoided brooms ever since that one trip to Africa. It was the most painful form of travel he had ever experienced but it had also been the quickest way to the bloody lions.

Never again. Godric and he had had a pact on that. He was probably laughing his ass off watching Salazar be forced onto another ball pincher. Salazar shook his head to clear that particular description from his thoughts. He didn't need the concept at the forefront at the moment. Anyway, the cushioning charm should remove that issue entirely. He hoped.

Finally, all the students succeeded in calling their brooms to their hands and learned the proper mounting position. Madam Hooch announced the next step, at another count of three they were all to push off the ground and hoover before tilting the handle back down to settle back to the ground. It was technically simple enough.

Multiple children were clearly on the verge of panicking, though.—It was clear at that moment which child had grown up in the magical world and which had not.

Madam Hooch didn't seem to notice or care to notice. Salazar wasn't sure which but he didn't care for the lack of consideration. Brooms could be extremely dangerous.

Salazar purposely pushed off when she called out 'two'. He had intended to break the anticipation weighing on the children by drawing Hooch's attention and ire. He hadn't expected Neville to push off in a panic and shoot past him. Salazar responded on instinct. He grabbed onto the boy, pushed his magic into the child, and interrupted the connection between child and broom.

He hadn't meant to feel the child's magic nor the taint, the vile wrap of uncleansed magic clinging to Neville. It was a heavy, off-putting drag that left the boy's magic straining to draw out of his core and connect to the broom in the first place. It made it extremely simple to disturb the connection and claim the broom as his.

Salazar couldn't help but wonder how hard it was for the boy to connect with his wand. And that was something that chose the boy—was as compatible as most anything could be with one's magic.

Instinct and the need to check for any other damage had the founder push past the taint and brush his magic against the boy's. A burning warmth, the taste of pine, and the smell of campfire filled his senses. It was both alluring and strangely familiar. Salazar was drawn to Neville's magic like a moth to the flame, which had never occurred before. He forced himself from looking closer as he recalled what he was actually supposed to be doing.

The Hogwarts founder redirected his attention to the matter at hand and carefully directed both brooms towards the ground—one physically, the other magically. They landed safely. Neville crumbled to his knees, visibly shaking. Hooch grabbed Salazar's robe collar to berate him for not listening to instructions.

Madam Hooch seemed to think they had planned it, somehow connecting it to the earlier incident she hadn't actually seen. In the end, both Slytherin and Gryffindor were docked ten points and they were forced back into line. Neville refused to leave Salazar's side but Draco and Blaise, at a sharp look from Salazar, simply made room for the Gryffindor.

The second countdown revealed a largely cowed group of children who very tentatively pushed off the ground, barely rose a few inches before settling back onto the grass. It wasn't how Salazar had wanted to help the terrified children but he supposed it served its purpose all the same.

About half the class happily accepted the out Madam Hooch offered as she finally realized she had missed something and told the hesitant children to practice calling the broom to their hands some more. The children that had some idea what to do were directed to hover higher and higher until they all could float a good ten feet off the ground. Then she gave the quarter of the class successfully floating permission to free fly at that height while she worked with the larger group.

"Potter, care for a race?" called out Draco as he flew around the quidditch pitch with Blaise. Both boys had forgotten their need to ignore him in their excitement at free flying.

Salazar turned away from his hawk-like watch over Neville. He couldn't get the feel of uncleansed taint and campfire warmth off himself. All his instincts screamed to take Neville to the closest grove and perform a purification even though it wasn't the proper time and wouldn't actually do anything. Maybe he should look up the other forms of purifying magic. There were other options besides the druidic lunar-based one, he had just never learned them. Illiteracy and the lack of masters that knew them was cause for the loss of many magical arts but another option must be documented somewhere. He just had to find it.

A cleansing pool would help but, at most, it would loosen the taint. Neville would have to constantly use the cleansing pool to have any noticeable difference. The founder had no idea what had been done to the two he had for his ritual class. It was something he would have to ask the other founders...or Hogwarts. Helena might know too.

"Potter?" Draco repeated.

"A race?" he said as he dragged his thoughts to the present. Salazar frowned over at the other boys as he paused to rub at one of his forearms. Raised skin had him take a peek. Looked like he had been bitten by multiple bugs. A score of tiny red dots had spread. The founder sighed and tugged his sleeve over the developing rash.

Draco grinned, "First one to the other end–" He pointed to the very opposite side of the quidditch pitch. "–wins."

"Wins what?" asked Greengrass as she flew into their floating circle.

Draco scoffed at her, "This is between us boys. It's not like you have any chance at beating us."

"I think us girls have plenty of a chance at it," countered the Indian girl as she joined their group. Her striped Gryffindor leggings almost glowed in the sunlight. Far brighter and too cheerful for the reserved group of Slytherins but was exactly like a bold Gryffindor.

Not that that bothered Greengrass as she floated over to the Gryffindor's side and smirked at the boys. Her pale features and deep green stockings contrasted with the Gryffindor and Salazar tilted his head in wonder, again considering all the change found in this world. "Girls win and you all will carry our things to all our classes for the next week."

Draco sneered. "Boys win and you both have to wear each other's house colors. Same amount of time."

Salazar raised a brow at that and glanced at his ruby undershirt. "Is that supposed to be a win for us?"

The eleven-year-olds stared at him. Draco sighed while Blaise rolled his eyes.

The Gryffindor grinned as she snarked out, "Most people have some house pride, Potter."

"I have house pride!"

"Says the snake in ruby red." Laughed the girl before she tilted her broom towards the end goal. "Let's race!" Then she was gone.

"Hey!" cried Draco as he and the other two Slytherins shot off after the Gryffindor. Salazar scowled after the children and wondered why he even tried before he leaned forward and flew after them all.

The rush of wind ruffled through his curly mess of black hair, tugged at his robes, and sang in a way he had never experienced before. He felt free and alive. All that mattered was him and the air. Every responsibility, every concern, and plan faded away from his thoughts. Salazar flattened against the broom as he instinctively pushed the broom harder, faster. His magic unfurled about him in a way he had never done before (but instinctively knew was right). The air responded. Resistance faded and an extra push pressed against his broom's tail.

This was nothing like that trip to Africa.

This was something he'd come back to again and again.

This was freedom.

A curtained wall forced Salazar to snap his handle up. He went vertical. His feet skimmed against the blue and bronze cloth. It seemed only natural to continue the tilt and suddenly he was flying upside down.

A whistle blow snapped through his thoughts and he rolled the broom so he could sit up. Salazar was considerably higher than ten feet.

"Potter!" screeched Madam Hooch.

Salazar looked down and flashed a sheepish grin at the woman. The entire class was watching him from fifty feet down, possibly more. "Ah, to the inevitable," he muttered to himself before he tilted the handle down and guided his broom into a gentle slope to the ground.

"I...got caught up in the moment?" he offered as he landed in front of her.

Unamused, Hooch snapped out, "Twenty points from Slytherin and detention with Filch!"

oooP5ooo

Thirty points down from a flying class led Salazar to the Hufflepuff table at dinner. He was sure the Gryffindors would celebrate his return visit but his Slytherin peers would likely murder him in his sleep if he went back to the house of the brave so soon after such a loss of points. So he returned to the house of the loyal and justice-driven badgers. They were unlikely to push his housemates to murder from his interaction with them.

Of course, he had not taken into account the very Gryffindorish Hufflepuff named Ronald Weasley. That boy might wear yellow and black but he was raised by lions. It would take a good year or two before the child understood and emulated the quiet diligence of Helga's house.

Now, in the present moment, the redhead crowed out for the entire hall to hear. "Thirty points from the slimy Slytherins! That's bloody brilliant mate!"

Salazar stilled, half on the bench. He stared at Ronald for a long moment, then got back up and walked away. The founder ignored the various calls to return. Hufflepuff was out. His emerald eyes turned to his last resort. Bronze and blue, quick-witted Ravenclaw called to him. Salazar took only a moment to spy one of the two Ravenclaws he knew by name and strolled over to the group of first years.

With no hesitation, Salazar Slytherin slid into the spot beside Anthony Goldstein. "Anthony! How are you this fine evening?" he asked, "Did you have a chance to read the next chapter?" Salazar picked up his cup of mint tea, as it had just materialized along with a dinner of roasted trout and potatoes. "For defense." He added when he received no response.

Anthony sat bug-eyed beside Salazar.

The founder gazed at the startled boy for a moment longer before he helpfully shifted the attention back to himself and offered a hand to the girl he sat with in charms. Finally, he might actually learn her name. "We never had a chance to properly introduce ourselves, have we? Harry Potter."

The girl squeaked, turned bright pink, and tucked her hands under her glasses and over her eyes before she dropped her forehead to the table. Salazar blinked down at the poor girl in surprise but quickly pivoted in his seat to offer his still extended hand to the girl beside the hiding one.

A very familiar Indian girl took his hand and responded with clear amusement. "Padma Patil."

Salazar frowned, "Aren't you a Gryffindor?"

She smiled. "No, that's my sister Parvati."

"Ah."

"Uh," the girl besides Padma said with a quick, self-conscious wave, "Isobel–I'm Isobel MacDougal!"

Salazar smiled kindly at the child and rose to take her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Isobel was clearly British just like Padma, by her accent, but her ancestry was excotic from the Isles. Part of him very much wanted to ask as while she had red hair, which he considered a sign of Viking heritage, she had features he hadn't seen in his previous life. Of course, she wasn't the only one.—His curiosity was about to get the better of him so he tried to hold back questions even though Ravenclaws were the most likely group who wouldn't care. They all had their own questions, insensitive and otherwise, that they pursued too.

A loud squeak escaped the girl still curled up and hiding. He glanced down at her, relieved for the distraction, before he sent a beseeching look at Padma. She shared a look with Isobel before they offered twin shrugs. Salazar was sure they knew the girl's problem but felt no need to explain.

"So Potter, " the boy on the other side of Anthony said, "Did you really get detention in flying class of all things?"

"Well yes. I also won a race, though." Salazar admitted, unable to hide his amusement at that fact. Of course, Draco had made it out like he was the one who won after class. He was also the one making certain the girls followed through with their side. Greengrass stuck out from here in ruby red accents. "And you are?"

"Stephan Cornfoot." the boy offered before he nodded at the hiding girl, "That's Sue Li. She has all your adventure books."

The poor girl made another helpless squeak.

"Have you really flown on a dragon?" asked the boy Salazar had squeezed by to sit beside Anthony.

"Err.." Salazar offered, unsure what to say to that. Technically yes. He had flown on a dragon if one could count clinging onto one for dear life while screaming death to Godric. It was the absolute worst way to regain one's sobriety. He wouldn't recommend it.

But Salazar was almost certain the boy was asking about his adventure book, Harry Potter and the Golden Dragon. In which case, it would be a resounding no and not just because the dragon was a made-up breed in the book.

The boy didn't take offense at the lack of response. Instead, he leaned back so he could offer his hand. "Mark Prewett, sixth year. It doesn't seem like something a four-year-old would do or be capable of but since you're here I thought I'd ask."

"Start with the simple questions right?" laughed a boy seated beside Mark, who was perfectly identical to him.

"Well, it was my favorite growing up!" claimed Mark defensively, "Why don't you ask about Harry Potter and the Sands of Time, eh?"

His brother colored. "Shut it, you—time travel doesn't work that way."

Salazar flicked his gaze between the two. Identical and red-headed. Identical but no freckles. "Are you related to the Weasleys?"

Identical eyebrows rose. The one he hadn't been introduced to asked in turn, "Which ones? The Weasley Family is huge, mate."

"And how closely related? 'Cause technically we're all probably related," added Mark, "As long as you got some pureblood ancestor."

"Are there more than Arthur Weasley's children here?" Salazar asked as he had the sudden feeling he didn't actually want to know. It seemed a little like pandora's box, imagining the number of redheads that might appear.

The identical Prewett brothers blinked in tandem and shared a thoughtful look. "You know," offered Mark, "I don't think there are this year."

"Charlie graduated last year," agreed the other Prewett, "But he was another of Uncle Arthur's."

"Edward was a year younger but he was a seventh year still, right?"

"Technically, I think Charlie was old for his class—born after the cut-off for the year before."

"Right," interrupted Stephan. The boy clicked his cup to draw attention while the sixth-years continued to debate with themselves. "Potter, have you had any extracurricular training?"

"Why'd he have that?" asked yet another boy.

Anthony finally entered the conversation. "Well, 'cause he's Potter. Really, Kevin, you need to catch up quicker. You've been a part of the magical world for months now."

"It can take years for muggleborns to integrate into society," admonished an older girl with a prefect badge as she wandered over to their group, "Don't be so rude. You should help them, not insult them." She turned her attention to Salazar. "Don't cause any problems or you're out. Got that Potter?"

Kevin was red with embarrassment. Salazar frowned at the condescension and decided to speak up, "You do realize that muggleborns are perfectly capable of intelligent thought. They happen to require a balance between school and culture studies for a time. It's not that they are slow in comprehension. I'd like to see you do any better with the muggle world and all their technology."

The girl puffed up in indignation, "I happen to take muggle studies, Potter. I know plenty about muggle technology. I bet you've never heard of a typewriter!"

"Penelope, over here!"

The prefect turned at the call and lit up. She flashed a sharp look at him and ordered, "No funny business, Potter!" Then she scurried off.

Salazar sighed and dug into his food now that everyone was distracted. He had forgotten how painful some Ravenclaws could be. He should have just accepted the potential poisoning attempt at his house table. It would have been far more peaceful.

"We are."

The founder blinked owlishly over at Mark, swallowed his bite of food, and asked, "What?"

The Prewett smirked. "We are related to Arthur Weasley's brood. Molly Weasley, his wife, is our aunt. Our father is her younger brother."(5)

"Oh," Salazar responded before he tilted his head inquisitively, "Are twins a Prewett thing then?" One of the seven Houses had been known for twins. Prouet could be Prewett, couldn't it? He turned to Padma. "You related to them all also?"

"Yes, actually," confirmed Mark in clear amusement even as Padma shook her head in denial.

"My family is from India. Papa is one of the Indian representatives for the Estates," Padma explained.

"Estates?" Salazar asked.

"It's part of the Wizengamot," she explained.

He nodded, recalling a few past Potters had been elected to seats. "You mean the Assembly of Estates, the elected side of the government. A few Potters have been elected to it. Is it very large?"

"Well, yes, it is," Padma said slowly, "It's the section for all representatives of the colonies, territories, and dominions of the empire."(6)

Salazar closed his eyes as he reevaluated his historical understanding of the present globe. "You mean that magical Britain didn't lose its global territories?"

"Egypt was the last to separate in 1952 so there are only 294 seats now. Makes the Estates a nice magical number. It was terribly uncomfortable before but Egypt likes their sets of five. Should never have been allowed..." Mark rambled.

Padma looked at Salazar strangely and asked over the older boy's ramblings, "Why would we have?"

Kevin made a helpless sound, clearly understanding Salazar's position. Salazar rubbed his forearm, while trying not to scratch the bug bites, as he considered the concept of an existing, magical, British Empire. "Magical Britain is entirely separate from the muggle government then?"(7)

"Well of course, why'd we have a muggle rule over us? Our rule has always been the Wizards Council before it was expanded to include the Warlocks Circle and the Estates," said Mark.

"You know, the three parts of the Wizengamot?" added Mark's brother.

"And muggleborns or muggle raised?" Salazar asked, "How is their situation handled?"

Mark's still unnamed brother answered, "They've dual citizenship, I think. I'd have to review our studies."

"Why'd you know all this anyway?" asked Kevin. "I mean, are you going into government when you graduate?"

"They're from a House," Anthony said quickly, clearly attempting to reenter the conversation when he had little to contribute. The other first years sat listening in with varying interest.

"I'm father's heir for House Prewett," answered Mark with a nod to Anthony. He smacked his brother's back as he added, "Tristan is my heir presumptive till I knock a lass up."

Tristan elbowed his brother for the tactless statement and added, "Father is heir presumptive. The official one, I mean. Pater might be old as dirt but I guess he could remarry and sire a son still."

The first years, the real eleven-year-olds, all gained various repulsed or confused expressions at the sixth years' statements. Salazar internally groaned and celebrated all at once—he didn't have to give any sex talks to children anymore. Thank the gods for the little things.

"So," Kevin said, as he chose to pursue knowledge like a proper Ravenclaw where other children would change subjects in hopes of a safer conversation. "There's nobles, dukes, and such in the magical world?"

"Not in Britain," Mark countered.

Tristan explained as his brother helpfully took a large bite of dinner after his short answer, "We've forty-nine Houses who make up the Wizard's Council which has ruled magical Britain since time innumerable. Their vows to rule and protect are entwined with Britannian magic, with Mother Magic and the Isles herself. But they've no physical land gifted to them through the magical rule. Some of them have worked closely with the various muggle monarchies and have gained land and titles through that avenue. Others have large sweeps of land from over a thousand years of personal effort."

He paused to take a swig of pumpkin juice before he continued to explain. (Salazar paused in eating to marvel at all the various notebooks and scrolls suddenly being scribbled in all around him.) "Of course, some of the Houses barely exist. I mean, House Slytherin and House Ravenclaw have no Head, have no family members at all but their seats still stand by the demands of magical Britannia. Any House can fall to their status. House Gryffindor is the latest to fall with the main branch dying out during the Grindelwald conflict and the single branch member accepted by the House magicks being executed by death eaters in the 70s..." Tristan paused in his rant, seemed to realize that he had gotten off-topic, and added, "Eh, any that gained a muggle nobility lost it when we separated ourselves through the Statute of Secrecy, though."

"You'll have to research for more detail on that," Mark added, interrupting Kevin before he could ask another question. "We are entirely separate from the muggles. That's all we know on the subject, honest. We'll personally never interact with the muggle government—not on any level that knowing about nobilities and such will matter."

"But," Salazar finally spoke up, a particular issue nagging at his conscience almost as much as the bug bites on his forearms, "Do you mean that when the death eaters were killing muggles, they were attacking a foreign nation?"

"Well, I suppose," Tristan offered, "But it's not exactly the same since we sort of share most of the same land."

"How does that work?" demanded Kevin.

The Prewetts shared a look and then shrugged. They clearly had no idea.

Salazar frowned at the potential headache sitting with Ravenclaws had brought up. This was why he was keeping his studies focused on Hogwarts and academic matters. This wasn't supposed to come up until he had taken care of Hogwarts and the damned scar of his. (His history studies would have revealed it eventually but he had hoped to have some things taken care of before then.)

He finished his tea and stared forlornly down at it, wishing it was a tankard of Helga's mead or ale instead of a cute little cup of tea. The tea-leafed bumblebee seemed to wink at him before its stinger and wings elongated into a lion's tail and legs.

The founder should have just sat with his fellow Slytherins.

oooP6ooo

Salazar followed Madam Hooch's directions to Filch's office. An inscribed door plaque with Argus Filch announced his destination on the ground floor. Beside it was a framed list titled Forbidden Objects within Hogwarts Halls. A quick check found the door locked. Salazar glanced over the forbidden list as he waited. (The vast majority came from Zonko's prank shop.)

A few minutes later and a meow drew his attention. Mrs. Norris, the most reviled cat Salazar had ever heard of, stared up at him. He hadn't had any issues with the creature but he could only assume Hogwarts was the reason for that. Though he could imagine Omorose staking her claim and making it clear with Mrs. Norris that Salazar was off limits.

"Potter." wheezed Filch as he shuffled over to his office, "Breaking the rules already? Just like your father then."

Salazar watched the hunch-shouldered man as he unlocked his door and, with a sort of jerking motion, lifted and opened it. Filch grumbled under his breath about jammed doors and hinges that needed oiling. That was something Salazar knew was covered by Helga's maintenance charm enchantments. (The founder internally sighed at another item to look over and fix.)

Filch shuffled into his office, dumped some items onto a mess of a desk, and vanished into a connecting room. Salazar slowly took a step into the dingy space. There were no windows. A single lamp lit dust particles, grime-covered cabinets, and reflected off a set of well-oiled chains and manacles. The room wasn't particularly large and the floor-to-ceiling cabinets, piles of parchment, and the overly large desk with its moth-eaten chair took up most of the space.

The cabinets were marked. One partly opened cabinet was filled with a plethora of objects and had a peeling tag that stated Confiscated and Highly Dangerous. It was likely items from the forbidden list. He could spy a number of brightly colored and branded Zonko objects.

Two other cabinets, filing ones this time, were marked with tags. He read S.O. Black, R.J. Lupin, P.A. Pettigrew, and J.E. Potter on one cabinet. The other had two tags, though there were four drawers, F.L. Weasley and G.T. Weasley. From Filch's earlier remark, Salazar assumed the Potter drawer was all about his father. This left a single filing cabinet for other students' documented misdemeanors.

He turned away, amused. What did students get up to, to have that much paperwork on themselves?

"My sweet!" Filch called from the other room, "Come eat dinner."

Mrs. Norris mewled a warning at him before she prowled into the other room.

A bright purple flier caught his attention. The founder glanced in the direction Filch had vanished off in. He could hear the muffled sounds of the man talking to his cat but no indicator that he was returning. Salazar shifted closer to the desk and glanced at the parchment.

ooo

Want to surprise your loved ones? Wish to amaze your co-workers?

We're looking for the ambitious wizard or witch who wants to expand their repertoire, break through obstacles that have kept them from advancement, or need that particularly difficult passing O.W.L..

Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Developed to aid the frustrated and hardworking average witch and wizard who find themselves avoiding spellwork that gives them trouble.

Think you'll benefit from the Kwikspell method? Owl today!

ooo

Someone wrote in the margins of the colorful ad, Heard lots of supposed squibs are having success and thought of you. — XOXO, IP.

Salazar's eyebrows shot up. The hated and feared caretaker was a squib. Why would the headmaster employ a squib? It seemed like a dangerous position for a non-magical. Whole parts of the school required a core to operate correctly. The very stairs reacted for a person on them but noticed that person through the innate magic they possessed. How Filch was even brought into the school when the illusionary protections would have shown him a ruin and compulsed him to leave boggled Salazar's mind.

"Right, then–" Salazar backed up from the desk and watched as Filch reappeared. The pasty-faced elder glared down at Salazar as he shuffled towards the door. "–To the trophy room. Peeves set off another Zonkos bomb the other day. Smells like a bloody skunk was let loose and there's purple paint everywhere. You're going to clean it all up." He paused and snapped his head back towards Salazar. "No magic!"

He glared through slitted eyes for a long moment before he nodded to himself and returned to his slow shuffle towards the stairs. "Punishment'll take the rest of the evening. Then you'll know not to break another rule. Eh? Hard work and pain are the best teachers, I say. If only the old punishments hadn't been banned. Chain the fool children up to the ceiling by their wrists, leave them there for a few days, and they learned their lesson right quick, I say. But Dumbledore doesn't like that."

Filch glanced back down at Salazar once more as they waited for the stairs to reach their floor. "All's gone soft now. Washing cauldrons and shining trophies do nothing to a brat's character and it's their character that needs proper shining…" He shook his head. "You best learn your lesson now. If you keep going like your father, I'll pull out the chains for you. I've got them oiled and ready. Don't you forget!"

Salazar nodded in understanding and the old man finally fell silent. The eleven-year-old watched the squib's back thoughtfully as they traversed the moving stairs to the third floor. Draco's earlier words about squibs, about Neville, and the residue of magic he had felt wrapped around the Gryffindor's magic circled his thoughts. Mrs. Figg had a similar clogged-up core.

Neville had been considered a squib but wasn't. Mrs. Figg made the world think of her as a simple muggle retiree. What if she was considered a squib too? What if uncleansed magical residue was the true marker of a squib instead of them not having magic at all?

Argus Filch was a squib. Salazar could answer all, or almost all his questions, with a simple check of the man's core. The Slytherin founder took the final minutes to the trophy room debating. Eventually, he was going to run into someone who could feel him connect to their magic. How likely was it that Filch would be that person?

Minimal, Salazar decided. And if the man noticed, he was unlikely to know what he was feeling nor how intrusive and rude it was. Or how dangerous it could be for him. Of course, it wasn't like Salazar was going to harm the man.

Decided, the founder of Hogwarts prepared himself. Luckily, he had eventually figured out how to glance for a core when he had investigated all his fellow schoolchildren over the years. He wouldn't get details but he'd get enough information from a glance. He would have seconds to connect unless he wanted to draw attention to himself.

In the trophy room, the caretaker led Salazar over to the section covered in paint and picked up a bucket of tools. "Fill it up with soapy water—hot, obviously. And get a scrubbing."

Salazar took the bucket and purposely brushed his hand against the elder's own. Oppression flooded his senses. The founder ignored the feeling and pushed through the residue and taint. Iron and polished metal flashed through his senses as he connected to the supposed squib's core. Then Filch moved his hand away and the feeling went with it. But it was enough.

Argus Filch was no squib.

oooPooo

1. The Library of Alexandria is rather famous for being burned by Julius Caesar in 48 BC, though I think it's generally believed to have been rebuilt soon after and not entirely destroyed during the accidental burning of it. The library was part of the Alexandrian Museum complex, held between 200k-700k books, and was believed to have been broken up across the museum complex in at least two sections. One section was burned by Caesar, as already stated. The other was part of a temple of the god Serapis that was destroyed by orders of Roman Emperor Theodosius when declaring Christianity the only legal religion of Rome. Something of the library survived in this story because I've always liked the idea that magic would have saved some of it.

2. This is not canon as Rowling never built out the Potter family tree past Harry's grandparents but as noted in past chapters, I did. I think this is feasible because of the general concept in canon that most purebloods are related to each other. Feel free to ignore it as you want but it is not going away. These relations will pop up in the future from time to time.

3. The Dark ages are called Dark for many reasons.—Mainly because of the lack of information we have found about these centuries which might be because of various book burning, destruction of monasteries etc by people after the "dark ages" but before the 20th century.

One other reason is because from about 4th to the 12th century, Europe was using roman numerals for mathematics and was basically restricted to Boethius' translations of some of the works of ancient Greek masters such as Nicomachus and Euclid. In turn, the Islamic, Indian, and Chinese cultures were in a renaissance. This includes mathematical achievements. For instance, 11th Century Persian Ibn al-Haytham (also known as Alhazen) 'established the beginnings of the link between algebra and geometry, and devised what is now known as "Alhazen's problem" (he was the first mathematician to derive the formula for the sum of the fourth powers, using a method that is readily generalizable)' [copied and pasted from a website because I wanted to make sure I wrote this down correctly.]

4. Hindu numerals (Hindu-Arabic) are the numerals we use today. 1234567890

Thanks to mirobilos for commenting the following - Their shape was slightly different but their purpose and usability would have not changed:

Original form = Modern form

١ = 1

٢ = 2

٣ = 3

٤ = 4

٥ = 5

٦ = 6

٧ = 7

٨ = 8

٩ = 9

٠ = 0

5. Mark and Tristan Prewett are OCs that will appear every once in a while. Like the Weasley clan, the Prewett House has been expanded for world-building purposes

6. So…this is why I shouldn't think too much about how magic can alter history.

Magic makes things easier. Some of the issues the British Empire ran across, at least early on like with the American colonies, stemmed from a lack of representation in the main British government, reliable and up-to-date communication, and keeping a common connection (avoiding the us vs them mentality). Certainly various opinions, conflicts, and actions on both sides affected things also (which this fanfic is not considering as that would change so much of history it would become a very distorted world from cannon). And the allowance of large corporations to play representative of the government, etc. all were issues.

If Britain could magically transport elected officials to their meetings, send communication that wasn't months behind, etc., things would have likely turned out differently. So it did for the magical side of things.—This is glazed over because it's a fanfiction. I am not claiming imperialism a good thing. I just note that it happened and it affected the magical side too.

This is also slightly glazed over in this fanfiction because it's a fanfiction. By no means am I claiming imperialism a good thing. I just note that it happened and it affected the magical side too. That is the extent I expect it to come up. If I wanted to rewrite history to incorporate magic, I'd start from recorded beginnings and go from there...and it would not be fanfiction (and I would never finish it).

7. Yes Magical Britain is entirely separate from muggle Britain in this story. Why? Because magic was pushed to the sidelines and vilified more and more since Salazar's time in the 11th century. Because there was, according to Rowling, a Wizard's Council since about Salazar's time (or earlier)—which appears to be a basic form of government specific for magicals. Because magicals, across the entire globe, hide in 1692 under the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. (Salem Witch Trials and Massacre of Glencoe happen in this same time frame.)—you know what happened after that statue? The founding of the Bank of England. The creation of the Ministry of Magic in 1700. The signing of the Treaty of Union in 1706 between England and Scotland that led to the creation of Great Britain and the UK. The States declaration of Independence in 1776. Etc.

I think the real question should be, in many cases, why would a magical society that has been separate and governed by their own since at least the 11th century give a flying leap about what muggles are fighting over or doing? Why should they care when the muggle world doesn't know they exist beyond fairy tales? Why wouldn't the magicals ignore the muggle world and in turn jump at using the muggle's colonization to their advantage, to do the same?