Chapter Seventeen
oooP1ooo
(Neville)
"Papa!"
"Umph," escaped Salazar as the little, glowing, transparent girl tackled the boy into a hug.
Godric flopped onto his bed and watched their school squeeze the air out of Salazar with a soft smile. It was almost like seeing Salazar hugging his daughter—human daughter. It was something he had never had a chance to see.
Salazar glared half-heartedly back at him.
"You're not the one who's supposed to cause trouble!" Hogwarts jerked back to scowl up at the Slytherin. A slightly transparent finger jabbed the shrimp of a founder in the chest. "You're the responsible one! You're not supposed to run into danger and get hurt—Giant Spiders! Selkie! Now this!–"
"Hogwar–"
"NO!" she snapped. Grinding of stone against stone had Godric stand up. The walls were slowly turning about, moving without changing the position of windows or doors. It was a little creepy.
Godric turned to the pair. Sally looked a tad bewildered. Hogwarts was adorably furious but she really shouldn't be turning the walls like that. At least, Godric couldn't imagine it being good for her structure or...or something. "Sweet hear–"
"No Papa!" she snapped over at him, her eyes alight with outrage and fear. "You were the one I was supposed to worry about! Not Papa Sally!" Hogwarts stabbed a finger against Salazar's chest and looked back up at the brunet. Her eyes welled with glowing tears. "You aren't supposed to almost die!"
He sucked in some air. The image of Sally dead flashed before his gaze. It replaced details and merged with the image of Salazar unconscious. His brother had almost died. Again.
Salazar tucked her into a hug as she just lost it. His brother shot a helpless—do you know what the hell is going on—look. Godric forced himself to shrug.
The headmaster had had little to do with this near-death experience. Godric sucked in another breath and forced himself to slowly breathe out as another thought crossed his mind. How had Sally gotten ahold of the dead acromantula? What had happened in the lake that led to all that blood? How many times had Sally almost died already?
He took another steadying breath as panic bubbled up.—His brother had promised. There was no reason to panic over it. Sally was alive. (It wasn't a promise anyone could really keep.)
Slow steady breaths helped keep the panic from going too sharp. Hazel eyes focused on his living family. He didn't need to panic over what ifs or had beens or might bes. The present was what mattered now.
Hogwarts and Salazar, too busy with each other to notice the growing heat within the room from his emotional turmoil, ended up sitting on the floor in the middle of Godric's dorm room. One tiny girl curled up on the shrimp that was Sally. She was almost too big to claim lap cuddles but maybe Salazar would have a growth spurt. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his brother as the little girl had a full-on breakdown.
Godric watched for a couple of minutes awkwardly at the side. When it was clear they would not be moving anytime soon (and that Salazar had no clue what he was doing), Godric pulled all the pillows and comforters off the various beds to make a nest about the two. Then he plopped down beside them.
Eventually, Hogwarts turned her head about from where she had tucked it under Sally's chin and stared over at him. Her face was splotchy red and tear-streaked.
"Hey," Godric said softly.
She sniffed loudly and rubbed her nose across Sally's shoulder before she croaked out, "Hi."
Salazar slumped in relief.
"You know," Godric said slowly, trying to think of a delicate way to put this, "that...we're not...dead. Salazar's not dead and he wasn't going to die."
He really wasn't. There was no way a troll would have killed his brother, even if he was a shrimp with limited magical capacity. Death by troll was just not the type of death Sally would have allowed.
Her hands tighten around Salazar's robes once more. Gray eyes stared wildly up at him. "You've never been so close before," she whispered, "when you've been attacked here."
Godric's eyes widened. "Oh."
"We've all…" Salazar stopped before finishing that.
Obviously, they all ended up dead, Godric thought, Something more was going on with Hogwarts.
Hogwarts made a helpless noise and squished her face against Salazar's chest as she seemed to attempt to merge herself with him—that she did seem to sink a little into Salazar indicated that she might actually have that ability.—"Mama Wena died sick! Mama Hellie died old! Papa Rie died sick! You died away from me!" She sobbed out, "You left and died. You left and-and never came back!"
"The only fighting on the grounds were the duels, even during the conflict with the Normans." Godric said quietly to Salazar, "None of us ever got close to being seriously hurt."
Which was saying something since those were honor duels and usually ended with the other person dead. Of course, most of those idiots had strutted over to demand the right to Hogwarts and claimed they were a better wizard who should be the master training all those children. There had been few reasons to hold back and every reason to take down the threat to themselves and their home.
Salazar frowned and carded his fingers through the red curls. "Hogwarts, we cannot promise to not die. We are human."
"I know that," she choked out with a teary glare, "But you aren't supposed to be killed! Not again."
The two founders shared an uncertain look. Either they had missed something or buildings were more emotionally similar to people than expected.
Hogwarts sniffled as she finally separated from Salazar. On her knees, she was the same height as Salazar sitting on the ground. She looked at him with a frustrated and worried expression. "You aren't supposed to get hurt like that! Not when I can help this time."
"Wha–"
"If you had waited for them to enter, I could have helped move them into a corner and cut it off from everyone else and we could have knocked them out and sent word to the Minister or Mater Laelia or-or...Lucy would have gotten word to her mama and people would have come and taken them away and you wouldn't have almost died!" She glared furiously at Salazar with tear-filled eyes almost goading him to counter her idea.
Salazar stared wide-eyed. "Uh…" Green eyes snapped to him, making it clear to Godric Sally had figured out Hogwarts wouldn't listen to him. She hadn't listened to either of them so far.
Godric sighed. "You're right."
Her head snapped toward him in surprise. "I am?" She swallowed and gave a sharp nod. "It's a good plan."
"We could have done that," Godric said, "Maybe we should have but Hogwarts...you know why we built you, right?"
Hogwarts sat back on a pillow as she considered his question. Gray eyes slowly narrowed and she pouted. "I was built to protect the children, to give sanctuary during strife."
"Would letting a possessed professor and mountain troll into your walls fulfill that?" Godric asked quietly.
"I could have blocked them off and knocked them out."
Salazar spoke up, "If you knew they were there. You aren't consciously aware of everything….I mean, you've nearly said as much before. You didn't know Quirrell was possessed, did you?"
She slumped and looked down at the blankets in front of her. "No."
"And," Godric took back over as he guided the child to the fact of the matter, "Have you ever changed your interior with people present? Can you yank an entire hallway to another side of the castle and take the people within it without harming them? I...mean, do you know what you can do safely with all the people inside you? I know we never moved rooms with people inside them when we reorganized the various floors."
Her pout grew more pronounced. "I don't know," she said quietly.
"We aren't saying you shouldn't help," Salazar said, leaning over so he could offer her a soft smile she could see. "You're the last defense, Hogwarts. You were always the last defense, a place everyone could flee to if the non-magicals attempted genocide."
Godric remarked as he leaned back against his arms, "Now you're even more of a defense than when we first built you."
She looked back up and considered them both thoughtfully.
Salazar tucked a wild strand of curls behind her ear then straightened and looked over at Godric. An important thought had clearly sprung to mind. "How does someone turn themselves into a free-floating spirit?"
Hogwarts snorted out a wet little laugh as Godric stared weirdly back. "Why'd you think I'd know?"
"Mama Wena was complaining about that," Hogwarts said as she leaned her cheek against Salazar's still-raised hand. "Grandpa–" Salazar startled and mouthed the word at Godric, bewildered. Godric was more amused. There was only one person summoned that she could be referring to. Master Hardwin had cared for Salazar since the man had been eight. That certainly qualified him for grandpa status. "–said it's like being a ghost but not. They both are tied to something in this world, keeping them here."
"Ssoul magic," hissed Salazar, eyes narrowed.
Godric pressed his lips thin. Besides their soul bond, the few druidic rituals for the dead, and the knowledge that soul, mind, and magic were tied together, none of the founders had ever delved into magic pertaining to the soul. Soul magic was dangerous.
Hogwarts looked worried again.
He pushed this revelation to the side and asked, "So did everyone join you and Helena for the rest of the day?"
She lit up. "Mama Hellie gives the very best hugs! Mama Wena and Nuncle had all these questions because they wanted to know when I gained consciousness. It was so much fun!" She bounced on her pillow, which was technically, probably, Seamus's pillow. "Sissy Lena didn't join–" Godric shared a look with Salazar. They would have to hunt Helena down for a long overdue conversation. "–but Mama Hellie had some House elves make me a birthday cake because she missed all the earlier ones and Samhain could be my mini-birthday when they visit and I always wanted a birthday cake since the traditions began an–"
"You can eat?" Godric interrupted.
Hogwarts paused and then shrugged. "I don't know where it goes but I can taste it, and chew it up and swallow it."
The two founders shared another look. Then Salazar called out, "Mipsy, could you please bring three hot chocolates and any freshly baked biscuits? We missed a birthday party."
Hogwarts' smile stretched wide.
oooP2ooo
(Harry)
Professor McGonagall stared over her rectangular glasses at him. A thoughtful frown was written in the lines of her stern expression. Black hair was done up in her usual tight bun. Deep green robes fell into their usual layers. Everything about her presence was normal.
The office was in nearly exactly the same state as the day he had been dragged in by the Weasley twins. Some stacks of essays had shifted and changed heights. A wooden chair sat before her desk. That was it.
But, something was off. He could feel it. And it wasn't coming through his various bonds. He had left Godric and Hogwarts in the dorm munching on a fourth batch of biscuits. Only a sense of deep contentment reached him when he concentrated on either.
She waved him to the chair as she settled into her own plush one. He obediently sank into it. It wasn't uncomfortable but the magic he could feel running through it concerned him. She had conjured the wooden chair which wasn't a comforting fact, not that he actually thought she'd dispel it while he was seated in it. She could, though, and that left him seated at the edge ready to spring up if he felt the magic begin to disperse.
"Mr. Potter," she finally spoke up as she rested a hand on a rolled-up scroll before her, "Under the circumstances, it has been decided that you will not be disciplined for the unauthorized entry to the Gryffindor dormitories. We are simply relieved you are well and safe, that all the children have kept out of trouble after the strange events on Halloween morning."
Salazar slowly nodded. "Thank you," he offered, though he expected a 'but' at any moment.
"Yes, well...that said," the deputy continued, her hand curled around the scroll, "concerns have been put forth over your position within Slytherin. The headmaster has listened to those concerns and has informed me that a near-unheard-of opportunity should be given." A hint of distaste colored her tone at the end.
That was what was off, he realized as his emerald eyes sharpened onto the minute details presented by the professor. McGonagall found the opportunity distasteful for some reason. Her back was taut, her shoulders stiff, and her mouth tight with disapproval. Her hand around the scroll was in a tight fist.
He straightened in the chair as he considered what possible by-law had been utilized "What were the concerns? And who brought them to the headmaster's attention?" His head tilted as a sudden thought jumped to the forefront. "Shouldn't my head of house be present?"
"Your head of house was the person to bring forward the list of concerns. Some, as I understand it, are from himself while others are from anonymous peers of your house. It's because of this that Severus isn't present." She paused and gained a put-upon expression, clearly slightly annoyed at herself before she added, "If you would like another adult to stand in his stead, we can call on one. Professor Flitwick, perhaps?"
Salazar considered her for a long moment before he shook his head. A long list of complaints suddenly appeared after his first major, and noticed, violation of the school rules. 'Some' of those complaints came from Severus Snape who hated him for unknown reasons. And it all was actually listened to within the few days he was locked within the Gryffindor dorms when the headmaster should have been focused on the expanded loch and various officials.
It stank. The fewer added complications, and another person pulled in would be a complication, the better.
"No," he said quietly, "I'd like to hear the complaints though."
Her lips pressed together and she pushed her glasses up to take a better look at him through them. After a moment of scrutiny, she nodded. "Very well. The specifics of each incident noted will not be covered, though. I cannot tell you the number of complaints, how many complained of a specific issue, or so on. The matter of your head of house was brought up solely because you asked where he was and you have that right. This is a standard process, understand? You'd only receive the details if you demand an investigation into these complaints."
Salazar gave a curt nod back. "Yes, ma'am."
She nodded again before she unwound the top of the scroll before her. "You have accounts of the following complaints: non-team player, threatening presence, cheating, forcing others to complete your own work for you, pranking, disrespectfulness to authority figures, and general bullying."
"And evidence of these complaints?" Salazar asked with a frown.
McGonagall snapped the scroll closed. "Nothing noted beyond the word of the complainant," she said, "but the headmaster has informed me of his concern for your and the other Slytherin students' wellbeing. It is his opinion that you may do better in another house."
Salazar stared, hands clenched together in his lap. The headmaster had expected him in Gryffindor. The man was now offering to re-sort him. Being locked within the Gryffindor dorms for multiple days (admittedly unconscious for the majority of it) took on a whole new perspective.
The woman before him should have visited her Gryffindors sooner than she had and at that earlier point she should have taken him to his proper dorms. But she hadn't. That had been useful for them since it kept the adults from finding him unconscious but, from the adults' perspective, it meant he had been stuck with the house of the brave for multiple days. In their minds, he had just gotten a taste of the 'better' house. Only Professor McGonagall's displeasure at offering a re-sorting kept him from believing her an accomplice in the ridiculous charade.
"Is that common?" Salazar finally asked. He couldn't recall any hint of such an option in the history books. It had certainly never been an option during his past life. Not that anyone could change masters so easily back then.
The deputy's lips thinned once more, answering his question before she spoke. "No. You would be the first person in multiple centuries to have the option. Second in the entire history of this school."
"May I know the circumstances behind the first resorting?" Salazar asked intent on answers before a thought clicked his mouth closed.
He was eleven and he needed to sound like an eleven-year-old here. Everyone may consider him mature, his peers might have a conflated and unrealistic idea of him because of his status as The-Boy-Who-Lived, but the professors had little interaction with him. What interaction they had needed to fit the image of a gifted eleven-year-old. Neither Godric nor he needed their reincarnated status revealed to the world, particularly not while they were still legally underaged.
Professor McGonagall fought a grimace. "A young lady had been assaulted by fellow members of her house. Her...attackers were never found. It was determined that, for her mental state, she required new accommodations. The sorting hat obliged." At the sight of Salazar's hard stare, she added, "A variety of safety measures have since been implemented, of course."
Salazar turned his gaze down to his hands in his lap with a short, sharp nod of understanding. He would have to look into that. It sounded like...the reincarnate pushed the thought aside. It wasn't the time to consider such unsavory actions occurring within his school.
He looked up and stated flatly, "That is a very different situation to mine."
"Yes," she agreed, though she seemed to fight herself from using stronger wording.
The founder leaned back into his chair and shook his head before he carefully spoke, trying to match one of his Ravenclaw peers in terminology, "I'd like to stay where I am, ma'am. I didn't do any of that. And I won't...I enjoy being in Slytherin. No offense but the Gryffindor dorms were…" He paused as he tried to think of a simple word to use. Exuberant was a little much from even Hermione. "Bright. Maybe Ravenclaw would be alright but..." He shrugged.
Professor McGonagall relaxed and offered an amused, surprisingly warm, smile. "Yes, Gryffindors can be a little intense. I will inform the headmaster of the matter and know that you may come to me if you've any issues."
Salazar rose with a nod. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Of course Mr. Potter."
Salazar was almost out the door when she called after him. He turned back at the sound of her voice. "Oh, and considered making connections with your house peers. It will go a long way towards their acceptance of you."
He nodded for what felt like the tenth time. "I'll try."
"That's all any of us can do."
oooP3ooo
(Neville)
"Papa?"
"Hmm?" Godric felt too lethargic to respond properly. They were still in the pile of blankets and pillows. Hogwarts was sprawled across the floor with him, her head on his stomach.
"Have you met Mater Laelia?" Hogwarts asked lazily.
He blinked open heavy lids and hummed again as he considered the question. That was the name of the Hufflepuff Head on the map. It was possible he had met her as Neville but there was something off with that idea. He had the strong impression he didn't meet many people outside of his family over the years. "I...I don't think so."
Hogwarts sat up and looked down at him with wide eyes. "You got to meet her, Papa! She's Mama Hellie's great, great, great, great, great, great, great, gre–"
Godric covered her mouth. "Many great wha—Ew!"
He yanked his hand away. The little girl had licked his hand. Godric lunged forward and swiped the slick hand across her shoulder.
"Papa!" squealed the girl as she dodged backward with laughter. Before he could do much else, she vanished and he fell forward. Godric caught himself and stood up with a scoff.
"That's not playing fair Hogwarts!"
Laughter echoed through the room for a moment but she didn't physically return. The Gryffindor founder shook his head, more amused than anything, and took the heavy hint. He pulled out a certain handy magical map and found Laelia Smith on it. She was outside, by the expanded section of the lake if he guessed the new addition's position right.
Godric used one of the many hidden passages, saving himself a good twenty or more minutes, and soon stalked out the front doors of his castle. As expected, the green was filled with groups of children wandering about, either staying in a general area with a lovely view of the expanded lake or down near the roped-off section. A few quaffles were being thrown about, an impromptu gobstone tournament was rounding towards the final knockout stage (if the betting going on was any indication), and a fair number of picnics had been set up near the lake.
On the other side of the roped-off area were a score of magicals waving their wands about and checking results on floating parchments. Groups and pairs wandered around the edge of the large cove, hunting for visible hints. A whole other group of magicals were standing on a floating platform on the lake clearly miming and attempting conversation with a group of selkie.
He watched as the adults worked, curious at what they could be finding with their unfamiliar spellwork. His gaze wandered over each of the ladies more carefully than the men. None of them really stuck out as Helga's and Gareth's decedent. There was a redhead, which could indicate relations to Gareth, and there were a couple of blondes, which could indicate relations to Helga, but hair color wasn't really a unique indicator.
Finally, he gave up and pulled the map out for a quick look. A petite youngish, blonde won, which shouldn't have surprised him. Helga wasn't particularly tall either—hadn't been tall.—Godric shook his head slightly and tracked the woman as she walked the cove perimeter with some ancient-looking woman. The two looked like they were discussing something important.
Godric glanced at the map once more and found the name of the other, older, woman. Griselda Marchbanks didn't have a title occupying the space below her name but she was either with the Ministry or the governors. Neither of which really mattered, nor helped him think of a way to meet his many, great grand-cousin.
He huffed at himself, stuffed the map back into his robe pocket along with his own hands, and kicked a rock through the roped-off area. The perimeter lit up like a rainbow.
His eyes widened as he watched the chain of charms ripple across the edge of the investigation. Adults all around startled and searched for the disturbance. At the lack of danger, the various groups relaxed with a few laughing it off and a couple shooting glares at all the various children standing about the rope, which included Godric.
The founder warily watched the light show until it faded. He only relaxed when the last light vanished and no odd jinx or curse reacted. Godric turned back to his very distant cousin. An amused grin greeted him. The two women had walked toward him when he hadn't been watching.
Other children near him shifted away but not far enough that they wouldn't overhear.
"And what did you think that would accomplish, young man?" demanded Marchbanks with a scowl.
"Now, Griselda, he isn't the first child to trigger the areal charms," said Mater Laelia. Dimples appeared.—She had dimples just like little Oswin, Helga's little boy. (Godric squashed that distracting realization. Plenty of people had dimples, but there was something there. When the dimples appeared on her face it was a shadow of people long dead. It was just a little disconcerting.)
The old lady sniffed disdainfully and gave Godric a good long look over. "Well, what's your name boy? You've got our attention, might as well be polite about it."
Godric couldn't stop the faint discomfort. He felt exposed. She reminded him of...of someone. He swallowed his discomfort and answered as politely as he could. "Neville Longbottom, ma'am."
Both women winced.
"Heir Longbottom?" muttered Mater Laelia before she offered a kind and slightly awkward smile, "I'm terribly sorry, you know."
He stared, having no idea what she was on about.
"Yes, terrible business…" Marchbanks agreed as she shuffled about as if she wanted to bolt back the way she had come. "Of course, Augusta and Pater Longbottom have not left a stone unturned in a search for a cure...it's just...terrible business and to meet you on the anniversary of it...Well..."
The two shifted about as they searched for some route out of whatever they were talking about. Godric felt like he was expected to respond a particular way but he had no bloody clue what they were talking about. All he knew was this desperate need to move on, too.—And a deep, conflicting mix of shame and sorrow and guilt.—After a long pause he blurted out the only thing he could think to say, "Thank you...its...its...been hard but all you can do is carry on."
"Very true," agreed Marchbanks.
Mater Laelia nodded multiple times. "Yes, yes...In fact–What do you think of Professor Quirrell? I imagine Augusta has been on about you learning every tidbit of the defensive arts as you can.–"
"–Well, you cannot blame her for that," said Marchbanks to the Hufflepuff Mater with a sniff before she turned back to Godric and leaned over the rope to look him in the eye to ask, "How was the young man?–" She turned back to Laelia as if she really didn't think much of the answer to her question. Her next words indicated how little she thought of the very dead professor. "–Quirinus was a decent muggle studies professor but I had never taken him seriously when he talked of changing subjects. Then he went off on a grand tour for actual experience and Albus actually let him teach defense against the dark arts as if a few months' travel could possibly equal the experience one should possess to properly pass on how to fight such dark things!... Of course, I didn't say anything—you know how Albus can be when he's an idea in that brilliant mind of his—but...well...I doubt Quirinus would have been able to help with the issue we've had with the subject. Argus finished his review of the last sixty years–"
"–The cumulative report is completed?" Laelia asked, intrigued, "It wasn't skewed again, was it?"
"Argus skew it?" Marchbanks asked, clearly amused now, "You know that he's too crotchety to pay any mind to the galleons that keep appearing in his inbox. No, it doesn't show blatant signs of any particular blood status having better or worse test results...but–well…" She paused and looked down at Godric. Her lips pursed together and she shook her head. "So, sorry, dear. You must be bored to tears and here we are asking you questions but not giving you a moment to answer them!"
"Uhmm." Godric tried to think of something he could say but all he could think of was how he was stuck with Hermione as his desk mate. The most memorable class had been when Peeves had bombed it. He doubted Quirrell had been trying to teach anyone properly anyhow.
"Hello."
The three of them turned and Godric offered a relieved grin. Salazar looked back at him, gaze flickering over to the cove a few times as he looked from Godric to the ladies and back.
"Sorry to interrupt. I had been looking for...err...for Neville. We've...we've our basil plants to manage."
"Well, you cannot just interrupt and then run!" huffed Marchbank before she turned to Laelia and announced, "Children these days aren't learning any manners." She turned back to Salazar and explained as if he was particularly dull, "If you must interrupt a conversation, you do so with the knowledge that you must enter it and bring it to a natural close unless it is of life and death importance. Basil plants are not life and death, young man."
Salazar stared at her, his mouth slightly agape and brows high. "Uhhh, I see." He finally said as his green eyes jumped to Godric before he finally said, "I apologize. Would you be so kind as to...to bring me in on the conversation?"
"I dare say I cannot," she sniffed, nose lifting in the air, "as I do not speak with strangers on delicate topics."
"So sorry," Salazar smoothly answered with his stupid, charming smile making an appearance. Marchbank turned pleased. Mater Laelia just looked amused. "I am Harry Potter, ma'am. Neville is a very good friend of mine."
"Oh!" she squeaked, her eyes jumped to the runic scar mostly hidden by Salazar's wild mane of hair and widened. "Oh!" Marchbanks snapped her head towards Laelia as if looking for guidance.
Laelia looked just as startled.
"They were asking me about defense against the dark arts class," Godric explained, "What did you think of it?"
"Uh," Salazar said as he tried not to make a face and failed at it. "Well...Professor Quirrell had a heavy stutter. It made things difficult to understand...The homework seemed reasonable?"
Mater Laelia nodded. "My daughters were saying the same thing, though Lucasta thought the homework was too simple."
"Daughters?" Godric repeated.
She lit up and pulled out an ornate wallet. It clicked open with a tap of a finger and unfolded as she held it up for them, revealing a coin holder on one side and a picture of three girls on the other. She leaned over the rope to show it off to Godric and Salazar and pointed proudly at each girl in turn. "My eldest, Lucasta, is in Hufflepuff a few years above you both. Finula is a year above you in Slytherin, and my little Tullia is still just a tot–"
"Isn't she eight this year?" Marchbanks interrupted, amused.
Mater Laelia scowled over at her, "She's my adorable baby! She's not allowed to grow up yet."
"You and Octavio should want an empty nest, dear. Think of all the things you'd be able to do without a child about. Didn't you get a new dining table? Imagine breaking it–"
"Lovely meeting you both!" Salazar said loudly, "We've got basils to care for!"
Salazar grabbed Godric's arm and yanked him along, not that Godric had any reason to stick around. He didn't want to hear anymore.—Which was possibly why she had said it. Marchbanks seemed like the type of old lady that would chase away unwanted children by talking about inappropriate things.
Laelia Smith seemed much nicer.
"Godric, what was all that?" Sally asked as they slowed their rush back to the castle.
He shrugged. "Just thought I'd meet Helga and Gareth's many great grandkid."
Salazar stopped. "What?"
"The younger woman was Laelia Smith, Mater of Hufflepuff," Godric explained.
Green eyes widened. "Huh."
"Seemed decent enough. You're almost as tall as her."
Salazar scowled.
A few minutes later, after Salazar guided Godric past the greenhouses and back into the entrance hall, Godric asked, "What are we actually doing?"
His brother sighed. "We need to talk to Helena and Eustace."
"What are we talking to them about, exactly?" Godric growled out as he stopped in the middle of the hall and ignored Salazar's pulling.
Shoulders slumped. His brother heaved a sigh.
Godric frowned, his annoyance at Eustace and the situation evaporated away. "Sally?"
The dark-haired child turned back to him. "I don't know. Master Hardwin made it clear we cannot just exorcise hi–"
"We still can."
"I will not go againsst Masster Hardwin, no matter the fact that he'ss dead. He iss right. We don't exorcisse ghosstss that aren't harming the living." Salazar hissed back. Green eyes darted about the empty hall and Salazar yanked at his robe to guide Godric through the first door he spied.
They entered an oddly familiar reception room. The furniture layout was almost identical to how Helga had set up the room a thousand years ago. It just had newer furnishings. The walls were empty except for a ginormous mirror, large stained glass windows they had originally built with green, blue, red, and yellow geometric designs, and a giant fireplace taking up three of the four walls.
No one was inside. A clear click echoed when Godric closed the door. Both founders regarded the handle curiously. Godric pushed and then pulled at the handle. It wouldn't budge.
"I'm going to blame Hogwarts for the fact that you can open locked doors without doing anything," Godric announced.
"That's probably the right answer," Salazar agreed before he sat on one of the cushy chairs by the cold fireplace.
Godric turned and watched as his brother stared into the dark fireplace for a moment, tired. It would take more than a few potions for either of them to recover from the fight. The exhausted lines of Salazar's slumped shoulders and the shadows under green eyes made that perfectly clear. The healing magic could only help so much. Sleep and actually relaxing had to happen too.
Salazar said, "We are missing some of the story regarding Helena."
"Rowena was hiding something," Godric agreed before he folded his arms across his chest and started to pace. He considered the situation once more but came to the same set of conclusions he always did. Eustace was at fault for Helena's death. If he hadn't done what he had, Helena would have lived. He pivoted to Salazar and snapped out, "But I was there. I witnessed his obsession. Eustace didn't have a healthy relationship with Helena. He was far too possessive, Salazar. He's still too possessive."
Salazar turned to him and copied Godric's posture by folding his arms across his chest as he countered, "Death changes people. Their relationships chang–"
"I bet you a galleon he's with her right now." Godric interrupted, flicking a hand out in emphasis. "I bet you he'll be within fifty feet of her all week."
"You've no way–"
Godric pulled the Marauders' map out, said the password, unfolded it, searched the floors, and found them. "There." He stabbed the parchment with a finger before showing it to Sally. "He's with her right now."
Salazar leaned over to look. His lips thinned as he pressed them together in displeasure. "He couldn't possibly be with her all the time."
"You want to bet on it?"
Green eyes flicked up at him and back down to the map. Sally sighed and slumped back in his chair. "Not really."
"I think," Godric said slowly, "It's time you tell me everything we need to deal with. No skimping on the details. Give me everything and then we can divide it up between the two of us or even decide what to put a hold on like with the damn spider infestation."
"We can't hold off on the spiders for too long," Salazar countered, "They're in that grove...I need access to th–"
"Let's start from the beginning." Godric interrupted. He stalked over to the other chair and dragged it closer to Salazar's chair before settling in it. "I know I've an imbalance with my present memories buried. I'll deal with that. I have that mess with my core but we are handling that as we can each month. I can't deal with either all the time. Let me help."
Salazar slowly nodded. "You're right."
"Of course I'm right," Godric scoffed.
Green eyes rolled in exasperation at the claim. The two paused and shared a short look. Grins broke free and Salazar snorted in amusement before he visibly relaxed. At least Sally wasn't so stressed he couldn't see a joke. (Not that Godric wasn't usually right. He just didn't usually point it out.)
oooP4ooo
'So the world was fucked,' Godric thought as he stalked down the latest hall, Marauders map in hand as he took the long route to his dead niece. 'How Sally has come to the conclusion he has to save it all is a little concerning.'
Fixing all the issues with the wards, rebalancing the different school house relationships, and possibly, (eventually) forcing some expansion of both curriculum and staff members were all things Godric considered issues a founder of Hogwarts should deal with if possible. The apparent lack of non-foci-based magical disciplines outside of potioncraft and herbology (and some rudimentary runic magic), the illegal status of various magical disciplines such as ritual magic, and the bizarre construct of "light" and "dark" magic could be issues to tackle if looked at in a certain light. Societal belief in blood purity, ignorance of cleansings and purifications, and the potential issues surrounding the statute of secrecy were not something he'd consider their problem (outside what they meant for them personally, at least).
But he could see how Salazar took it all personally.
His brother's primary masteries were illegal, no longer practiced, or practiced by people not under strict guild regulations. Hogwarts' wards weren't working properly which meant the children were vulnerable. The world believed Salazar was tied to the blood purity movement and muggle hating.
Druidic duty was to guide and protect the community. Salazar had thought up their shared apprenticeships and the concept of Hogwarts because he wanted to prevent deaths like his sister's. One taught because one wanted to pass on all one had learned in life, academically and otherwise.
Salazar's entire existence was threatened. And that didn't even cover all the people and things that actually wanted to kill him.
Godric took a deep, slow breath. To top it all, those issues didn't cover the complications.—Weasley Twins. Snape. Arcumentulas. Dumbledore. Voldemort. (In order of immediate threat level, as Godric saw it.)
One step at a time.
He turned another corner, went through an illusionary mirror, and walked up spiral stairs to the next floor. It opened into an unused classroom. Helena floated beside a window. Eustace floated a few feet back, like a wart that kept coming back.
The intent stare Eustace was directing at his niece's back curdled Godric's mood. He folded the map, pulled his wand to tap the parchment, and announced in the silent room, "Mischief managed."
Eustace flinched away from Helena. She twisted sharply towards him, eyes wide. He stuffed the parchment and wand into a robe pocket.
"Stay put," Godric ordered.
Helena glanced from him to Eustace and back but did not move. Eustace faded until he was barely visible but also didn't move.—At least they were listening for once.
She licked her transparent lips, uncertainty sharpened into determination and her transparent nature followed suit, growing sharper. "Uncle, you cannot exorcise Eustace. I will not allow it!"
"Do you see Salazar?" Godric snapped his hands about himself as he spoke, "No? So how do you expect me to exorcise him?" He sighed as Helena shrank back, fading to be almost as transparent as Eustace. "I'm here to discuss what we would like you both to do."
"What do you mean?" Helena asked slowly, "Mother...She told you, you should not exorcise him?"
"No," Godric glanced at Eustace and found the boy slightly more visible. Eustace looked confused. Godric made a face and turned back to his niece. "The conversation was focused on other issues and then...well, you've seen the result of the bullshit that happened."
"You're the one that exploded the lake!" she gasped out.
Godric countered defensively, hands waving about as he said, "It was entirely your mother's idea! I had barely anything to do with it.—Why do you always think I'm at fault for the bizarre things that happen?"
Helena raised an eyebrow and answered, "You tickled a sleeping dragon."
"You," Godric whined back, "drugged our ale! And it was entirely your fault that we were out there in the first place. Salazar almost died after you decided to climb the sleeping dragon!—We were supposed to spend the day at Hogwarts going over basic charm structure but noo, that was too bori–"
"Uncle Salazar wasn't supposed to drink any of the ale too!" she complained back, a silvery flush stained her cheeks. "It was just supposed to be the two of us."
Godric demanded, "Again, how is that supposed to be better? You still planned to drug me with ergot(1) to get me to take you on a day trip to see a dragon instead of following the outlined work Rowena wanted us to cover–"
"I didn't know the fungus papa had gotten would do that." She insisted with a pout as if claiming that for the hundredth time would make him believe her.
He dropped his hands and looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Right. It was entirely happenstance."
Her gaze darted away as she said, "It was."
Godric rubbed his jaw and sighed. "Fine. Entirely happenstance that all those things lined up as they did.—I'm here because we would like you to see if the diadem is still hidden where you left it...Salazar has convinced me that both of you should go. Together."
"What?" Eustace said.
The founder closed his eyes and counted down from five. Lucky for all involved, he was more tired than annoyed. His magic wasn't sparking up, ready to consume the world at the dead fool's voice.
"This may be something the two of you need to do together." Godric groused out. He opened his eyes and regarded his niece. She looked conflicted. "If the diadem is there, we will help you return it to Rowena. Perhaps that is what holds you to this world."
"Oh." She breathed out. "I…" Her hands clenched and she darted a helpless look to Eustace.
Godric fought a frown. "Eustace goes only if you are comfortable with him going. He's to help protect you but also because Salazar pointed out that whatever argument you two had that led to this–" he waved his hands at the two ghosts. "–may be what keeps you here. To backtrack and revisit that could allow you, both of you, to finally move on."
"You want me gone?" Helena said, voice shrill.
"Helena–"
"Why are you telling me this!? Why isn't Uncle Salazar here?" She snapped.
His hands clenched into fists. It was always frustrating to try to talk to her ghost. Whether or not she intended to jab at old wounds, she always seemed to bring up Salazar when they argued about her death or Eustace. He snapped, "Dammit Helena, I'm just trying to help but if you don't want me about, fine. I'll leave. You can find Salazar and talk to him about all this."
"No," she answered, hand raised out to him, a startled expression on her regal face, "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that...I just...you are saying we, meaning you and Uncle Salazar, right?"
Godric pressed his lips together and watched her for a moment but her regret seemed true enough. "I do," he said, "Sally and I came up with a list of possible reasons for your haunting. We could be wrong but we want to start somewhere. And I imagine you want the diadem returned, yes?"
She nodded.
"Then the first on our list, returning the diadem, allows both to happen. You and Eustace travel together and discuss the relationship the two of you have candidly while searching for the diadem. Once you know if it's there or not, you return and let us know. Over the summer Sally and I can go pick it up," Godric explained.
Helena slowly nodded, expression thoughtful. "I agree with the plan, uncle."
"We cannot just leave," Eustace said from his rooted place.
Godric scoffed, hazel eyes flashed to the very still ghost.
Helena floated between the two, hands held out to either side of her hips as if warning Godric away, politely. "He is right, uncle. We cannot just leave. We will have to wait until the holidays."
"Why?"
She clasped her hands before her and said resolutely, "We are house ghosts. We have a duty to any student who seeks our aid during the semester."
"And you cannot pass that duty to another?" Godric sighed out.
Helena tilted her chin stubbornly. "No."
"The Winter holidays will not be long enough. It took us months to return on the last trip. We may be able to borrow horses or hitch rides with the headless hunt but it will still take more than a few weeks," Eustace spoke up once more, gaze firmly on a wall opposite them. "It'll have to be the summer."
Helena considered her stalker's words and nod in agreement.
"Fine," Godric huffed, "Then we'll expect an answer when we return in September."
At the two ghosts' nods, Godric flashed a narrow-eyed glare at Eustace and pivoted back toward his hidden exit. With the family business vaguely complete, he had two mischief makers to drag to the baths. Neither Helena nor Eustace tried to keep him.
oooP5ooo
(Harry)
The muted colors of the Slytherin common room glowed with the reflection of the fireplace and blue-tinted light spearing through the underwater windows. He strolled through the large common room, feet stepping from cool stone to warm, plush rugs and back as he passed. The various sitting areas were filled, classes would begin again in the morning and it seemed the majority of the house had left their homework for the last moment.
Salazar noted the cold glances and the outright sneers directed at him. Before he had been ignored but tolerated. It seemed the tolerance of his pupils had found its end.—Peers, he internally corrected himself. It would be best to consider the students his peers so he kept his interactions on a level playing field, so to speak.
He shifted the stack of books he needed for tomorrow as he strolled through the hall into the male dormitories. The soft brush of ancient enchantments swept over him, confirming his sex. He swept down the hall till near the end where the first years stayed.
His dorm room wasn't empty but it was soon after he entered. The various first years, Zabini, Nott, and even Vincent, and Gregory sent him glares before they left. Salazar dropped his books onto his bed and sighed when feathers exploded out of the covers. A peek under the cover revealed someone had cut his bed up. He didn't have any desire to investigate at the moment. It might be because of his apparent decision to become a Gryffindor or an act of bullying from whoever was actually doing the bullying he had been blamed for. Either way, it would take time to figure out—time he needed for other matters.
"Potter."
Salazar turned around even as he pulled a feather out of his unruly hair. Draco stood wet from a wash. "Draco."
"It's Malfoy, Potter," Draco said with a cold note in his voice and a glare.
"Malfoy," Salazar repeated with a faint, distracted nod. He needed to figure out where the hell he'd put his things. The children knew he didn't have a trunk so he couldn't have one just appear. That would cause questions. While he could answer them in some roundabout way, he rather not for a trunk of all things.
An illusion could hide the trunk but he didn't have the time to create one that could fool multiple senses and make anyone that happened to fall on the trunk think they fell on the floor. It would also need to make anyone seeing the person fall see them fall on the floor. All in all, it was more of a headache to consider all the possible scenarios to include in the illusion to go through with it.—For a trunk, anyway.
"Why are you here? Thought you'd prefer the dunderhead Gryffs. The headmaster refuse your resorting?" the boy asked with a sneer.
Salazar frowned at the child but offered plainly, "I refused the resorting."
The sneer vanished. "What?" breathed out Draco in surprise.
"Apparently I have been bullying fellow Slytherins which means I must not feel welcome or properly sorted. So the headmaster gave the offer."
"You refused," repeated Draco.
"Yes," Salazar answered.
"Why?"
The founder offered the young boy a smirk. "I am Slytherin. There is no other house for me."
The hostilities faded entirely. Draco returned the smirk before he seemed to recall Salazar's explanation. "Have you been bullying people?"
"No."
"Didn't think you would have." The blond nodded before he jumped back to his main focus. "Why'd you stay with the Gryffs?"
Salazar shrugged. "I like Neville–" Draco made a face at the statement but Salazar ignored him. "–and as much as I belong in this house, none of you are particularly welcoming. I didn't mean to stay in the tower, though. Professor McGonagall didn't come up till this morning."
"So you were locked in," muttered Draco as he connected the dots.
The Slytherin founder nodded before he offered one final nugget of information, something he had no qualms about passing along to Draco. "I think the headmaster had me locked up there to try and convince me to do the resorting."
Draco scowled and flopped onto his bed. "He would. Father says that man's gone senile but is dangerously so. He has an agenda. I'm not surprised he wants to include you in it...Father and-uh...Father and his friends–" Salazar tilted his head slightly as Draco made friends sound like a question but didn't interrupt. "–all assumed you'd be the old man's figurehead for an onslaught of pro...um…" Draco paused and gave Salazar an odd look like he had swallowed something a little sour before he continued. "Pro-Muggle laws over the next decade. He used you to pass a number of things back right after the end of the war. Just like he used his defeat of Grindelwald back in the 1940s."
Salazar raised a brow at that tidbit of information. The wonderful things children overhear, he thought in amusement. "Well, I guess he'll have to try harder then."
"Yes," agreed the blond with a pleased smile. "Father will be thrilled to hear it," Draco added as he turned to his section of the room and pulled out fresh pajamas.
"Draco," Salazar paused until he heard a quiet noise of acknowledgment, "Do you know anything about this bullying?"
His blond head popped up over his trunk's lid. "No...well...it's all the halfbloods and first-generation purebloods submitting complaints."
Salazar stared. "First generation...purebloods?"
"Yes, you know the children of first-degree halfbloods," Draco offered as he turned back to his things, "Or, I think, it's also children of a seventh-degree pureblood - first generation you know - and a first-degree halfblood...or a first-degree pureblood and a first-degree halfblood but that never happens!" Draco popped his head back to flash a grin but seemed to pause and stare at Salazar. "Or, well, usually."
"Oh? What am I in all this?" Salazar asked, amused. Florean hadn't brought this up when he had explained the pureblood prejudice against muggleborns and halfbloods.
Draco blinked owlishly. "You don't know? I-you're... your mother was mud-muggleborn—her parents were muggles, yes? That means she was a seventh-degree muggleborn and your father was a first-degree pureblood...so...you're a seventh-degree halfblood!"
"And that means what exactly?"
The blond gawked. The next moment found Salazar seated on Draco's bed being lectured by a pacing eleven-year-old on the finer points of blood purity. In the end, the entire degree of blood purity went over his head (He hadn't honestly tried to follow it after learning what he was considered in the scheme of things). It had something to do with generations of magic within a bloodline.
As far as Salazar could tell, it was a bunch of hogwash. Such could be important in regard to Familia magic but had little to do with a person's magical capabilities otherwise. And even then, no one knew how Familia magic came about. It was assumed to occur from a multi-generational focus or specialization but no one knew with any certainty. An ability just appeared in a child at some point and often was passed on to that child's children.
This degree of blood purity seemed like another attempt by panicking traditionalists to protect the status quo and their way of life. Once more, Salazar couldn't find himself blaming them for their reaction but he could blame them for their ignorance and blind panic—and the murder and terrorism some pursued under Voldemort.
Eventually, the other children reappeared long enough to remind Draco that they were supposed to be ignoring Salazar. The group of children left to play some game in the common room, leaving Salazar to deal with his cut-up bedding and where to move his things.
Salazar pulled out his wand and cast a reparo, taking care of the destroyed mattress and sheets for the moment. That left putting his things away. The only storage he had was his end table. That was not going to work.
He frowned around the room but there was no other storage. Magic allowed the trunks to act like an armoire—Nott's looked like an armoire at the moment even—so it wasn't terribly surprising. It did leave him with few options.
"Mipsy."
The House elf pop-clicked into the space in front of him. "Master Sally!" She chirped out with a warm smile.
Her greeting pulled a smile from him. He said, "I'd like your thoughts on where I can store my things without causing questions. Everyone must be aware of my magical bag by now."
She turned thoughtful. "You might find a replacement bag in the Come-and-Go room, Master Sally. It wouldn't be enchanted though!"
"That would keep up pretenses but I do need actual access to my things. I cannot keep asking Godric to pass them along." He waved down at his stack of school books for tomorrow.
"I could be bringing it to you anytime, Master!" she answered cheerfully enough. Her cheerful smile turned a little sly when she caught his dubious expression and she spoke before he could counter her offer, "Or you be using your proper rooms!"
Salazar blinked a few times as he processed the idea. "My own rooms?"
She beamed, taking his words as agreement. "I be moving your things, Master! You look in the Come-and-Go room for furniture you be liking! Just be asking to see all the lost and found things."
Mipsy pop-clicked away before he could respond. Slytherin stared down at where she had been. Feeling like he had just been tricked into doing something. Then he remembered Mipsy had wanted to place him in his suite the first night he had been home. A fond smile spread at the sly little thing.
Now, where was his suite? Its door in the common room wasn't there so Hogwarts or his fellow founders must have hidden it like they had hidden his ritual classroom.
oooP6ooo
(George)
George Weasley followed his brother and Neville (Godric Gryffindor!) down through hidden passages until they reached a section of the dungeons they had never paid much mind to. The eleven-year-old, blond founder (Godric Gryffindor!) proved that they should have looked around more closely over the years as he tapped a pattern across a plaque of snakeheads and a hidden passage opened. Within that hidden passage, the blond revealed another behind a huge statue of a snake.
He had known that there were still hidden rooms and passages within the castle they didn't know. Their map had only been a start. It had been key to their early pranking success, yet only revealed a small section of everything hidden within the centuries old castle. He and Fred had known that but they had never considered the possibility of hidden passages within hidden passages.
The possibilities that fact opened up!
And now, they had two of the founders to show them more. The two founders might be tiny eleven-year-old twerps but they were here, alive and full of secrets. The rest of the mysteries within the castle might be revealed to George and Fred if they stuck close to them.
Fred and he rather liked secrets. At least, secrets they were in on.—The entire school was trying to figure out what had happened by the lake on Halloween. Even with classes about to start again, it was the only thing anyone wanted to discuss. George and Fred knew the answer but had so much fun offering up the most ridiculous possibilities to their friends. Lee had particularly liked the idea that Quirrell had died in saving the school from a rampaging coven of vampires. (That all these ideas were nothing to the actual truth made it even more fun.)
The redhead clenched his hands into fists to stem the tremble of excitement and a bit of terror.—Only an idiot wouldn't be at least a little terrified at what they've entered.
You-Know-Who was alive.
Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor had returned, as more than allies.
The three were in conflict, though You-Know-Who probably didn't know it yet.
And they, his brother and himself, had become tagalongs.
Horribly foolish: Also, terribly exciting.
Their mother would box their ears if she ever found out about this. Of course that all depended on her actually noticing anything about them besides Perfect Prefect Percy's complaints. And that wasn't going to happen any time soon.
George refocused on his surroundings hoping to see something new and exciting. He was only slightly disappointed but that's because the oddities were minor little things. The hallway behind the giant snake was strange in that there were stones that glowed a soft, eerie light instead of torches. It was also surprisingly clean, cleaner than most of the castle in fact.
This mystery was ramping up towards something marvelous. It had to be.
George shared a look with his twin. Blue eyes met his but with a cautionary note.
That look seemed to say: _Be wary. This was exciting and thrilling but the snake wasn't here and the lion liked the snake for some reason. Probably mind control._
George rolled his eyes at that. He was almost entirely certain the caution wasn't needed. Probably. Maybe.
But now was also not the time to argue over whether or not Potter was evil and bad and needed to be sent to Dumbledore. Harry helped take out the bad wizard and troll. He got You-Know-Who out of the school. He was dangerous, sure, but he wasn't bad.
A doorway came into view at the end of the hall. George straightened up and tilted his head about to try and sneak a look into the room. Godric Gryffindor(!) was taking them to some after-battle shindig. It was going to be amazing, and magical, and mysterious.
It was an empty room.
Well, empty except for Harry Potter.—Should he start thinking of him as Salazar Slytherin, the actually-not-a-bloody-tosser founder of Hogwarts? Neville being Godric Gryffindor wasn't as much of a stretch even if the plant-loving boy was so quiet compared to what they had always imagined.
Harry Potter was a hero. Salazar Slytherin was supposed to be evil. It was less of a headache to just think of them as Neville and Potter at this point. It still felt strange that the story he had grown up with had all been made up.
_He might still be a bloody tosser. We don't know. They didn't say. The ghosts only said why we probably have the story we do about him leaving._
George snapped his gaze back to Fred.—They were not fighting about this now. Anyway, what more was there to say? That the other founders were never at odds with Salazar Slytherin meant he was as good as they were.
His brother leaned his shoulder into him and jutted his chin out. George followed the direction of the jutted chin and looked at the Slytherin founder more carefully. Potter was scowling at a wall.
It was pretty amusing in a ridiculous little kid sort of way. That is until he recalled the dead troll and who the eleven-year-old was. Then wariness was a good idea. Potter and Neville might be brothers from different mothers, and they might have never had the historical argument that made Salazar Slytherin leave, but Fred was right. No one had yet said Salazar Slytherin wasn't a dark wizard.
It was sort of hard to imagine a twerp like him being a dangerous dark wizard but they weren't dumb enough to think otherwise. Not yet, at least. Still didn't explain why the founder was glaring at a wall, of course, but priorities.
_Exactly._
George huffed and knocked his shoulder back against Fred's. He doubted Harry Potter could be evil. He had been allowed back inside Hogwarts. If he had been evil, the other founders would have found a way to keep him out.
Fred made an annoyed sound but gave no counterargument. His brother hadn't been able to counter the possibility that Potter was good. There were no actual signs that he was evil and plenty of signs that he was really, honestly, pretty good.
_Watch and wait. He'll show his true colors. The whole ritual talk is a sign._
He couldn't argue with that. Rituals were bad news, everyone knew that. (No one's ever explained why they were bad though.) They would watch and wait. If Potter was evil, then they'd get the Headmaster involved. They had agreed on that since the dodgy night they had first spied Salazar Slytherin on their map and hunted the figure down to find a little first-year standing where the dot on the map was.
"Sally."
Fred choked and George couldn't stop his grin. He didn't think it would ever get old, hearing Godric Gryffindor call Salazar Slytherin 'Sally'.
Godric Gryffindor glanced at them with a faint frown before he turned back to Slytherin. "Brought them to use one of the pools."
George shared a look with Fred. They both thought the same thing at the other. It resonated and felt like one thought between the two of them. It made the thought feel sharper in their minds. _Pool?_
Slytherin's scowl faded as he turned from the glare-worthy wall. Very green eyes lingered on Fred, not even the round glasses dimmed the green color. George shifted and knocked shoulders with his brother once more.
Fred was not hiding his distrust. He needed to. They did not need to antagonize a bleeding Founder while in their castle. Especially now that they were up and about.
_They're the ones who brought up rituals! We can't trust him. _
"I'm surprised they consented," the snake said, turning those too-green eyes to his fellow founder. His voice was only a little rough as if he was still recovering from a cold and not almost being strangled to death. "After the ritual nonsense."
Fred stiffened at his side and blurted out, "We're not doing a ritual!"
Gryffindor groaned out at the same time, "Did you really have t–"
"I will not have them complete anything without explaining it to them properly," Slytherin snapped at the blond, ignoring Fred, "It's not my problem if they decide to continue the modern tradition of giving fuck-all about their cores!"
George grabbed his brother's arm and held him at his side as Longbottom scoffed at his fellow founder.
The lion snapped back, "They're my students! I know how to handle my students and bullheadedness has to be forcefully–" Godric Gryffindor flicked his hand out as if yanking something to emphasize his words. "–yanked out from under their feet. Once they tried out the cleansings, they'd be willing to listen!"
"Or they would think it was some malice trick I was attempting upon them," countered the snake with a scowl. His green gaze flicked over to Fred but settled on George. "Do either of you even know anything about purifications and cleansings? Or are you content with the general idea that they're bad?"
Memories jumped forward eagerly. He shared a look with Fred as they quickly concluded that said memories were less than kind towards their mum. Who knew how much of her ranting and raving at pureblood nonsense, raging over requirements for Bill's "horrible" job, and so on were accurate. The one time their dad had sat them down to explain tradition hadn't been much better—it hadn't been emotional or over the top but it had amounted to their parents not teaching them any of the traditions because they believed they were outdated from older, more ignorant days.
That was probably true for most of it. But one had to second guess that thought when two of the bleeding founders of Hogwarts were asking about it. If only it had just been Slytherin asking but Gryffindor was going along with it. Did that mean rituals weren't pureblood nonsense?
Fred's own uncertainty whispered through his mind but also a nudge to do what he thought was best. George stared at his brother for a long moment. Fred was the one who usually handled these things.
_You like him. You talk._
"Er," George offered up as he turned from his twin to the two founders, "Mum...she said that purification rituals are some of the only legal rituals left."
"It's more that she said their useless forms of pureblood supremacy," muttered Fred, the memories too prominent for him to stay quiet on the details now that George had given them a direction, "used by the pureblood elites to clean themselves from any filth they get from walking near a muggleborn or, Merlin forbid, a squib."
George jammed an elbow into his brother's side and hissed out a whisper, "Mum was tipsy when she went off about that!"
"No she wasn't, she was ranting at dad because the goblins made the purification stuff mandatory for Bill," Fred hissed back, "She got tipsy and complained about it after she came back from that outing to that fancy-dancy shopping place. Remember Gin-Gin said they ran into a Malfoy who said something about having to purify herself because of all the muggleborns—mudblood was what she said. We had to explain what that meant to Gin."
George grimaced as he recalled that conversation. "Right."
"So," his Slytherinness said slowly, interrupting them.
The twins jumped and turned back to the founders with identical, wide eyes. George wondered how much they might have heard. The next words implied most of their whispered conversation.
"That's not really what cleansings or purifications are for." Salazar Slytherin continued to say carefully, gaze eyeing Fred as if expecting his brother to attack. "The concept of blood purity wasn't...well–" He glanced over at his fellow founder. "–I never actually heard of it until this year."
Godric Gryffindor shrugged at his brother. "The closest thing I can think of is the whole losing favor with the Mother causing your kids or grandkids to be born without magic."
George stared. Did that mean the founders didn't fight over purebloods and muggleborns–No, George shook his head, they didn't have that fight. The ghosts had already said that.
It hadn't crossed his mind that the whole idea of blood purity might not be as old as the founders, though. It seemed to have always been there. Everyone cared about it, whether because they thought it was a terrible concept or because they believed in it. And yet, two of the founders hadn't known about it until this life.
The Gryffindor founder turned to them, tilted his head in curiosity, and asked, "Do you know anything about this...ritual...Bill participated in?"
Fred snorted divisively and answered, "Oh yeah, Bill told us all about it. He had to take a bath.—Goblins are barmy."
George rolled his eyes at Fred's answer and explained more thoroughly, "It involved a tub filled with lavender bath salts and the water was super hot and he had to stay in it until it became ice cold."
The two founders stared as if they were waiting for more of the explanation.
"That's, uh...it?" George said, feeling like he was asking more than saying.
Slytherin's shoulders slumped and he leaned against the wall behind him, the one he had been glaring at before. He pressed fingers against his forehead as if messaging a headache away. Gryffindor gained a displeased expression.
"Seriously?" Godric demanded. At their nods, he started muttering in some bizarre language but it was obvious he was cursing. George made mental notes, though he knew he'd have trouble pronouncing any of those words and probably only remember a part of some fancy swear. Only the two founders in front of them would ever know, though.
When the blond didn't look like he was going to stop anytime soon and the snake in the room seemed distracted, George turned back to Fred. They had been brought here for something related to rituals but weren't actual rituals. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
Fred gave him a look that screamed: _You. Must. Be. Joking._
He wasn't. George had a good feeling about Slytherin and Gryffindor. They could learn more, at the very least.
His brother straightened and turned toward the little, probably venomous, snake. _It could be the proof we needed._
George thoroughly disagreed.
Fred ignored him and demanded, "What are we doing then?"
Green eyes peeked out at them. The hand against Slytherin's forehead fell and the dark haired child-that-wasn't-a-child tilted his head at them, like a cat. Or maybe snakes did that too.
"We plan to take a bath within one of our cleansing pools," Slytherin answered, "The cleansing will help with any contamination you have around your cores...A proper purification ritual would do more but I won't force you to do anything you do not wish to do, no matter how much it would help you."
George blinked a few times as he tried to see how this was any different from the goblin's purification ritual. "Does it involve lavender?"
Amusement flashed across green eyes and a shadow of a grin appeared for a moment. "No. I highly doubt Bill completed any ritual, let alone a cleansing bath either."
"Sound like they just wanted to mess with your brother," Godric added.
"Wait," Fred stepped in front of George and pointed an accusatory finger at Salazar Slytherin, "Contamination?! You're having us on! You're talking about that bloody shit you pulled with Neville during that picnic!" He moved to point at Godric but continued to stare coldly at Slytherin. "But Neville is bleeding Godric Gryffindor! You were playing us!"
Silence fell heavy about them. Slytherin's amusement vanished behind a carefully blank expression. George wanted to strangle his brother—now was not the time to accuse a super powerful wizard of unknown morals of being underhanded, no matter the whole cunning thing.
_Now is the perfect time. They want us to think he's good._
That doesn't mean they won't change their minds and get rid of us!
Fred shifted more firmly in front of George as if saying: _So you do think he's evil!_
"I didn't remember," Godric said, breaking their silent conversation up, "being Godric at that point."
George leaned against his brother's frame to get a good look at the reincarnated man turned shrimp. "How's that work? You aren't possessing Neville, are you?"
Godric Gryffindor made a face at that before he sighed and dropped down to sit cross legged on the floor. Slytherin settled beside him with a similar, heavy sigh. The two founders shared a long stare. George met Fred's gaze after a moment. It was like the two were silently communicating just like they did.
_They're bonded like us, maybe they are._
The reminder that the two founders had a bond similar to their own caused him to take a mental step back and reconsider things. Rituals were dark magic but they weren't being asked to do a ritual. They were being asked if they wanted to take a bleeding dip in a pool. What harm could that cause?
Fred made a face at George but sank to the ground and sat across from the-first-years-of-untold-power. George joined the three, feeling a little more curious than confrontational.
He had gone back and forth like this for days now. The number of whispered conversations with Fred about what to do with what they knew as they waited for the founders to wake up rushed back to him. They had always reached the same conclusion: see what the founders would do and try to learn some neat, long-forgotten magic trick or two.—What secrets would they reveal to them? Maybe something marvelous.
Slytherin regarded them for a long moment before he spoke up, "You are both thirteen. That is of an age to learn responsibility. We will answer your questions if you agree to keep mum about what you learn."
"What?" Fred and George blurted out together.
That had been the very last thing they had expected. No one thought they were responsible. They weren't allowed to do anything slightly important. Mum had stopped letting them near any cleaning supplies years ago. They had never been left with the care of their younger siblings for fear they'd prank the two bonkers. George couldn't even remember the last time they had been left home alone.
"We will not answer questions if we do not want to give an answer," Slytherin added, "but ask."
George turned to his brother but Fred seemed particularly stumped. He turned back to the two younger-but-probably-old-as-dirt boys and said, "Well, I did ask—How are you both here? You aren't possessing them are you? Like what You-Know-Who did with Quirrell."
Another sigh escaped Godric before he said with a hint of some frustration on his part. "No, we aren't possessing Neville or Harry. We are them."
"How–"
"An individual is made up of three interconnecting parts," Slytherin answered quietly. He leaned forward and tapped two fingers onto the stone floor before him. A vibrant circle glowed under his fingers. He did that three times, each glowing with a slightly different color before he continued to explain, "Often one might simply name it the Soul and leave it at that but the Soul is part thought, spirit, and energy or Soul, Mind, and Magic—if you are willing to consider the whole and a part both Soul."
Each circle flared and began to swirl outward in a spiral-like motion in response. When done they were three intertwined spirals and their colors mixed into a single tone. It sort of looked like some symbol George had seen at least once but couldn't place.(2)
"Not body?" Fred asked quietly.
Neville shook his head in denial. "If the body was required for one to be then ghosts would not exist, for instance. You-Know-Who could not have possessed Quirrell either in such a case. Of course, we could argue that both those examples aren't exactly stable and that is probably because there is something about a body that is needed for any one of us to truly exist within this plane."
The Slytherin leaned back from his glowing design on the floor. "No matter what a physical form does for us, Ghosts and Voldemort do exist without it. Therefore a body is not technically required, though it likely offers some form of grounding greatly desired in the long term." Potter said, "In turn, a body can only handle so much Soul. Quirrell disintegrated once Voldemort left his body. His body could not handle the second soul and was likely deteriorating from the moment of possession–" He looked over at Neville with a thoughtful frown as he added, "–how he lasted as long as he did and without any signs is a good question, though. I've never heard of one that lasted particularly long."
"Garlic," the blond answered with a shrug, "He covered himself with garlic and let it overripen. You could barely smell the rot behind it all."
"I don't recall–"
"I have a front-row seat directly in front of his desk," Neville said dryly, "Have you been that close?"
Potter's eyebrows shot up and he wordlessly shook his head.
Fred leaned forward, blue gaze intent on Longbottom as he demanded, still looking for gotcha's, "how come the stories about possession don't end with the person dissolving like Quirrell then?"
George watched as the two glanced at each other. Potter shifted back until he could lean against the wall behind him. Neville turned back to Fred with a thoughtful frown.
After a moment, clearly actually considering Fred's question seriously, Neville said, "We are simplifying things slightly. The deterioration of the possessed person is dependent on the fortitude of the person and their general physical health. It also depends on the willingness of the person to be possessed by the spirit...Quirrell appeared willing...But, I also imagine, the stories you are talking about are where the possessed goes through an exorcism. Supposedly, if you catch a possession quickly enough and exorcise the spirit, you can save the person."
"That just means you could be possessing Potter and Longbottom!" Fred cried out as he sprang up to point at them as if he had caught them out.
_Rituals. Parseltongue. Possession. He's a dark wizard!_
George sprang up with his brother, heart pounding at the thought. Fred grabbed his arm and pushed him back towards the hallway. George backed up. At some unconscious decision, the two bolted. The last George saw of Potter and Longbottom were two startled expressions.
oooP7ooo
(Neville)
"So that happened," Godric remarked as he stared after the vanished redheads, "want to bet how long it takes them to try an exorcism on us?"
"On me, you mean." Salazar countered with a sigh. "Couldn't you have just...left some of that out?"
Godric rolled his eyes, stood up, and stretched. "So says the one that insisted on explaining why they should take a bleeding bath. Anyway, they'd have looked up possessions in our library either way.–" He glanced over at his brother. "–Sooo...you jinx them?"
"Soon after they sat down." Salazar answered, "They shouldn't even think of us as Salazar or Godric or the founders of Hogwarts. They might use our surnames but if Snape or someone overhears their surface thoughts, it should come across as them thinking of us by our school houses."
"Right," Godric turned from Sally and stared back down the hall. Even if the boys could find a way to tell anyone, they no longer had the map as proof. They only had their memories, which was both illegal and extremely dangerous to extract at their age. He shook his head. "Stubborn idiots. Bath?"
oooPooo
1. Warning, if you are prone to worrying about your health from reading about strange and disturbing health problems you might not want to read this.
- Ergot is the name of a specific Claviceps purpurea, a parasitic European fungus usually found in barley, rye, and other wheats. In the middle ages, it was often ingested from bread cooked with ergot-infested, ground flour. Symptoms include a restriction of blood flow to the extremities followed by a falling-off of gangrenous limbs, convulsions and seizures, vivid hallucinations often of demons or animals, prickling or burning sensations arising from the loss of blood flow which triggers simpler hallucinations of being covered in bugs or being burned alive. The hallucinogenic side of this fungus is historically tied to the discovery of LSD.
Ingestion of Ergot is considered one of the causes of "Medieval Madness". Societal circumstances helped increase religious vigor as people set upon by symptoms often fled to their church where they often ate bread that was not contaminated and recovered. Then they went home and ate more of the contaminated bread. This led to the belief that it was divine punishment that had to have divine intervention.
This illness was called various things throughout the middle ages from "Holy fire", "plague of fire", and eventually became known as "St Anthony's fire" because of a saint dealing with the illness himself. For the most part the source of St Anthony's fire was figured out and contained in the eighteenth century but has an identified outbreak as recently as 1951 in France. The source of 200 people's illness and 5 deaths was figured out after two autopsies.
As with many such issues, witches could and probably were blamed (but I haven't gone digging to confirm in this case). For this story Ergot ingestion causes a stoned stated with usually minor hallucinations for magical people. Yes, Helena got her uncles high and then dragged them to see a sleeping dragon instead of learn charm basics.
2. The design ends up similar to the Celtic spiral knot which represents unity, oneness, eternity and three elements — fire, water, and earth —, probably amongst other things. It is believed to be one of the oldest celtic knot symbols.