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)

3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

oooP1ooo

Salazar paused as he looked through the stack of mail. He had almost passed over it. There was another three weeks before his eleventh birthday so the one letter he knew would come still had time to make an appearance. Yet, here was an envelope of thick parchment.

Non-magicals didn't use parchment anymore.

It was a simple matter to slip the thick letter into his cupboard as he headed to the kitchen. It was only after he cleaned up from breakfast, cared for his aunt's first prize garden (he rather enjoyed the recognition of his efforts), mowed, washed the company-owned car (finding a ten-pounder and spare change in the process), took out the trash, and made lunch that he was able to open the letter though.

Salazar curled up on his small cot—almost too small now—in the cupboard under the stairs and pulled the door closed. A brush of fingers across one of his glasses temples lit the cupboard in sunlight. He traced the fine emerald ink as he reread the envelope's front. The ten-year-old was unsure what to make of the details presented.(1)

ooo

To: Harry James Potter

Number 4 Privet Drive, Cupboard Under the Stairs

Little Whinging, Surrey

ooo

The other side of the envelope had a familiar seal stamped in the same deep green ink. Green letters spelling 'Hogwarts' and a Latin phrase, referencing a moment in the founder's life best left forgotten, were also present. It was an odd motto.(2) Salazar couldn't help but wonder who had come up with it.

The contents of the envelope were quite telling. He hummed and hawed as he pursued the articles. Evander had been correct, Salazar would have to take up a wand and actually learn how to use it in a classroom setting. Similarly, there was nothing about runes, arithmetic, languages, physical education, or other basics that he would have expected as a founder or from his experience with the modern non-magical education system. By the book selection, it appeared that they would study herbology, history, some type of defensive casting, magical theory, and a class about magical creatures of some type. There were also potions, something that had not been freely shared nor well developed in his time, and a disciple called transfiguration. The telescope indicated astronomy.

Salazar humphed in mild annoyance at the limitations on familiars. One should not separate a child from a familiar. A change in the bylaws would have not been easy but 900 years was plenty of time for someone to achieve it. He was half tempted to hunt down a snake to take along just to see what they tried to do about it.

The reincarnated founder found that he had one question he was particularly interested in having answered as he finished rereading the letter. He supposed he needed to find an owl to have it answered, though. The ten-year-old stuffed the letter into his backpack and pulled out a notebook. Salazar ripped out a line of paper and, after a moment of consideration, wrote in clean, flowing script. He considered the note for a long moment before he added a short remark about his aunt.

ooo

Dear Professor McGonagall,

I am pleased to inform you of my acceptance to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Would you send me details on where to collect the list of required items? My aunt is uncertain of the location.

Sincerely,

Harry James Potter

ooo

After a short review, in which Salazar added a few errors as was his habit during school to keep up childish pretenses, the letter was ready. Outback, an owl helpfully appeared to take it.

Salazar watched it fly away. It was time to finish preparing for the inevitable. He packed his backpack until it was stuffed with clothes and other odds and ends. He took his time but it didn't take long for him to finish, he had been moving things to the grove for months now.

It was time he had a discussion with his (un)loving aunt.

She was lounging in the kitchen, reading some inane magazine. His secondary school clothing steeped in gray dye nearby. It stunk up most of the house and looked like the wrinkled skin of some poor, skinned elephant.

"Aunt Petunia we need to talk," he announced quietly.

She looked up and frowned. Her pale eyes swept up and down and her lips pursed at his demand. "Fine."

"I've received a letter today." Salazar watched as she stiffened. "I've sent back my acceptance."

"We will not pay for some freak school!" she snapped out as she jumped up from her seat, "You're going to Stonewall High."

Salazar paused at that. He didn't have much money, only four or five thousand pounds, mostly coin, he had slowly collected over the six years. (Between his relatives' lax nature about their change, the forgotten caches of money squirreled away by them, and a few handy charms to ping when money was near, it hadn't taken much effort to collect the pounds.) That money was needed elsewhere, especially if he was kicked out. Dumbledore's letter implied he would go either way though. So money couldn't be an issue.

Instead, he latched onto something else to steer her away from issues he had no answers for. "You knew that I'm magical?"

"Knew!?" she shrieked, "Of course, I knew! I made sure Vernon knew too. After how your father acted...Vernon understood what it meant when your teacher's wig changed colors or...or when the electricity died! After my dratted sister got that letter and..and vanished off to some freakshow of a school and came back every holiday to show off what she had learned, I knew. I knew! You were just like them...a freak!"

Salazar watched his aunt rant and rave at him. He couldn't think of anything to say back to her. There was no need to cut her rant off. It didn't matter to him anymore. (A small, little part of him ached as one of his last living relatives spewed hate at him.)

"Get out," she snapped, her entire body trembling with suppressed emotion.

He tilted his head as he regarded her before he stated, "We can not change what we are."

Her jaw clenched and she hissed with pure fury, "End of discussion! I'll have no more freakishness in this house, so out! Out!"

Salazar nodded at her order and left. He grabbed his backpack from his little room and walked out the front door. The ten-year-old pulled on his pendant and swept through the neighborhood. He didn't expect he would ever return. The enchantment would continue to work, continue to hide and protect him no matter where he actually went. His various runic matrices set to help clean and maintain the house would fail in their own time but that was his aunt's problem.

Omorose greeted him with a few soft mewls from her seat on a low branch of the ancient oak. The bag with the bell tent sat at its feet. A large toolbox, drawstring bag stuffed to near bursting, and a couple of large planter pots sat waiting.

It took some effort, being only ten, to pull the tent together on his own but he managed. (He could have used magic but he needed to do something physical after that conversation.) The pile of blankets and pillows from the drawstring bag was pulled out and turned into a nest in one corner of the round tent. He pulled the stack of canned food from a planter and stacked them inside. One of the planter pots was rolled off to the side of the grove where Salazar took a few minutes to test its runic magic—it being his magic loo. The other pot was rolled about until it was only a few feet from the tent. He set the toolbox beside it and looked around.

There were still multiple things to get but he had all the runic arrays and enchantments mapped out. The loo and sink needed something more permanent for their magic—quartz or similar crystal would do well enough. Depending on money, he might even finalize his plans for extending the tent but it likely made little sense to spend money on much if he was at Hogwarts most of the year.

The boy puttered around his grove, popped open the tool kit to move his small stack of books and larger stack of notebooks into the tent beside his bedding which Omorose had already claimed, folded his overly large clothes into a neat stack near it, and moved the pot-turned-sink a few more times. He attempted to ignore the last nasty words of his aunt.

oooP2ooo

A hoot woke him. Salazar blinked into one of his pillows and groaned. His head was heavy, mind fogged from sleep. A hoot came again. There was an owl. He had no owl.

Salazar tried to sit up only to realize the heavy weight of his head wasn't imagined. A warning rumble vibrated his skull and he groaned at the realization. Omorose was laying on his head.

It took a few minutes but the founder woke up enough to push the kneazle off. The hooting came from an owl seated on top of his stack of books. Salazar ruffled his mess of hair as he yawned and stumbled over to claim the letter.

He squinted at the looping script with a frown. His name, new name—real name?—was written across it. (Salazar made a face at that circle of thoughts and squashed the question of who he was. Sleep deprivation and philosophy should not mix.) He pulled out a short note.

ooo

Dear Mr. Potter,

Your acceptance has been recorded. Please review the map on the other side for directions. If your aunt has any further concerns, a professor can be scheduled to guide you through Diagon Alley.

Also, be mindful of the Statute of Secrecy and neither request directions to the pub nor bring attention to yourself right outside its entrance. There is a large fine for anyone who breaks the international secrecy law and you have no obvious way of knowing who may or may not be magical.

Included is your Gringotts vault key.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Mistress of the Transfiguring Arts

ooo

His brow furrowed as he processed the short warning, his mind slowly woke up properly. This Statute of Secrecy sounded like something he should read up on. It also implied something that could explain so much. The hows and whys gave him a headache though, so the wizard ignored that part of the note for the moment and flipped it over. The map showed Diagon Alley in the heart of London, hidden behind a pub called the Leaky Cauldron.

Salazar set the note aside, tipped the envelope, and stared down at a little gold key. This was probably the answer to how he could pay for his schooling. He huffed and got ready for the day, knowing it was going to be long. He was just glad he was finally old enough no one would bat an eye at him buying a train ticket into the city. (And even if they did, magic was a wonderfully useful thing he'd happily use now that he had a clear direction on where to go.)

oooP3ooo

Diagon Alley wasn't like any shopping center he had been to (not that he had been to any in this day and age). It brought a thrum of pleasure as he followed the bartender's directions to the goblin bank. Magic was on display without concern, without fear.

Children ran through the street with laughter, freely enjoying their innate magic and the beauty it brought to their lives. People walked about in a rainbow of colors, dressed with a flair of magic present in nearly every shopper. Robes, cloaks, hats of all shapes and sizes.—He stared at one woman with what appeared to be a living mushroom on her head for a little too long.—Wands were holstered at their waists, dangled from chains around necks or wrists. People wore makeup that shifted with the light or their mood. Gold and silver and copper jewelry glowed with enchantments. It was an eclectic array of styles and personalities, of cultures clashing and harmonizing in a kaleidoscope of magic.

Salazar spent much of his first few minutes staring at the people. There were so many magicals in one place. He had only seen a similar number at Hogwarts during his last years, and the majority had been children, or during one of the major wizard council meetings. The number wasn't as eye-catching as the diversity. He stared in wonder at one man's afro spelled to look like a storm cloud before a woman stepped out of a bookshop with a headdress made entirely of what appeared to be phoenix feathers. It seemed, much like the non-magical world, the magical one had broken down many of the barriers between cultures and found a way to live together—perhaps not perfect but beautiful in its imperfection all the same.

He flushed as a woman seemingly wrapped in large butterfly wings winked at him. Her slanted eyes sparked with pleasure at his obvious reaction and Salazar internally groaned. His gaze sharply shifted from the people to the alley itself. It was no less colorful.

A sign, Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self-Stirring – Collapsible, hung above a winding stack of cauldrons fitting the descriptions. The sounds of birds echoed out of a darkly lit store with Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy painted across the window. A crowd of children, many Salazar's physical age, had their noses pressed to a store's window. He could hear their exclamations over the displayed broom, 'the new Nimbus Two Thousand—fastest ever–'.

Salazar spotted a shop for robes and other attire, a store of trunks and travel gear, another filled with old and worn books, and an apothecary with more ingredients than he had ever seen; some were so numerous they had been piled into barrels. There was a little cart absolutely covered in hats. A tiny stand with newspapers on display sat near another bookstore. A salesperson shouted out about their everlasting, never melting shaved ice. Yet another called out a deal on fairy wings for 'The finishing spark to a special dessert'. He couldn't catch everything as he traveled down the winding cobblestone road but he certainly tried, unconcerned that his bouncing eyes made him look young.

The boy paused for a moment to take in the magical marble building housing whichever goblin clan ran the bank. His marvel of the world hidden behind a dingy little pub faded as he looked over the austere building. Who thought it was a smart idea to hand over such important aspects of the economy of the Isles to goblins?

Salazar grimaced as he realized that he needed to learn modern economics and find out how goblins worked now. Neither could be the same after a thousand years nor had Salazar had to deal with either often. Goblins had never bothered Hogwarts; they had been too busy with the Council to worry themselves over a minor institution of sanctuary and schooling. Economics had been Gareth's duty; he had been the merchant's son. Salazar had been more than happy to let Gareth handle it all.

Bebother the dead, he thought in disgruntlement as he entered the building with a short glance at a carved poem warning against theft. He had had everything set up nicely before he had died. His duties had consisted of ones he actually had some interest in. Now he had a list far too long and complex for him to get through before school began. Years of work, in fact. Salazar had the sudden realization of exactly what he would be doing at school.

Salazar took in the dark paneled walls, and high ceilings with crystal chandeliers and golden lamps—and came to an obvious conclusion: The goblins had the better part of this deal. The hoveled caves they once haunted had been replaced by every sign of wealth.

He stepped in line for a teller as he watched the goblins dressed in fine fabrics and golden buckles. There were piles of gold, silver, and bronze being weighed. A goblin was even measuring a few excessively large, precious stones. Somehow Salazar didn't think the dwarven clans were particularly happy with his country.

The sharp warning growl of a goblin broke him of his thoughts. Salazar raised his brow at the teller glaring down at him.

"I would like to access my vault," he said as he lifted the key the deputy headmistress had sent. Salazar was particularly interested in the explanation behind her possession of it. If he had to guess, it came back to Dumbledore.

The goblin took it and stared between it and Salazar before shooting out an order. Another goblin appeared to lead Salazar to a side door. A fast, twisting (surprisingly enjoyable) ride in a converted miner's cart saw the ten-year-old in front of a vault deep underground. He saw no discernible identifier but the little key fit all the same. His first thought at the sight of the vault contents was that he shouldn't have to worry about paying for school. He had literal piles of gold, silver, and bronze coins.

"The conversions today?" Salazar asked as he took the offered pouch, eyes stuck on the piles of coins. Likely, he would have some bronze coins removed for the use of said pouch but he'd accept that for convenience.

"One galleon is 5.23 pound sterling," growled out the goblin.

The ten-year-old stilled. His eyes snapped over to the piles of gold coins as he correctly assumed the largest coins were the galleons. It seemed like an odd conversion with the coins so thick but perhaps they were just gold plated. Salazar took the conversion in mind as he packed as many coins the pouch would hold, hoping it would be a decent reference for the cost of things.

Salazar looked through the vault for anything beyond the coin. A small chest was hidden in the very back which had multiple compartments. One thin drawer had six wands laid out on velvet. Names were etched on gold plates, James Edmund Potter, Fleamont Edmund Potter, Henry Charles Potter, Charles Felix Potter, Felix Henry Potter, and Henry Emery Potter.(3) There was space for at least eight more wands. Salazar trailed his fingers over them but none felt right, like a wand should.

The next compartment held velvet jewelry boxes with parchment tags tied to them. Salazar picked up the first and read the tag. Charles Felix Potter & Dorea Vega Potter nee Black. He popped the box open and stared down at three gold rings. One had a large diamond on it surrounded by tiny blue stones, probably sapphires. These were wedding and engagement rings.

Salazar closed the box and looked over the tags of the others, gaze searching without much conscious thought for a specific pair of names. He had to pick up a few to read the tags until he found it. James Edmund Potter & Lily Claire Potter nee Evans. Salazar held the box and just stared down at its deep red velvet. Inside had to be his parents' wedding rings. He had never had anything of his parents, in either life. Until now.

A mix of feelings twisted about in him as he opened the little box. At first glance, the three rings were classic, simple gold bands. It took a moment of staring to see the design. He pulled out the larger ring and rolled it about. The male's ring, his father's ring, was etched with a deer's antlers. As he turned the ring full circle he found a lily etched in the gold, nestled between the two ends of the antlers. A glance at his mother's wedding band showed it was etched with lilies. It was the engagement ring where the antler motif reappeared. A moderately sized diamond was set at the center with three little emeralds coming off it like leaves. The band had the antlers etched in and the ends rose up from the gold band to hold the diamond "flower" in place as part of its setting.

The boy carefully placed each ring back into the case after looking them over. Any of these rings would allow a more stable foundation for the various magics of his new home. These could be a powerful conductor for a whole array of magic but they weren't just diamond and gold. These were his parents' rings. The others could be his grandparents'. They were at least some relatives. He didn't know any of them but it didn't seem right to use any of these for any old magic.

He forced himself to set the little box back. If he wasn't going to use it, he should not take it—even though a large part of him wanted to.

A third compartment held more jewelry boxes. There were multiple pearl necklaces, a sapphire pendant that matched Dorea Potter's engagement ring, a mess of bracelets, chains, and earrings. All were for a woman. Salazar couldn't help but claim a gold chain—the thickest he could find in the mess of boxes, which was terribly delicate looking—and return to his parents' rings.

He could barely feel the chain as he secured it around his neck. His parents' rings dangled and glinted in the torchlight. Salazar tucked them under his shirt, self-conscious of his foolish, spontaneous actions. Yet plans whirled through his mind, already working out how best to strengthen the delicate chain and protect the precious cargo from thieves.

The fourth and final compartment had a scroll, which revealed a family tree titled Domus Potter. It was limited as it showed only the path of the eldest in the family. Any that had siblings gave a short note on the number of male and female children. The only exception was where the eldest line died out and the second or third child took on the family headship. It started with Linfred the Potterer and ended with him. Interestingly, the scroll had his name as Salazar Harry James Potter Slytherin, Pater of Slytherin.

Salazar's brow rose in amusement. Slytherin.

He supposed that the council had turned his epithet into his House's name. His lips curled up into a smirk. He had been gifted the epithet 'thǣrin Sley', as in Salazar, thǣrin Sley. In modern English, it was Salazar, there in Sly. At some point, someone had decided it sounded better as Salazar Sleythǣrin and time seemed to have shifted it to Slytherin.(4)

Did this mean Godric's epithet had been turned into his House name too? Salazar sniggered at the thought. Gods be good—It had to be true, he thought, the poor man.

The ten-year-old shook the thought away with a soft chuckle. He glanced back to his name before he looked up to the names right above. James Edmund Potter and Lily Claire Potter nee Evans—his parent's names, as he had thought. All he needed now was to find a picture of the couple. He was drawn once more to his name and amusement bubbled back up. Salazar placed the scroll back where it belonged. There was no reason to carry it around.

When he returned to the surface, he collected a short pamphlet on Gringott's vaults, conversion rates, and the modern coin. The boy spent the better part of the day dodging through the crowds to reach one store or another. He first searched the likely stores for some type of bag that could carry the majority of his purchases.

The satchel he found was made of durable black dragonhide with inner pockets capable of carrying hundreds of stones of weight without it being obvious. Even better was that he could separate each into different pockets. One would be for books, another clothing, one of the smaller would be for instruments like the telescope and potion material. Pleasantly, there was a parchment holder, built to hold all the loose-leaf parchments in a tight stack and a couple of quill holders besides an inkpot one. Finally, there was a single, outer pouch without any enchantments so he could carry small, heavily enchanted items that couldn't be placed within the bag's own enchantments.

After that, the rest of the required—and not so required—material was purchased. Salazar sped through Potage's Cauldron Shop, Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, and Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary. He spent a foolish amount of time in Scribbulus Writing Instruments debating between the traditional quill over the modern fountain pen. He ended up with both, and also picked out a variety of quality parchments, scrolls, notebooks, and an inscribing tool set that appeared useful for magically powered inscription work.

Salazar debated over the clothing stores as he enjoyed a scoop of bread pudding ice cream for lunch. He ended up in Twilfitt and Tattings where he had a variety of basic tunics, trousers, under-robe versions of said tunics and trousers, and a few robes ordered before he found out that the Hogwarts robes could only be purchased at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

He was pleased by his original choice when he finished with Madam Malkin's. Only minor fittings were done with his Hogwarts robes before he was ushered out by the busy seamstress. Twilfitt and Tattings clothes would fit him exactly and were spelled for minor growth spurts. Of course, he had no wait before he could wear the Madam Malkin's robes while he had to return in a week or two for the other clothing.

The quick service at Madam Malkin's was why he purchased a few other simple tunics. The possibility of wearing something that fit sooner was too good an opportunity, even if the items weren't as well done as his clothing from Twilfitt and Tattings would be. Both stores had their uses which he'd keep in mind in the future.

The reincarnated founder took one look at Flourish and Blotts and fled the ridiculous crowd for one of the multiple second-hand bookstores. It took a good few hours and a visit to each shop but Salazar succeeded in finding a decent copy of each required book and a slew of others he found interesting. Some version of Hogwarts: A History made it into his collection after he had opened the first page and saw that Godric had been given the House name Gryffindor.(5) (Salazar may have laughed out loud in pure joy at the sight.)

Salazar left Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. for last as he wasn't in a particular hurry to receive a wand. The family business had been around in the 11th century, though the physical shop hadn't been. All the founders had gotten their wands from the Ollivander of the time. It was a standard beginner's tool. Salazar had been one of the group that had gotten his for the simplicity of training apprentices in accessing their magic while others had received their wands back when they had been children themselves.

The interior of the store was dusty and dully lit. Stacks and stacks of long, narrow boxes sat on shelves. A heavy weight of magic settled onto his shoulders. He could feel wand magics reach out to brush his skin—tasting him, judging him.

A prickle across the nap of his neck warned Salazar before a brush of breath slid across the same area and the Ollivander of this time said, "Good evening."

Salazar turned to meet startling silver, moon-like eyes. "Evening, sir."

The Ollivander tilted his head in interest as a tape measure began to float around the ten-year-old. "You've your mother's eyes. Wonderful girl, took me a good half hour to match her. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

He stepped closer, silver eyes tracing Salazar's face. "Your father favored an eleven-inch mahogany wand. Pliable. Had a little more power, particularly suited for transfiguration...Of course, it's the wand that chooses the wizard—not the other way around."

Salazar took a sharp step back as the old man reached out for his forehead. The wandmaker dropped his hand even as his eyes narrowed to the runic scar. "I'm afraid I sold the wand whose owner did that. Yew and phoenix feather. Very powerful and in the wrong hand–" He shook his head. "–well…"

"Mr. Ollivander, my wand?" Salazar asked even as he made a note of the man's knowledge. Why would he know anything about the scar?

"Yes, yes of course." Ollivander turned to the shelves of wands and vanished into the depths of the store. "Your wand hand?" He called out in question.

"I favor my right but either would do in a pinch," Salazar answered as he went cross-eyed as the tape measure rose to his nose.

Ollivander reappeared with multiple wands. The first was taken from him the instant he touched it. The second he was allowed to flick.—A vase shattered.—The third wheezed at him. On and on it went until he was given a holly and phoenix feather wand. Ollivander straightened, his shiny gaze sharpened as Salazar held up the wand and flicked it. The main window shattered into a spiderweb of cracks.

The wandmaker's expression twisted with an odd mix of disbelief and joy. Then he pulled the wand from Salazar's hand and went back for more. The boxes pulled went from dusty to covered in a crust, the dust had laid on them for so long.

"A tricky customer," muttered Ollivander as he worked, "terribly tricky. So rare to have none of the quality options work.—'Tis not the wood."

Salazar raised a brow and set the latest wand down. The wandmaker continued to mutter about the materials, clearly not worried over Salazar overhearing. Another wand was held out to Salazar but snatched away immediately after it touched his skin.

"Not dragon heartstring," Ollivander grumbled while packing the latest stack of failed wands back into their boxes, "t'would be far too perfect for a fate touched to have such power. Not unicorn either...touched by darkness too young. It makes him inadequate for any hair…but I have no more phoenix feathers! Such feathers are far too rare...I really must visit Fawkes once more. He may give another with enough incentive...maybe those white strawberries from Japan would do?"

"Do you only use those three cores in your wand?" Salazar asked, feeling mildly incredulous of the man. His original wand had possessed a basilisk horn fragment as its core. How the Ollivander a thousand years ago had gotten hold of such a horn was beyond him but it had been an excellent wand, on the rare occasion he had used it.

Ollivander's head snapped up and he scoffed, "They are the finest of ingredients! I only work with the best for my customers. A wand made with other cores are subpar at best. They never live up to expectations and do not last nearly as long." His expression soured and his silver gaze turned towards an especially dusty area of his store. "But my father did craft with...such ingredients. I have a few of his wands still."

"What about something involving snakes?" Salazar finally asked as the old man vanished to dig through his father's wands. His past wand had been made from a type of snakewood. Salazar couldn't help but consider the possibility that such a connection would do well once more.

A stack of worn boxes on the verge of falling apart were floated to the desk. The old man slipped his wand back into its holster and curled his lips as he picked up the first wand. He stared at it for a long moment, leaned forward and sniffed it before he held it out.

"Silver ash with a kneazle whisker, nine and three-fourth inches," his voice held a note of disgust he was clearly trying to hold in, "mildly springy."

The wand spewed tiny mice when flicked.

"No," sighed Ollivander, clearly relieved, "not that one."

Ollivander went through two more wands before a gold-tinted one was revealed. Surprise lit his gaze after he learned the ingredients and held it out. "Yew and Quetzalcoatl feather, eleven inches and surprisingly supple for such a wood."

Salazar took it carefully, curious by the interest of the wandmaker. He had no idea what a Quetzalcoatl was either. Yet, the yew wand connected to his core with a soft, mental hiss of pleasure. Silver and gold light sparked out the tip as he gave the wand a flick.

Finally, he had found his wand. It had taken two hours.

"Curious."

Lips pressed together into a thin line. Green eyes looked up to meet the silver orbs of the wandmaker, unsurprised that there was a catch to this wand. Ollivander's reaction to the wand's ingredients had been obvious. They stared at each other for a long moment.

Salazar finally broke down, knowing a child should, and asked as the man wanted, "What's curious?"

"I cannot say how well suited the wand will be, or how powerful. The core is not one I would have used." The condescension in his tone dropped to something more ominous. "But it is curious that my father used that wood. I had not realized we had two pieces…"

"Two pieces?"

His gaze shifted from Salazar's to stare at the scar on Salazar's forehead. "Oh yes, wand woods are often as difficult to collect as the cores. The tree must be willing to part with the still living branches, you see. In this case, this yew tree gave two. The other became the wood to the wand that gave you that scar...Sister wands(6), I had not thought–" He shook his head. "That will be seven galleons."

Salazar frowned but paid for the wand before he left. The wandmaker's words about its sister wand creating his scar implied an unpleasant past tied to the feeling of a dark future. It didn't take a seer to recognize the signs of troubled times ahead.

Salazar left the store with grim determination. There was something he didn't know. He was going to fix that. Now.

Flourish and Blotts was near empty as he entered. The sun was setting and it was late. The store was likely about to close. Salazar found a young assistant in the middle of restocking a shelf and requested help, choosing his words to be as blunt as possible. He knew that the reaction would be telling. "Could you help me find a book on Harry Potter?"

The attendant chuckled in response.

Chuckled.

Salazar felt ill at ease at that.

The man grinned knowingly at Salazar, unaware of the disturbing nature of his response, and said, "Right over here. You know he's supposed to start at Hogwarts this year. I'd give my N.E.W.T.s results to be at the school still to meet him!"

Salazar didn't give the attendant a response as he stared at the bookshelf he had been waved to. It was filled with a mix of books, all of which were apparently about or referencing him. A whole series of children's books, The Adventures of Harry Potter, filled most of the shelf. Half a row had various books about the House of Potter so was hopefully about the entire family, not just him. The rest weren't as clear-cut.

Salazar pulled out The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. There was an entire chapter about him. He traded the book for Notable Wizards of Our Time. This had four chapters covering him and his parents. Both Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century and Modern Magical History had an extensive chapter or two on him.

The reincarnate stared unseeingly at one of the books. He was famous in some way. People, many people, had bought these books. His gaze moved back to the children's book series. How many of his fellow first years had grown up reading those stories?

"You alright?"

Salazar asked, "How much?"

"For that book? It-"

"For a copy of all of them." Salazar corrected, waving his hand at the shelf.

"A-all of them," squeaked the attendant.

"Yes."

"Are you–"

"Yes."

The young man stared down at Salazar for a minute before he gave a nod. "Right then. I'll have to ring it all up to give you a price."

Salazar was over thirty galleons poorer by the time he left the bookstore. The boy slipped through the emptying alleyway, the crowded Leaky Cauldron, and out to the tube station without anyone the wiser. It seemed he had a summer of reading to complete.

oooP4ooo

Omorose purred from his shoulder as he pursued the hat cart, her cheek rubbing against his own. It had taken him a day to read enough of the Harry Potter books to know he required a hat. That brought him back to Diagon Alley, not that he was particularly outraged to be back amongst his people but he needed a hat before someone noticed the runic scar on his forehead.

He could have gotten a non-magical hat. Many of the children running about and a decent number of younger adults wore non-magical clothing. The founder chose a magical hat partly to slowly expand his magical possessions and partly because it was actually simpler for him to find a hat in Diagon Alley instead of the non-magical society.—Aunt Petunia had never taken him shopping outside of groceries so he had no idea where to begin.—The excuse to return so soon was simply an additional bonus.

The kneazle had not been interested in staying behind this time. Luckily for her, her pendant made it simple to travel without anyone the wiser. All she needed to do was stay on his shoulders or lap as they traveled through the train and the tube.

"That's a fetching color on you dear," an older woman's voice said from the mirror he was staring into, "Brings out your eyes."

Salazar frowned at the talking surface, disconcerted that someone thought such an enchantment a good idea. The actual salesperson poked his head out from around the corner with a wide, toothy grin but kept his distance—Salazar had already told him where he could put his sales pitch. That it was early and some of the shops hadn't yet opened meant the man was hovering as Salazar tried on various options.

The Hogwarts school hat was black and pointy and did nothing to hide his forehead which had led him here. Many of the enchanted hats with mushrooms and moving patterns were out simply because they were ridiculous but also because he needed to put it on before he entered the Leaky Cauldron. That also meant he needed something vaguely non-magical looking. Or, his gaze moved back to the mirror, a hat he could add his own touch of magic to so non-magicals didn't notice anything odd.

A pointed dark green felt hat sat on his head. Its wide brim both easily covered his forehead and offered Omorose shade—which she didn't need but clearly enjoyed. The tip didn't rise to the sky like the Hogwarts hat but curled in little folds backward until the tip ended in a curlicue near the base of his neck. It vaguely reminded him of Godric's old leather hat and it did bring out his eyes.

He liked it. Salazar sighed at himself. The salesman's grin widened. Salazar put it back on the stand and picked up one of the simpler enchanted options. A huff escaped the man and he turned away in annoyance.

Green eyes watched the man for a moment.

"It isn't a good match, dear. The other one looked much better on you—perhaps one of the fern hats? The plants would go with your eyes just as well." the mirror said.

He ignored it.

Salazar pulled the ridiculous hat off and twisted it about before he flipped it over. He could feel the enchantments to make the little frogs jump across the fabric, and keep the colors bright and true. He could taste the cheerful nature of the magic, like sweet candies popping and dancing on his tongue. What he couldn't tell was how the enchantments were placed. Felt and fabric were terrible conductors of magic. No charm would stick around for long without something in place and the hat was too expensive to be so shoddily made.

The little boy snagged the inside of the hat and pulled a fold back. Bands of silver wire, as thin as thread, were sewn through the fabric and a very simple set of runes for pulling ambient magic were inlaid with multiple layers of silver wire. A single band of gold wire was weaved in a cross stitch about the silver. The enchantments were entwined in the gold.—Simple, rudimentary but would last a good year or two before someone would need to recast the spells.—He placed the hat back with a faint smirk and snagged his green hat instead.

"See, much better dear." the mirror announced.

Salazar agreed and paid the man before he headed deeper into the alley to find breakfast. After that, he would have to find some of this wire and perhaps a few things for his new home.

Omorose sat on his shoulders, her butt partly resting within the hood of his coat. Faint purrs escaped her. Her orange gaze swept over the area like a little queen on her throne. Salazar didn't know what it made him but he found he didn't mind much. (How exactly had he become a cat person? He could imagine Helga's gushing already.)

With few people out, it didn't take long for him to travel further within the alley. Past Madam Malkin's was a courtyard he recalled filled with restaurants. His memory proved accurate except most were closed. Of the two open, the Brewer's Coffee reminded him of non-magical cafes but Dirigible Plum Cafe reminded him of Helga.

Dirigible Plum Cafe had actual dirigible plum plants at the front, some with the orange plums floating up towards the ceiling. The shop was quaint with soft yellow walls and warm wood furniture. The smell of baked goods and something savory combined with the more natural settings pulled at memories of the many meals eaten in Helga's kitchen.

A redheaded woman came up to him with a smile. "Here for breakfast or a drink to go?"

"Breakfast," Salazar offered slowly as he forced his thoughts away from the past.

"Just you?"

"Yes–"

Omorose mewled in complaint.

The woman's gaze sharpened onto the kneazle, the feline's mewl having broken the pendant's magic, and she smiled. "Two, then. This way."

Salazar settled at a small table and watched in amusement as Omorose hopped off his shoulders to claim the seat across from him. He shook his head at his cat and pulled a library book from his satchel.

"You a halfblood?" the waitress asked in surprise as she handed over the menu.

"What?"

She nodded her chin out at the book. "That's a muggle book." Her sharp gaze swept over his new hat and tunic, non-magical coat, jeans, and worn sneakers before her eyes flicked over to Omorose. "You don't quite fit the muggleborn mold…"

Salazar raised a brow, having no idea what she was talking about. "I got the book from my local non-magical library. It's just a fantasy—about talking dragons."

"Oh?" Her gaze lit up. "I prefer sci-fi more; it's a little hard to swallow some of the things muggles come up with in their fantasy books. Though, read The Hobbit? I like that one."

He tilted his head and slowly smiled. Salazar had never gotten a chance to talk about any of the odd books he read before. The cafe was fairly empty, so this might be his chance.

oooP5ooo

After a surprisingly stimulating breakfast, the Hogwarts founder found Diagon Alley alive with activity. Omorose, content and full of good fish he would have usually never bothered giving a cat, made a weird sort of nest in his coat's hood and fell asleep. She didn't entirely fit, part of her continued to drape across his shoulders, but most of her weight was in the hood. The soft puff of her breath brushed against his neck as he looked about the alley.

His first stop was Havrey's Homecare Supplies near the little cafe. It was filled with magical appliances—cold storage like refrigerators, cooking boxes similar to ovens, loos and showers enchanted to rain water down on a person instead of using a muggle showerhead. Salazar purchased nothing from the store. Every single piece was heavily enchanted meaning none of it could go into his satchel. Each was also shockingly expensive. Or at least he thought they were since he was confident he could recreate much of the various appliances. He did end up with a whole list of ideas though.

Across the way, besides a well-to-do-looking tavern, was a rundown shop called Muggle Extraordinaries. Salazar, now knowing the word muggle meant non-magical, could guess at the store's offerings. Curiosity at what would be considered extraordinary drew him in.

The place was a maze of junk. Salazar looked around at the towers of things. He could spy a bucket of rubber ducks, a shelf of He-Man toys, boxes and boxes of various forms of plugs. Electrical wiring sat in tangled messes. At least seven different vacuums were standing about, two being used as an impromptu coat stand for some worn-through jeans and plastic parkas.

"If you see anything you want, just rip off the part of the tag with buy written on it," called an old man at the register before he turned back to a redhead he was helping, "As I was saying Arthur–"

Salazar went treasure hunting. He found a whole shelf of muggle books, a knut a piece. He bought the lot, only doing a casual scan from any he had already read (he spied The Hobbit amongst the stacks). He brushed magic-coated fingers over all the various tangled messes of electrical wires and claimed any that conducted magic—most were copper. The tag of a giant ninja turtle stuffed animal, perfect to add to his small selection of pillows, was claimed after only a second of hesitation.

In one corner hidden behind a messy row of bicycles, roller skates, and scooters, he found an old gas range, and an even older-looking kitchen sink cabinet combo. Without any magic on them, he would have no issue carrying them back in his satchel. Salazar pulled the oven door open and took a look-see. The coils were gone but, he pressed magic into the worn metal and relaxed as he felt his magic slowly spread through the oven, he would be able to make this work.

The store stretched on forever it seemed. He passed rows of strangely decorated shoes—batman converses, Rainbow Bright booties, Air Jordans, and bright yellow tennis shoes were amongst the rows. There was a stack of old ceramic bedpans. Besides them were Cabbage Patch doll heads. Salazar stared at them for a long moment, contemplating where their bodies had ended up before giving up and moving on.

As he reached the back of the store he came across an entire bucket full of hunting rifles and rubber balls. A box of burnt-out lightbulbs and net-like bags of plastic pebbles were on a shelf across from the weapons. A half of a motorcycle rested on its end beside a Coca-Cola dispenser machine. The ten-year-old shook his head at the weird situation and headed back to the front, taking another twisting aisle.

Old china dolls, cloth doll heads, and stuffed animals filled multiple shelves before he found ancient sewing machines and lamps with their plugs cut off. Yards of man-made fabrics, mostly some strange form of plastics, filled the shelves after. Tires—for cars, motorcycles, and bicycles—filled a wall. Besides them were a few tables covered in plastic objects Salazar realized were most likely sex toys. (He never cleaned his aunt and uncle's closet ever again after that find.)

Pots of all shapes and sizes caught his attention as he neared the front once more. He claimed a rusted cast iron pan and stew pot. It would be simple enough to clean up and make usable once more. A strawberry shortcake dinner tray popped out amongst other platters as he found himself in the "kitchen" section. Plastic baby bottles and a box of Cadbury chocolate wraps sat beside dusty bottles of wine.

Salazar reached the front through a display of strange muggle Christmas decorations. The redheaded man was gone and all the various items he had claimed were stacked in a pile by the register, miniaturized.

The old man beamed at Salazar. "You've quiet the finds, laddie!" He looked over his glasses at him, his smile turning stern. "Your folk expecting some of the larger items?"

"Of course," Salazar confirmed. At the skeptical look, he added, "birthdays are coming up." Which was entirely true. He would be eleven soon.

"Ah," chuckled the man. "Well, let it not be said old Ted got between a laddie and a birthday gift for his mum! Now let me ring these up—they'll return to their original size once you tap them with your wand. You're not doing magic, so don't worry about causing any fuss with the Ministry because of the Trace or nothing of the like. It's just the action the charm is set to react to, you know?"

Salazar nodded in understanding, though he had no idea what the Trace was or what Ministry he was talking about. He needed to spend some time reading through all his books for some answers soon. All his purchases were placed into a small pouch with the store's name embroidered across it. Because of the charms on all the items, he decided not to chance it all by placing them in his satchel and instead tied the small bag to his satchel's strap.

With the thought of all the magic he needed to do, the reincarnated man headed farther into Diagon Alley and turned a short corner. There was an odds and ends shop around somewhere. He suspected it had the wire as thin as thread and other conductive material he needed, though the wire he had just bought could work well enough.

The ten-year-old slowed as they turned another bend. At least a score of magicals were taking a horde of pictures outside some pub. The cameras were old, compared to non-magical's, but clearly worked.

A burst of green flames startled Salazar from his staring. To the side, in an alcove, was a large fireplace. A wizard stepped out of it before more green flames burst forth and a witch came out next. Salazar took a step toward the fireplace, just knowing this had to be what Mrs. Figg had set up in her house. Omorose made an excited noise and sprang off his shoulders before he took two steps.

He watched, dumbfounded, as the kneazle pranced away with her tail high in the air. A huff escaped and his shoulders drooped slightly in defeat before Salazar followed the feline.—One day he would learn about the damn fireplace magic.—An older lady offered an empathetic grin as he passed and he couldn't help but flash one back. Cats.

The black kneazle waited for him before a building bearing a sign of a fish. A large archway opened to the rest of Diagon Alley and sounds of an active market floated out. Salazar picked his cat up and peered in. Omorose reclaimed her place on his shoulders with a pleased purr.

He first noticed how ridiculously large the place was. It was much larger on the inside than it should have been. That caused a skip in his breath.

Various masters and scholars of the Eastern Roman Empire had been attempting to create a way to expand the physical space of an area for centuries (and they weren't the first to try it). Salazar had seen some of their attempts—and the resulting carnage when the magic failed. When a space suddenly lost over half the square footage, everything inside was squashed within the remaining space. People had been crushed and suffocated to death. Many of the people had been smooshed beyond recognition.

It was different from the enchantments on his satchel, though only slightly. If the magic field on his bag everything would be smooshed into a mess no reparo or other magics could repair—just like the people in an expanded space (expect they'd be dead instead of just useless). There was the fail safe that magic would forcefully eject his hand if he was reaching into the bag at the time of failure since his hand was attached to something outside the collapsing space.

He really didn't care for expanded spaces for living beings.

"Youse alright honey?"

Salazar looked up at an elderly woman, eyes slightly glassy as he couldn't help but imagine the magic failing here. It had to be expanded at least threefold from its original size. All those people, all the children he could spy, would be crushed between each other and the stalls. It would be far worse than the last time.

The old woman leaned over and patted Salazar's shoulder where Omorose's tail was swishing back and forth. "Youse parents about?"

He forced himself to speak up, pushing the childish panic slowly rising back down. He was not successful enough as a hint of emotion was in his voice. "It's larger on the inside." Omorose rubbed her cheek to his and the panic dissipated a little more.

"Oh," her wrinkled expression softened, "That's just the expansion enchantments, honey. Nothing to be concerned about.—Hea, let me get you a cookie."

"Cookie?"

The old lady claimed one of Salazar's hands and dragged him into the market. "Cookie, biscuit—don't worry honey, you'll like it. Almost as good as hot chocolate to calm the nerves."

Panic spiked but the smells and sounds soon won out. They passed stalls offering a world's worth of options in seafood—Raw, freshly caught, still alive, smoked, deep fried, premade into little baguettes, and more. From human food to potion ingredients to potting material and even pet food was all on display. The smell of the sea blanketed over him, fresh and salty and wonderful.

Then she pulled him through another archway. The new room was equally expanded and filled with vegetables and fruits and spices of all types. Some stalls offered premade meals made from the feast of options. Others offered the actual plants to transplant into one's own garden. Cinnamon and nutmeg wafted across his nose as they passed piles of fresh ground spices. He tasted them in the air, they were so poignant.

He spied another archway where meats hung to age on racks. The aroma of rosemary-covered meat and the sizzle of fire-cooked lamb reached him. Salazar swallowed as memories of sitting around a fire, his brother's booming laughter filling the night as they waited for the meat to cook. His jaw twitched as he struggled to push the memory away. It didn't want to be buried in the back of his mind. Sorrow tugged at him.

Gods, he missed him. All of them.

A squeeze on his hand pulled him from his thoughts, reminding Salazar that he was not alone and that some crazy old lady was dragging him off somewhere. (Omorose's calm kept him from doing anything drastic. Kneazles made it clear when their owners were threatened.)

It was in the back of the room that baked goods were on sale. The old lady bee-lined to a specific stall, bypassed the line, and snagged a biscuit with a peck on a younger man's cheek. Said biscuit was placed in Salazar's hand as she relinquished her hold.

"Go on, my son makes a wonderful cookie," she announced, "Almost as good as his old man's—Oh, but you should try the strudel!"

Salazar stared down at the thick, sparkling, golden brown cookie in bemusement. It was shaped into an erumpent. He took a bite even as he felt a little lost. The horn exploded in his mouth and orange jam with the bite of ginger coated his tongue.

"Good, right?"

He nodded as he looked up at the woman. Salazar focused on her instead of the expansion charms as he munched on the sweet treat. Silver curls cut in a bob framed a wrinkled but fair face. There was something off about her accent. It reminded him a little of one of Dudley's American movies. But not exactly because she sounded like a local, she just said some words with an accent—like she might have had a different accent as a child or had an accident that changed her accent like the whole debacle with Pictish.

"Now, where's youse parents?" she asked.

Salazar stuffed more of the cookie in his mouth and shrugged. She narrowed her gaze at him, tilted her head—something brushed against his mind—and huffed. "Brits."

He couldn't help but narrow his gaze at her as he realized what she had done. He couldn't feel her now but the old woman had touched his mind with her own. She had attempted to read his surface thoughts. The old woman didn't notice his stare, her gaze had turned to the crowd around them. If he had to guess, he would have to say she was reaching out mentally, looking for an adult panicking over a missing child.

"It's rude to read people's minds," Salazar said before he could stop himself.

Her gaze snapped back to his. "Wha—Oh, honey. I'm not delving in! Can't help it if no one keeps their thoughts to themselves, anyhow."

This was a blatant lie. The mental arts were a dangerous discipline regulated by the guild—Salazar's frown deepened as he considered the possibility that it wasn't regulated anymore, that his guild was no more.

Only a few guilds had the accumulated knowledge of occlumency, legilimency, telepathy, and the other mental arts a thousand years ago. All of that knowledge was only offered to guild members. To be a guild member meant one had sworn an oath to not abuse the magical arts at their disposal. Oaths could be bypassed but not to the point that any old person could casually listen in on passersbys' thoughts. And the use of such magic on a child was a blatant abuse of the ability the oath would have never allowed.—Children's minds were too delicate and underdeveloped to safely use mental magic on them. The consequences of using such magic on one could be devastating.

He grumbled at her childishly, wanting answers he suspected she didn't know, "You're not supposed to look at people's minds."

She looked mildly embarrassed. "I'm not! Honest...I just got a family skill that's hard to control, honey. Learning legilimency is regulated. You don't have'ta worry about some schmuck stealing into youse mind!"

Salazar blinked at the odd word and the facts about regulation given. There was also the family magic she alluded to. By the Mother, he needed to read up on the times. How long did it take to catch up on a thousand years of changes?

"Mum." The baker appeared at their side. "You've kidnapped another kid?"

She scoffed at her son. "None of that. He was lost!"

"Now he's more lost."

Salazar, finally calmed and ready to continue on his way, interrupted. "I'm not. I have a list of groceries–"

"Youse mom had you come alone!" cried the elder in horror.

"I'm not alone–" Omorose meowed in agreement as the adults spoke over Salazar.

"Mum, he's not that young."

"I'm ten." Salazar agreed. The woman looked horrified. Salazar quickly amended his statement. "I'll be eleven by the end of the month."

The baker shook his head at his mother. "You should visit Rudy and the great-grandbabies–"

"I wasn't kidnapping a child because I miss the grandbabies! They was here just last month, Mattie." she snapped before she snagged Salazar's hand and pulled him toward the stale. "Come on honey, let's pack up a nice strudel for youse parents. We've kept you too long. They must be worried sick."

Salazar escaped the market with a large box filled with a strudel, multiple pastries, a stack of biscuits, and a grocery bag filled with enough food to last him a month—all of it covered in preservation spells that would last just as long. He tucked it all into his satchel as he paused at the side of some heavy foot traffic before braving the crowds.

He collapsed in a seat at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and spent a good couple hours eating ice cream and reading as he recovered from the rollercoaster of emotions. He was mentally and physically exhausted. (Salazar blamed his young form for most of it, though his unpleasant experience with expansion magic and startling realization about idiots potentially having access to the mental arts had only added to it.) Part of him wanted to end the day, cut his losses, and flee back to his grove.

This was more human interaction than he had had since being reborn. His relatives' house and school had a routine to them. He had barely spoken to any child or adult beyond yes ma'am and no ma'am, and reading off school boards or books. The longest conversation he had had was with Omorose or Mrs. Figg and both of those had been very one-sided in their own way.

He had spent eight years isolated because of his magic and because of his past memories. It might have been different if he had not recalled his past life. Maybe he would have been able to interact with children his own age. Perhaps he would have gotten along with his relatives. But he had recalled being Salazar and he had shut himself away from the world on some level. He hadn't realized that until now, with the exhaustion slamming into him after a half day of interacting with people.

Seeing expansion magic at work had not helped matters.

Salazar slipped his glasses off, pressed his palms to his eyes, and heaved a sigh. Just as the non-magical society had evolved and progressed, so had the magical one. What would have been an act of pure stupidity might no longer be one. He didn't know what magic was safe, what magic everyone had access to, what was lost, and what was obsolete. There was so much to learn. A thousand years could create so much progress. It could also mean some things have been lost and others misconstrued.

He finished the last of his curry banana ice cream and rose. Omorose was passed out across the other chair, looking like an especially fluffy stuffed animal.

One more try at finding the odds and end shop and then home, Salazar decided as he nudged the feline awake. Anything else he could possibly need could wait another day.

Said shop ended up being near Gringotts, towards the Leaky Cauldron. Within were aisles and aisles of crafting material—both for magical and non-magical arts. One aisle had yarns and various needles, some enchanted to do all the work for the discerning witch or wizard. Another had paints and colored pencils. Sewing tools weren't difficult to find. Salazar found a basket and claimed threading wire in various conductive metals before taking a quick look at the rest of the shop.

In the very back was a table filled with little compartments brimming with small, and a few medium, dusty stones and wooden coins. It was a veritable treasure trove. He dug through the piles with magic warming the tip of his fingers, searching out for the most reactive specimens. Multiple soft green aventurine stones of various sizes, a couple of red jaspers, tigers eyes, hemalites, a whole pile of serpentines, three surprisingly large pyrites, seven selenites, a black tourmaline that just fit in Salazar's palm, two large bags of obsidian pebbles, and three decent piles of smokey, clear, and rose quartz ended up in the basket. Piles of alder, beech, birch, elm, and rowen coins and a stack of short reed sticks were added before he forced himself to stop.

Now he was ready to hermit away the rest of the summer in his grove.

oooP6ooo

Runes glowed a burning white light across the pile of obsidian. A turn of the oven's knob shifted the light, and radiating heat, of the pebbles. The magic glowed before Salazar's eyes, his glasses tuned to the controlled swirl of the layered matrix he had built to replicate his Aunt's oven.

He didn't have any way to grill food but Salazar was certain he'd survive without the feature.(7) So far, the magic was glowing evenly amongst each pebble. The stabilizers were functioning as he expected and the inscriptions to contain the heat, and any potential fire, within the oven were working perfectly. It was time to do a proper test run.

The ten-year-old set the cast iron pan filled with a fillet of salmon into the oven and turned the timer. If this worked, he would test the stove tomorrow. Salazar stared at the time until it ticked down, showing that it was working.

Though Salazar had planned to spend the rest of the month hermitting away, he had found himself returning to Diagon Alley over the last few weeks. He enjoyed being amongst magicals once more. It became a habit to take a book and claim a spot at either Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour or Rose Leaf Teabag. Every once in a while he'd reach the alley during lunch and claim a table at the Leaky Cauldron or the Dirigible Plum Cafe. He'd try another cafe or pub along the long, winding street but found himself returning to his usual spot as he could.

The tickets and time spent traveling into London and back were eating at his funds but, luckily his new satchel made it simple to carry almost all of his possessions wherever he needed to go. He hadn't yet taken a room for the night but Salazar expected it to happen at some point—rush hour on the tube was not pleasant.

Being in the alley also meant he shopped for more things. Better shoes and boots were added. An array of ink wells were collected as the founder made notes all over his books, scrolls, new magical notebooks, and muggle notebooks. A random assortment of sweets from Sugarplum's Sweets Shop found its way into the bag.—Salazar became fond of the pumpkin pasties in particular.—Multiple books on expansion magic had been found both so Salazar could be prepared if one started to collapse while he was in it and, if they truly were more stable, so he could use one on his tent.

He had also slowly collected more furniture, though his tent was too small to hold any of it. He now had a large wardrobe he enchanted to be his version of a refrigerator with cold storage on top and the bottom drawers the ice box. A small dining table was salvaged from some second-hand store and used primarily for food prep. The same store had a tall cabinet with no door or shelves. Salazar turned it into his shower.

Water had been one of the first things he had fixed after his first few days living in the grove. A few wooden coins had been scattered across the neighborhood to collect the runoff from rain and sprinklers. Said water was transferred into old whiskey barrels Salazar had claimed and covered in cleansing runes. The shower, loo, and sink were all tied to it and used water was banished. Eventually, the wood would deteriorate and Salazar would need a new watering system but this would do for a year, maybe two.

For all that he purchased more things and experimented with creating a working home, he invested most of his time reading. Salazar first focused on the pile of books about himself. It had been disappointing what little the history books actually had. Dumbledore's letter had as much information and, while long-winded, was far shorter and clearer cut than the load of dung in the books. At least the children's books were entertaining.

The books on his family had been more informative. It had not touched on any family-specific magicks, which gave the founder hope that such was still generally kept private. What he did learn, though, was still interesting and important.

Against what the title of some of the books and the family tree implied, the Potters were not a House. He was of the Familia of Potter. That meant that the family had been magical and specialized long enough that there was some form of family magicks but the Potters had no hereditary seat within the Wizard's Council.

In general, the Potter family had been inventors and merchants. Most of the family was reclusive enough that there was little more than names, dates of living, and any particular inventions credited to them. There were a few extensive biographies on Potters that entered the Wizengamot's Assembly of Estates—the election side of the governing body. That was it, really.

All the same, Salazar enjoyed learning about his various ancestors. He didn't have such a history from his past life. What his mother may have known died with her when he had been merely six. His father had never reappeared after he impregnated his mother with Bryony. For all Salazar knew, he had died soon after. To be able to say who he was and where he had come from was surprisingly wonderful.

Linfred the Potterer, the founder of the family born in 1180 ce, had been an herbalist and potioneer that tinkered with early forms of powerful healing potions. Vern Potter had been a well-known healer. A Ralston Potter (there were multiple over the centuries) entered the wizengamot and worked towards the International Statute of Secrecy. Salazar's grandfather had invented the Sleekeazy potion for unruly hair.

One of the books also gave a general geographic overview. The Potter family had originated in Stinchcombe but moved to Godric's Hollow and had, for the most part, stayed there. His parents' house was noted as a significant monument people visited but no other Potter property was publicly known. Amusingly, because of the family's origins, it was rumored that he was related to Godric somehow.

Godric would find it hilarious, he was sure, if the man ever appeared on Samhain.

An unforeseen benefit of reading up on the various books was that he learned of the last war. Salazar found out about the horrors, the amount of dead, the betrayals of kin and kith. No one had been safe; no one had been left untouched. His own godfather had betrayed the family. Others had had the dubious pleasure of a sibling or parent do the same.

He could understand, on some small level, why the population had elevated him to celebrity status. He had somehow, supposedly, stopped the nightmare. It also meant he was in a predicament. The population expected great things from him.

Salazar knew that he had an advantage that could support their assumptions of his "Merlin"-like status. But he didn't know if he wanted to inflate the opinion. He would prefer to be left in the background, unnoticed, and left to his own devices.

The smell of cooked food filled the grove. Omorose materialized at his feet, rubbing herself about his legs while mewling. Salazar opened the oven as the timer went off and grinned at the sizzling fish.

oooP7ooo

A shout caught Salazar's attention as he left the magical menagerie, a small pouch of cat treats safely tucked into his satchel. An owl swooped over his head and landed on his hat. An assistant from Eeylops Owl Emporium stumbled over to him with a huff. The owl barked in complaint.

"Err...Could you come to the store?" the poor girl asked with frustrated tears in her eyes. "I'll get the owl off you and any damage to your hat will be fixed or paid for I swear! Just...can you come with?"

The store was darkly lit. Owls of all types filled cages and, like many of the stores, they were stacked and hung in ways impossible without magic. An older man was brought in from the back of the store and he immediately pointed his wand at Salazar. A spell slammed into the owl on his head.

Salazar stiffened, not happy that no warning had been given. The man hadn't even had the courtesy to say the spell out loud. Whatever spell he had cast had made the bird still but not let go of his hat.

The next spell had the owl and his hat pulled off. His hand flew up and brushed his hair down but his action both drew the store owner and assistant's attention and had not been quick enough.

Mouths fell open. The store owner became embarrassed. The assistant's eyes grew round. Then, with a squeal that seemed to echo out of the store, the girl cried out his name. "Harry Potter!"

Salazar found both the assistant and a variety of shoppers fawning over him. Some claimed to be checking his head to make certain the owl hadn't hurt him while actually just petting his hair. Others were rambling at him as if he cared about their day-to-day lives. One woman pushed her toddler into his arms and pulled out a camera.

It felt like it took forever, but was probably only a few minutes, before the store owner blasted a loud sound from his wand and ordered everyone out that wasn't there to purchase an owl. His hat was returned, not a scratch present because of the runic magic he had placed on it. Then the owl was released into a cage, escaped immediately, and latched onto his hat once more.

"Hold up," Salazar said, raising a hand at the man before any spells were shot at the poor bird again, "I'll just buy the poor thing."

"Oh no Mr. Potter, I couldn't possibly make you do that!" cried the store owner.

Salazar glared up at him. "I require an owl anyway. I hadn't planned on purchasing one so soon but–"

The man flicked his wand. A perch, cage, and other paraphernalia flew to the counter. "Not what I meant, boy. I cannot have you pay for her when she keeps trying to flee. It's entirely possible she'll fly off and never return to you—best to not send any letters for a good month or so I should think."

A reproachful hoot escaped the owl on his head. Salazar, having already experienced animals claiming him for unknown reasons, narrowed his eyes and asked, "When did she start trying to escape?"

"Oh, a few weeks ago," the man explained with a dismissive wave of his hand. His other hand waved his wand over the items on the counter and each shrunk down. They were then floated into a bag. Salazar accepted the bag, feeling a headache coming on. "I would...prefer if you didn't return her but, of course, if there are any issues…"

"Right," Salazar said slowly, "Brilliant...I'll...just take my owl then."

"Wonderful!" The grump of a man attempted to beam at Salazar. It got him to leave quicker.

He picked up his clothing order from Twilfitt and Tattings, completed his chores for the day, and ended up trying a new favorite ice cream. No one paid any mind to the owl that stayed on his head the entire time.

oooP8ooo

Omorose and his owl, a pretty snowy thing, had an understanding. He didn't know what it was but they had clearly conversed in some fashion and reached an agreement while he was sleeping. He was certain he didn't actually want to know. (Salazar couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he ever got a snake.)

oooP9ooo

Salazar sighed as he looked down at the latest book he was reading. The thick text, The Decline of Pagan Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, was both informative and terribly inaccurate. She had no clue what she was talking about. Spells and rituals that were nordic were marked as druidic. Funeral chants to prompt the passing of the spirit had been categorized as necromantic. Purification rituals were called cleansing rituals (as if it was a nice little bath to wash some dirt off) and were simply noted as obsolete.

She did get some of the history correct with the various "pagan" magics going into reclusion with the rise of the Roman Empire and, later, Catholicism. The woman had even gotten the general set of events after the fall of the Roman Empire correct. The various pagan magics did return to the heart of society, at least in the magic community of the British Isles. (It had never left Ireland or what is now Scotland at that point) Those magics were usurped by the Norman conquerors to then "fade" away. Except fade away wasn't the correct word for the mass murder of every fully equipped tertiary triad member on the island.

A bowl of Salazar's preferred ice cream, blackberry mint double chocolate chip with a dusting of fairy dust, was placed in front of him. Salazar looked up over the rim of his hat to find the owner looking down at him with clear amusement.

"That's a heavy read for an eleven-year-old," he said when catching Salazar's eyes, "It looks to be pushing heavy thoughts."

Salazar hummed as he decided against correcting his age and answered, "She makes many assumptions."

The man nodded. "Bagshot has the habit of doing that. An issue with all her books."

Salazar frowned, "Then why is her book used for Hogwarts?" A History of Magic was the required history book.

Mr. Fortescue touched one of the empty chairs. "May I?"

The ten-year-old tilted his head in agreement. The old man's smile widened and he settled comfortably beside the reincarnated founder. "There's always a reason behind people's decisions, child."

Salazar couldn't stop the arching of a brow.

Mr. Fortescue chuckled and muttered, "Perhaps a Ravenclaw." He spoke up louder and explained, "The history professor is a useless ghost caught up in his lessons on goblins. Albus, for better or worse, has chosen to leave history in the ghost's hands and only intervened a few decades ago to hand-pick a more modern history text. He chose Bagshot's book either as a favor or because of blackmail."

Salazar scooped some ice cream and repeated in intrigue. "Blackmail?"

"Ah, I was wrong. A Slytherin through and through," he muttered in response.

"Excuse me?" Salazar asked in confusion. He didn't see that his being a Slytherin, let alone somehow being related to a raven's claw, had anything to do with this. Salazar knew there was no way the man could know that he was Salazar Slytherin either.

The old man looked mildly embarrassed. "You heard that, eh? Sharp hearing."

"Are you going to explain or should I just go back to reading?"

"You haven't read up on the school you'll be going to yet? Or are you off to one of the trade schools instead of Hogwarts?" he asked, confused.

Salazar shrugged, not particularly worried. "I've plenty of time to read up on it." Salazar may have been avoiding the topic as he knew he'd want to murder a few people once he did research Hogwarts. The changes by the Norman party Evander and the others had spoken of were enough reason to want to plan murder.

"So," the elder said in bemusement, "You decided to jump into disputed, ancient history instead?"

"Disputed," Salazar repeated as he found himself the bewildered one. He didn't say anything about ancient either. It wasn't ancient for him. It wasn't even slightly ancient for anyone.—Ancient was if it had covered the days before the Roman Empire.—Salazar liked to think it slightly old. Ancient did strange things to his screwed-up age. (10, 54, 64, or 976?)

The elder raised a brow back at Salazar, "Yes. There isn't enough documentation of the centuries before the 1300s. Many of the manuscripts that covered ancient magical history were placed alongside muggle history. When these manuscripts fell into the hands of monks and laymen, many were ignored and eventually destroyed instead of cared for and transcribed. Centuries later any that survived were destroyed in 1692 when the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was written into law and fully enforced. The magical governments' worldwide went on a fool's errand to eradicate all reference to magic from muggle society. They didn't bother saving the information they had found, assumed it was all written by muggles and so useless...We'll never know now."

Salazar hummed in thought, stared down at the page he was on, and sighed. He dog-eared the page and stowed the book. Salazar had imagined many things about the modern-day society. All of it had involved the culmination of non-magical and magical society reaching an accord.—There had been nearly a thousand years for the strife to be settled and many ancient civilizations had long worked together without the issues that plagued what was considered Europe in this day and age.—He had never imagined the magical community separating themselves so thoroughly. It wasn't without merit but it was one thing to hide the majority away so magic haters could not find it and entirely different to remove oneself from the greater society. He contemplated the concept of hiding to such depths. How had it gotten so bad that magical races, the world over, had set aside their differences and agreed they had to hide away from the world?

That was one of the questions he was searching for answers to in all these history books.

"What history books would you recommend?"

Mr. Fortescue lit up. "Let me write some down. A few you'll have to borrow but a number should still be at Hogwarts. I'll star the ones you can purchase newer copies of." He paused and gave Salazar a hard stare. "Let's see how interested you are, eh?"

And that was how Salazar found himself a historian to extract information from. It was also why his reading shifted to Hogwarts: A History soon after. The fact that it was also written by Bathilda Bagshot led to Salazar burning it when he finished. It had made an excellent campfire.

Apparently, he was a bigoted dark wizard bent toward the eradication of an entire section of magicals. Godric Gryffindor was the epitome of everything good and Salazar Slytherin was evil incarnate. It all sounded like a bad adventure book. He was sure that there was some version out there that added a love interest that Godric won from him or some similar nonsense. Salazar truly disliked this woman but he had to wonder how much she assumed, claimed creative licenses on, or had learned from others.

It did explain how a dark lord could find support for mass murder by claiming to be his heir and claiming to follow his beliefs during the last war. This just showed how easy it was to twist history to an agenda, especially when there was little recorded of the times being twisted.

Despicable.

At least reading it had also led to a fascinating conversation with Mr. Fortescue about his perspective of Hogwarts. There were definitely some issues that needed to be fixed eventually. This history professor was one of many by the sounds of it. But at the same time, his school had been successful. It was even considered one of the top schools in the world.

He now understood what Mr. Fortescue had been muttering about, too. The shared apprenticeships they had started out with had evolved into designated teams. Salazar's and Godric's epithets had been made into school "house" names along with Ravenclaw for Rowena and Evander, and Hufflepuff for Helga and Gareth—though Gareth was more often traveling than teaching and Evander had spent his days healing everyone after stupid mistakes. They also didn't seem to exist in the history book.

There were benefits to having a few adults available to ask questions of. Florean Fortescue was a fountain of historical information. Granny—the old lady from the bakery insisted he call her that and Salazar had yet to learn her actual name—made it a habit of materializing when he stopped by the market.( He was fairly certain she utilized legilimency to sense when he was nearby, though he had yet to feel her mind against his again.) She was happy to fawn over him, and answer the odd question about the wizarding culture he found himself entering. He became a regular at Dirigible Plum Cafe where the waitress soon became used to him and Omorose appearing for breakfast early enough to discuss the odd muggle book.

Salazar learned about pureblood prejudices. He learned of muggleborn ignorance. Florean imparted the continuance of Family and House magick secrets and the importance of that tradition. Granny explained the broader magical world and was a fountain of knowledge about the colonies.

There were so many things to learn. Even the most basic colloquialism jumped out at times. Salazar didn't understand why Merlin was cursed upon like muggles used God. Merlin had been a human just like the rest of them. And the use of muggleborn, halfblood, and pureblood had to have been contrived. Muggleborn, he supposed, was the modern equivalent of newblood or firstborn (though such terms had been rarely used). It seemed odd to emphasize a magical's non-magical connections over their far more important magical ones.

He also wondered at the seemingly non-existent religious structure, and how magic seemed to perpetuate into the very creation of buildings and other important building blocks Salazar would expect a more permanent foundation preferable. There was just something a little off-putting entering a building that would not be standing without the enchantments wrapped around it. Enchantments can and do fail. Decidedly often. (The one time he had activated the magic sight on his glasses while in Diagon Alley had nearly blinded him, there was so much magic saturating the entire place.)

Weeks passed in a flash of activity and learning. Salazar settled into his new home with a little kitchen area setup, a canvas pulled over it as a roof, and a bathroom with a similar setup on the other side of his tent. Most of his personal items stayed in his satchel but books seemed to scatter about the grove as he got comfortable.

His birthday passed with little note. The only interesting thing to come of it was Salazar's decision to find a timepiece. Granny took him to Witching Hour where he got a wristwatch that told the date, time, and moon phases. With it came the knowledge of the next moonless night.

oooP10ooo

The night sky was clear and dark. Only stars were out. His birthday had past nine days ago and tonight was the dark moon.

Salazar stared up at the sky as he mentally prepared himself. He wasn't certain what would occur during this purification. He would have preferred to perform the greater ritual but that could only occur at the start of Spring. Salazar didn't think it would do any good waiting till then. He had already waited years longer than he was comfortable with.

He freed a burst of air from his nose and stepped into the center of a circle of unlit candles. Runes were written across his bare chest, down each thigh, over each shoulder, and across his brow. He had used dried mud made of ash from the hawthorn for cleansing, blackthorn for purification, and sweet earth enriched and healed by the alder trees.

He took another deep breath and released it through his nose. The eleven-year-old sank down onto his knees. Nature magic swirled lazily within the ground around him, waiting. Salazar took a third deep breath, mentally intertwined a string of his core to that breath at the center of his chest, and released it through his mouth in a soft, "Aahhh."

His magic flowed out with the breath, following the mental image of the string escaping his lips. He directed the thin line of magic to the candle directly in front of him. Natural magic, directed by runes carved into the candle, rose up, met, and entwined with his own magic around the wick of the candle and burst into a golden flame. Runes, naturally powered by the presence of the entwined magic, guided said magics in a circle to the next candle and the next until all seven were lit. Smoke slowly unfurled around him and began following the same swirling as the natural magic in the ground. Some of the magic seeped up into the smoke.

Salazar focused his thoughts on the hidden moon, careful to keep himself separated from everything he had been learning over the summer. All that mattered was the missing moon and how by the marrow the sun will have purified it of the darkness and allowed the moon to return to the sky. (Everything from muggle school was very firmly ignored—the symbolism was what mattered, not the truth people have found out over the thousand years.)

Smoke reached his head and Salazar breathed in the heady scent. Three deep breaths and the runes lit across his chest as the natural magic in the smoke entwined with his core. The runes directed the natural magic, prompting the purification and cleansing the mud, candles, and dark moon night was inclined towards. The runes across the rest of his body lit in a swirl until the last runes on his head glowed.

The runic glow flared as the last lit. The candle flames' grew and the smoke billowed around the entire grove. Slowly the magic wrapped around and seared through Salazar. It pulled off the last hints of a connection to the enchantment around Privet Drive. Taint and strain were scrubbed and straightened. Some hint of an old ritual magic was rubbed raw across his form.—It was not quite gone but weakened, ready for the Spring purification to remove entirely.—A wrapping of magical residue and some tracking marker set to trigger something when he utilized his wand, was unwrapped and released from his form. Older layers of residue and taint, from ancestors both evil and foolhardy, remained but loosened. Later purifications and cleansing baths would help remove the rest. His core was rebalanced and pampered to an internal shine.

A breath of knowledge rushed through his mind as the ritual informed him of the various magics cleansed, weakened, and removed. The old ritual might be from the Samhain night his parents had died. He could sense Viking imagery. A crow, the sun, and a bolt of lightning, protection, and knowledge. Illumination warmed his form. The edge of unknown things, forgotten memories brought to light... Sacrifice and an ending…

The tracking marker was likely this Trace he had heard about. Structure and uniformity, counter to magic in so many ways, sang through him as the magic faded from his person.

Then the purification ritual reached his brow.

A wail, not his own, ripped out across the grove. Salazar jerked as pain stabbed through his forehead. The searing clean of the ritual was fighting something twisted. Vile. Wrong.

It was in his runic scar.

A circle of natural magic pushed against the scar, forcing whatever had been disturbed back into its prison. The taint settled and calmed. Magic flared one last time and then the grove became dark. The ritual ended, purifying all it had the strength to do.

Salazar touched his brow with a trembling hand. The skin ached under his fingertips. He pulled them back. His fingers were wet and red. He stared at the blood and wondered at what had happened. What was the scar on his head?

Tears stung his eyes. He could feel it now. A sludge, some vile taint was attached to him. He needed to get rid of it. The question was how.

oooPooo

1 - With the understanding that most people were illiterate in Salazar's time, it is illogical for any of the founders to have letters mailed to the children in their time. The book and quill might have been created to capture the names of children but someone would have gone to explain. The letter sending would have been enacted once literacy became a common ability many centuries later. Meaning that Salazar has no experience with how these letters would be created, let alone what would be said in them.

2 - Mottos began to be used in the middle ages, after Salazar's time. In fact, the Heraldry shield used for the Hogwarts houses would have been created after the founders also. A more basic form, as the wax seal is supposed to represent on the acceptance letter in this scene, could and probably did exist, though. Said seal would have been used as a form of signature by the founders in the mostly illiterate world.

3 - I may have gone overboard in creating a family tree with way too many made-up Potters but I made certain to take all the Potters Rowling created and just added to it. If you were wondering, I decided Potters have a long-standing tradition of the eldest son having the father's first name as his middle name. It causes any lists of Potters I create to look ridiculous though. There is one recent exception to this general tradition. James had his father, Fleamont's, middle name as his middle name for fairly obvious reasons.

4 - Last Names/Surnames are used in varied forms and popularity dependent on culture. For Britain, it is generally agreed that surnames started to popularize after the Norman invasion and the creation of the Doomsday book. And it is generally agreed that most English and some Scottish had surnames by the 1400s. In other words, the founders of Hogwarts did not have surnames. Many surnames came into being through a person's relations to another person, such as Johnson being john's son, or occupation, such as Smith. There are also surnames created through a person's nickname — or more commonly a parent or grandparent's nickname. It would not be a stretch for the founders to gain their surnames through an epithet and honestly is probably the only way they would have gotten such bizarre surnames.

5 - Gryffindor is Gryffin a'dor, as in The Golden Griffin. It's my headcanon that it was a cute little nickname from Godric mother which someone overheard Salazar jokingly call Godric at one point or another…and led to it being an epithet. That is why Salazar is laughing over it. This fact might actually make it into the story itself but I thought I'd explain just in case.

I should note that I don't have Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff figured out in a similar fashion…I'm pretty sure Rowling just liked the sound of Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw is a pretty obvious combo probably related to a certain diadem.

6 - After much debate, I decided to play with Salazar/Harry's wand. Canon shows multiple cases where a wand is no longer used by its original owner. A wizard may grow out of a wand and need another eventually. That Salazar is a reincarnated adult, not a child, made me wonder if the holly wand would work. Its wood and core are symbolic of rebirth and could have been fine for Salazar in that sense but Salazar's first wand was snakewood with a basilisk core —snake/snake for someone known primarily for their ties to snakes.

So, because I have nothing better to do, apparently, I investigated wands and cores. I found Rowling's documents on Pottermore (which is another website now), and decided to go this route. If you are curious, those docs are written by "Ollivander" and he has some ego and serious bias that I decide to play with here also.

That the wand still is connected to Voldie, just through the wood, amuses me. Also, yew trees are dioecious, meaning there are male and female trees. Their wands are "sister wands" because the yew tree was female. (I figured they were "brother wands" originally because Fawkes is male.) Will this matter in the future since Salazar basically never uses a wand, no idea.

If anyone is curious, yew is not only Voldie's wand wood but also a wood connected to life, death, and rebirth. Quetzalcoatl is a feathered snake deity from mesoamerican mythology and a magical creature in the Harry Potter world. Said myths include connections to rebirth, wind, air, and learning.

7 - Grill is to British what Broil is to Americans.

* - I didn't mark a place for this, but I have to admit that I created a map for Diagon Alley...and it sort of grew and grew. This map is published on Archive of Our Own.