Chapter Twenty
Warning: Some of the memories Godric recalls at the end of this chapter are scenes of child abuse.
oooP1ooo
(Harry)
A wooden box was set in front of Salazar. Slytherin blinked down at it past his cup of tea and then looked up to find Godric seated across from him. Zabini, whom Godric had sat beside, had a mildly bewildered look as the boy tried to process the Gryffindor seated at the Slytherin table. Oatmeal materialized before Godric and he dug in without a word.
Salazar popped open the box to have a glance over, deciding to go along with Godric's nonchalance. The box was separated into many smaller compartments. Each was filled with seeds or nuts of various colors and sizes. Some of the textures and colors were frankly bizarre in appearance. There was no denying the magical nature of many of them. The reincarnated druid reached out for a deep plum-colored acorn and paused as his fingers brushed against magic.
Ozone and bubble-like, almost oily, film whispered across his senses. Some type of protective magic covered each compartment. Each was slightly different. The magic didn't restrict his fingers from passing but did keep the contents from falling out by accident.
He tested various compartments without removing anything, suddenly having the feeling that it could be a very poor idea to just randomly take one from its protective environment before he was ready to actually plant it. One had a moist feeling and his fingers came back slightly damp, another seemed to pull the moisture from Salazar's fingers, and another felt like reaching for a lit candle. Salazar tilted his head, more and more curious as he explored the magical-miniature environments of each little square more than the actual seeds.
"There are no labels," whined Draco loudly as he leaned over to peek into the box with Salazar. "Longbottom, you have to tell us which is which!"
Salazar silently cheered over Draco focusing on that instead of ordering Godric from the table. He was imagining a far more unpleasant response from his Slytherins but no one seemed to care too much. There were plenty of uncertain expressions but that was about it.
"Wait!" cried someone from the Ravenclaw table as a group rose in response to Draco's loud whine. Anthony, Kevin, Padma, and another few Ravenclaws crowded across Godric and Zabini's back.
Anthony leaned over excitedly, "Is that the Longbottom seeds and things? Let me see."
Salazar and Godric shared a look as the Slytherin founder let the lid fall back with a soft ding against the table, revealing the contents to everyone.
"Oh wow, look at that one!" cried Kevin as he almost climbed over Godric to point out a putrid green and spiky-covered nut. "What's that?"
"Looks almost like a horse chestnut," Salazar offered.
Godric shook his head. "Close. They're related. It's a Dreammear. Its bark is used in various seer and dream walking potions."
The Gryffindor Patil and her friend, Lavender, joined the group, eyes shining with interest at the odd sight of non-Slytherins at the Slytherin table. Salazar could just spy a group of Hufflepuffs also headed his way.
Parvati, the Gryffindor crest proudly gleaming off her chest, squeezed in close to Zabini as she asked, "What's going on?"
Zabini began to color as his gaze jumped from Gryffindor to Gryffindor to Salazar and back. Being seated between the two red and gold children seemed a little much for the boy.
"Ohh your winnings, Harry," giggled Lavender as one of the older Slytherins flashed the crowd of first years a half-hearted glare and shifted away from the group, giving her space to claim an actual seat at the table by Nott.
Salazar very firmly ignored her as she finished the giggle with a flutter of lashes at him. He was beginning to second guess introducing the lot to each other. A distraction or Draco being affronted by their presence enough to chase them all away would have made his breakfast so much more peaceful.
A bang rang out, seemingly in response to his thoughts. Everyone present, including a few teachers that had risen to investigate the congregation of children at the Slytherin table, turned toward the loud bang. For a second, silence filled the air in sharp contrast. Then a few less composed children guffawed and others squeaked in horror. Some even covered their eyes.
Headmaster Dumbledore stood before the large doors to the Great Hall. He stood in a bathrobe with bright yellow quacking ducks across it, large fluffy rainbow-covered socks, and bright yellow slippers on his feet. His beard and hair were braided and tucked into two matching little nets, clearly to keep it all tidy as he slept. A large, bright yellow night cape completed the look.
"I appear to have misplaced my bathroom." the headmaster finally remarked in his oddly jovial way. "If you'll excuse me, enjoy your breakfast!" He then pivoted, pulled the doors back open, and walked out, only to reenter the Great Hall.
This pulled out a few more giggles and laughs. Most shifted, unsure if they should laugh at their elder so uncomfortably exposed to them. The Headmaster was eccentric so his clothing choice wasn't particularly surprising. But he was a powerful, legendary-like figure who looked shockingly frail in these clothes.
Salazar silently popped the lid back on the box of seeds and slipped it into his new satchel. No one noticed. Everyone, even the ones awkwardly giggling were stuck still.
The old man made a slightly annoyed noise and then chuckled. It sounded forced but a number of children relaxed and joined in. "I spied lemon pancakes. We don't usually have those, I couldn't let you all claim them!"
More children relaxed and laughed over the ridiculousness of the situation and the headmaster shuffled cheerfully up to his throne-like chair on the dais.
The founders shared looks from across the table and then Godric twisted about to glance back at the Gryffindor table. Salazar's gaze followed. The Weasley twins, the main known pranksters of the school, didn't look guilty or overly pleased with themselves. They looked excited and intrigued.
Salazar shook his head and looked down at his tea leaves. Pranks on the old man were not his problem.—A dog head floated back at him. He blinked and it was dissolved into six odd little shapes. He slowly turned the cup about but the odd little shapes spun about as he turned it. So he narrowed his gaze and considered them properly.
A delicate little hand pulled his cup from him. "Are you divining!" squealed Lavender excitedly before she looked down at the cup herself and squealed louder, "Ohhh, this one looks like a crown! And this one looks like the outline of mountains, and this could be a vase–"
Parvati left Zabini's side to join her friend. Her twin sister separated from the Ravenclaw group to join in analyzing Salazar's tea leaves.
"Definitely a crown–"
"–oh, that's a box? Square?"
"Could be a diamond!"
Padma stated, "That's a lightning bolt, not a mountain–"
"It's definitely a mountain range!" countered Parvati as she countered her sister, defending Lavender as she did.
"It's Potter's teacup," Padma admonished her sister and Gryffindor friend.
Salazar watched, open-mouthed at the three. It took a moment as he considered what to say before he gave up and claimed Godric's finished teacup instead. Unsurprisingly a lion stared back at him. Turning it made it become a bee. Spinning it again made it a lion once more.
It was odd that he was still seeing that. Obviously, Godric was a lion, being who he was, and a bee from being a Longbottom. The tea leaves didn't need to tell him still. There should be something new, shouldn't there?—If only Helga had been reborn too. She'd understand why it was still showing these images.
It was probably because he was terrible at divining anything.
Lavender's voice cut through his thoughts, "That one's a necklace–"
"Or a ring." countered the cooler-headed Patil twin.
Draco leaned into Salazar's vision, an incredulous expression written across his pale face. "You don't really do tea leaf reading, do you?! My gran did that. It's–it's–old lady stuff!"
"He's an old soul," Godric answered before Salazar could, a smirk taking up most of his brother's face, "Of course he does."
The three ladies arguing over his teacup lit up with dangerous expressions. Draco dropped his head to the table with a groan.
Salazar flicked a narrow-eyed stare up at Godric. Godric simply grinned back at his glare.
oooP2ooo
The Slytherin founder sighed and rubbed his forehead as he trudged through the dungeons. The winding pathway that eventually led to the Slytherin dormitories was grey and dull and empty of any students. It was exactly what he had been looking for.
He had feared the attention of Lavender and Parvati but they had only shared potions. The two knew better than to badger someone in potions class. It was Padma he should have feared.
She hadn't left him alone between defense, charms, and transfiguration. And the Ravenclaw had brought reinforcements in the form of Sue, Lisa, Amanda, and Isobel. Draco, Gregory, and the other boys had left him.—Literally, the lot had even taken the girls' seats in Transfiguration to Professor McGonagall's amusement.
He had been surrounded for most of the day by five eleven-year-old girls.
The founder slumped as he rounded another corner. A solid something slammed into him. On a normal day, he would have heard the running child a mile away. Today he was flat on his back and wondering if the world should be spinning like it was.
He groaned dramatically but the person didn't pause. They scrambled off and around him, continuing down the hall without even a sorry. The founder made a disgruntled sound and rolled over to his knees. One of the empty classroom doors slammed shut as he staggered up.
Emerald eyes narrowed into slits and Salazar stalked after the annoyance that had assaulted his person because they couldn't handle the basic rules of the hallway. A stream of soft hissed mutters escaped the reincarnate as he headed after the irresponsible child. He was too out of it, too outraged at the world, and too grumpy to pay any mind to his liberal use of parseltongue.
Salazar swept into the classroom with a scowl. He flinched when the door banged against the wall.—He shouldn't have flung the door open like that.
A girl's voice cried out with a sharp, "Go away!"
He swept his gaze over the room and found her curled up against the legs of a desk. The girl sprang up when their gaze met, chin tilted stubbornly up and hands folded defensively across her chest.
His anger evaporated at the sight of her red, puffy eyes and blotchy skin. Tears streaks were written into her cheeks even though she had tried to wipe them away in her rush to stand. Her nose was a vibrant red. Her lips struggled to follow the stubborn jutting of her jaw instead of crumbling like they wanted to. She looked devastated.
'DIRTY BLOOD', was written in Gryffindor red across her forehead.
They stared at each other. Salazar frowned as he took her in and tried to recall if he knew her name. He'd seen her before. He should know her, he was almost certain of that fact. She was dressed in school robes with a Slytherin badge on each shoulder. And she was familiar. The girl was someone he had seen often without paying her much mind.
The girl attempted to hold a strong front before one of her fellow Slytherins, not wanting to show her present weakness. She tilted her square jaw up and stood straight as she found her tongue (doing better than Salazar in this case) and demanded, "What you want, Potter?"
Salazar finally realized that he didn't know her name and felt even more awkward about the situation. There was no question about how she knew his but it was still disconcerting. He would do better and learn as many Slytherin names as possible over the year. It just would help if he could interact with them while doing so and he had definitely never actually talked to this girl before.
At this point, he knew his roommates but that was about it. There was Draco, Gregory, Vincent, Zabini, Nott, and Greengrass. She wasn't Greengrass. Greengrass was one of the trio of girls that went everywhere together. This girl was not one of them.
His frown deepened. Maybe she was a second-year student instead? She was on the thicker and taller side so it was possible. (Not that physical shape was a proper indicator after a certain point. Magical inheritance in certain families made it more difficult to guess these things also. For all he knew, she came from a family with a bit of giant blood.)
The girl shifted in discomfort and Salazar realized he was staring. She had asked him a question, hadn't she? The boy answered with the first thing he could think of, which wasn't particularly useful. "You ran into me."
She stiffened, "Well if you watched where you were going–"
"–I wasn't the one running through the hall–"
"–You were in the middle of the walkway! Who walks in the middle when they're going around a corner–"
"–Who runs in the hall! Who knows what harm you could have done if you ran into someone els–"
"–You're fine! I barely hit you, you bloody wanker–"
"–How utterly vulgar–" Salazar paused on his part as he realized what he was doing. He pressed a hand to his forehead with a groan and closed his eyes as he tried to focus on what was important. Arguing with a child was not even slightly important here.
The girl seemed to realize the argument was done a moment later and quieted herself.
He opened his eyes and snapped his sharp gaze back to the girl. "May I look at the curse?"
"Wha–"
"On your forehead," Salazar interrupted.
The girl glared back. "Why?"
"I might be able to remove it," Salazar said.
She scoffed. "Oh? The amazing Boy-Who-Lived can fix anything, can do anything, huh?"
"May I try?" Salazar countered.
The girl glared at him for a long moment. Her dark, red-rimmed eye searched his. Shoulders slumped and she gave a hesitant nod.
Salazar stepped over and looked up at the bright red letters with a frown. He firmly ignored the ping of aggravation over the girl being taller than him and asked carefully, "May I touch your forehead?"
Her eyebrows shot up, startled at his question. She didn't respond immediately. Instead, the eleven-year-old gave him another once over and slowly relaxed. "If you have to."
He nodded and reached up. Childish malice withered up his fingers as he traced the D but, for all the poor intent behind the magic, it wasn't an actual curse. It was a simple writing charm, usually used on the chalkboards by the teachers, tied with a color-changing charm to make it red. The magic within the tied charms would fad within the day.
The founder stepped back and slowly pulled out his wand as he stated softly, "I'm going to cast the general counterspell and see if it'll work. If not, I think I know the two specific ones needed also."
She gave him a dubious look but nodded in acceptance.
Salazar flicked his wand through the spell's movement, drawing the outline of a shield in the air. He focused on his intent and desire for the end of the two separate spells. This should work as he knew the exact spells he wanted ended. That was the beauty of the general counter but also its weakness. The spell would never work if one didn't understand the exact specifics and minute details of the spells they were attempting to counter.
"Finite incantatem." The vibrant red words faded into nothing. Salazar smiled, pleased. "There, all gone."
A hand flew up to her forehead and a small compact mirror was pulled out. The girl relaxed as she saw her clear forehead.
"Who did it?" Salazar asked, "One of the third years?"
Tying charms together were taught in the third year. The simplistic charms used had him guessing the bully was a third-year but it could be an older student purposely utilizing the simplistic spells to divert attention from his own age. Or the bully was incapable of tying more complicated spells together.
Her dark gray eyes snapped up to stare at him in surprise. "What—how—no!" Salazar silently noted that it was likely a third-year. At least one bully was a third-year Slytherin. "It's none of your business Potter."
"You're not a muggleborn, " Salazar stated in turn.
She shot a confused look at him as she tucked her mirror back into a pocket and fiddled with her hair.
"Dirty blood," he said in a way of explanation. He knew enough to know it would have said mud instead of dirty if she had been new blood.
The girl scowled. "Move."
Salazar blinked slowly, finally realized that he was between her and the doorway, and stepped aside. The girl flew out the door. He hadn't meant to force the matter on her.
He sighed at the mess. By the Mother, he wished Helga or even Rowena were about. At least he was eleven years old. There were some things he couldn't do nor would his peers want him involved in. He would hunt down the bully but right now, being away from children for a while sounded wonderful.
oooP3ooo
(Neville)
The round-faced woman beamed at him from the picture. The man tugged the woman against his side as he turned to look at her with a soft, besotted look before turning back to the camera and grinning. His parents in this life had been healthy once. Their pictured selves were nothing like what he had recalled.
There had to be a time in his life when Frank and Alice Longbottom were healthy and actually around, being his parents. He had to have some memory of that, didn't he?
Godric ignored the strong sense that he didn't.
The founder sat on his pouf, taking slow, deep breaths as he memorized the image before him. He looked so much like Alice Longbottom. Gran had dressed him like a miniature Frank (and that wasn't disturbing at all).
His parents kissed and hugged and grinned at each other. Both beamed out at him as if they were pleased to see him.—Except it was the photographer that they were pleased to see. This photo was of them before Neville had been born. It wasn't like a portrait that could interact with the living. The image only showed the moment that was captured over and over again.
He closed his eyes and imagined them as the picture captured but in a different setting, at a different time. Godric focused on remembering them. The smell of sage wafted in the air and floated across his nose. Memories he had already regained, memories of the shells of his parents, came to mind. He pushed them aside again and again as he tried to remember something else, something better.
Nothing came. Godric slumped and blinked as something hit his hands. He stared at the twin drops of water. He reached up and touched a cheek, surprised to find it wet.
The picture would not surface any memories.
He didn't have any of his parents outside the hospital.
Godric picked up the frame and rose, uncertain of what to do now. He had all evening set aside for this.
The founder grimaced at the picture and packed up, snuffed out the bundle of sage and circle of candles, and undid the protective runic circle. There was no way he was going to spend his Friday night doing homework. He had spent all week dealing with schoolwork. What was left could wait for Sunday or even Monday. That left bothering Sally or reading up on acromantulas. Or both.
He stopped at his dorm to switch out things and then followed the brother bond down to the depths of the school where Sally had cloistered himself in the ritual rooms. Godric stopped dead at the entry of the old classroom. His brother sat in the center of the room, surrounded by parchment.
"Do not," Salazar ordered as he wrote outlines of runes on parchment in some strange, probably entirely logical, incomplete pattern. The boy then stretched out to the side, as far as he could reach, and set the parchment carefully down amongst the existing work. The lines of runes lined up perfectly with runes on the parchment beside and below it.
Godric stared at the markings more carefully. "You're not seriously writing out the ward schemes like this. What happened to using a room to manage it all?"
"It's not ready."
"I think the room should be done first. There's no way you'll keep all this straight." Godric countered, even though Salazar was clearly writing it all out from memory. "Is this even a quarter of one of the layers?"
Salazar scowled down at the parchment he was now drawing across. "I don't care."
"Right," Godric dragged the word out as he considered Sally. The moonstones highlighted his ridiculously pale face and turned his hair into ink. There were shadows under his green eyes, sharper than usual. "The girls didn't hassle you all week, did they?"
Green eyes flashed up at him with pure annoyance.—Definitely not the time to hang out with Sally.
"Right, well...I'm sure the girls had enough of asking about tea leaf reading by now–"
Sally made a disbelieving sound.
Godric sighed heavily and looked back the way he had come. The hallway glowed eerily with captured moonlight.
He didn't want to go hang out with children. Ignoring the fact that none of the children were really friends with either founder since they didn't know who they were actually interacting with, none of them could be considered his friend. He was just the tagalong.
Thinking about it made him feel more depressed. Sally was the hermit that thought hanging out with snakes was socializing. He was the one that once dragged the other around to talk to actual people.
His life was so messed up.—Both their lives were.
"My photo of my parents didn't return any memories...I guess I never really knew them." And that was the most depressing part of the day. After the horror of the memories he had regained, he had hoped to find something good in his past. But all he had was Gran who wanted to turn him into his dad, and a horde of relatives that wished he was his dad.
While he couldn't say that his relationship with his parents in his last life had been all rainbows and sunshine, they had been his parents and he had had a decent relationship with them. It felt odd having no real relationship with his new parents.
The scratching sound of Sal's pen against parchment stopped. A moment of silence stretched out across the empty stone room, emphasizing Godric's words. Salazar's voice broke the depressing moment with more depressing news. "My parents died when I was a year and three months old."
Godric forced himself to look back at his brother. The brunet wasn't looking at him. Green eyes stared unfocused at a wall.
How fucked up was that, Godric wondered. Salazar had barely known his father, had only known his mother until six, and now had never gotten a chance to know his parents in this life. The closest person Sally had ever had to a parent was Master Hardwin but Sally had met the man when he had been eight. Salazar had never really talked about his aunt and cousin of this time either. All Godric knew was what the blood-based enchantment had done to their magic.
At least Godric had known one set of parents.
Sally finally turned to him and nodded to the corner of the room. There the replacement satchel sat, stuffed with things.
"Take the box of seeds, Rie," Salazar said softly, all irritation gone, "The one joy I know you had before recalling your past life was herbology. You can name every seed within that box. Some of the happy childhood memories you are looking for have to be tied to its contents...They might not be with your parents but you have other family that you've made memories with."
He didn't respond immediately. He hadn't told Sally about the memories he had recalled. He hadn't admitted that he feared there were no good memories, only worse ones waiting.
But Sally had a point. By the Mother, he had a point and the seeds wouldn't be much missed compared to his class basil if he burned it.—The spike of horror at doing so was a different matter, of course, but he'd get over it.
Godric set the stack of library books about spiders down and dug into the surprisingly light bag. The inside was covered in finely embroidered runic arrays in metal thread. He couldn't help but grin down at the work, wondering when Salazar had been irritated enough with the world to spend a day embroidering, of all things.
"You're researching the acromantula?"
"I did say I'd figure it out—Snape and the spiders," Godric said as he pulled out more books than should be in the bag. It was probably a pocket dimension like what Rowena mastered as they built Hogwarts. Expansion charms, which affected this dimensional plane, were spotty even when used in such small confines. Pocket dimensions were less likely to cut off limbs if they collapsed.
A noise from Sally drew Godric's gaze. Salazar stared at him with a frown.
"What?" Godric demanded even as he felt the box and pulled it out without looking.
Salazar answered slowly, as if uncertain of Godric's response. "I still think we need more than the two of us to safely deal with the spiders if we are going to deal with them as eleven-year-olds."
Godric set the box of seeds on top of the books of spiders before he admitted, "I think you're right. These creatures are nasty buggers. Specially trained teams have issues even when they know they are going into a nest of them. But," Godric narrowed his gaze at Sally, "I am still reading through everything. If we plan it out right, we could be fine."
His brother frowned but didn't disagree. Instead, he changed the topic as he turned back to his stack of parchment and started drawing up more of the old ward scheme. "We should be able to lock up the entrance to the third floor corridor this weekend. It's been long enough, no one should be watching the corridor more closely than usual."
"Alright," Godric agreed, "Meet you in the armory around midnight Saturday or Sunday?"
Salazar answered with a short grumble of, "Sunday," then reached out in front of him and let go of the latest parchment. It floated forward, probably mentally guided, until it landed in an open space. Its runic design completed the tiny selection of the scheme being drawn out.
Godric rolled his eyes and left. Reading about man-eating spiders sounded better than hanging out with a grumpy Sally or hunting for, likely unpleasant, memories.
oooP4ooo
(George)
"Ugh!" Fred groaned in frustration as he stuffed another book back into the shelf.
Book-stuffed shelves stood high on either side of the pair, hiding them from most of the studious side of Hogwarts's student body. Fridays were the evening one could tell the zealously studious from the regular student. Only the truly bonkered studied on a Friday night.—And yet, here they were in the library.
He understood Fred's frustrations perfectly. They had spent the better part of a week in the library. None of the books about possessions or ghosts or spirit parasites told them anything useful. And they had actually read through most of each book so far. (Skimmed: Same thing.)
George knocked his shoulder against his brother's as he pulled out another book. The book was another novel with a cover of a terrified but gorgeous blond clinging to a smartly dressed wizard with his wand drawn towards some type of creature. George tilted the book and his head but couldn't figure out if the creature was a poltergeist or some imagined monstrosity that didn't actually exist in real life. There was a fifty-fifty chance the book was a romance or a horror. Could be both.
_What we need is in the restricted section._
He made a face at his book but nodded in agreement. It made sense to hide how to exorcise something in there. If the professors hadn't, somebody would have exorcised Professor Binns ages ago. Still, it was more likely for them to find answers in one of these books than to convince a Professor to give them a pass.
Fred scowled at the wall of books. _I'm done. We should just tell Dumbledore._
No, they shouldn't. They no longer had any proof of Neville and Potter being possessed. Anyway, if they did, they'd lose out on an adventure. Either they exorcised the founders from two mini-firsties and have that as bragging rights (not that anyone would believe them but people didn't believe them about most things), or they found proof that the two weren't possessing the firsties and then had the chance to get in on something possibly marvelous.
_You still think they'd teach us something not evil?_
George frowned but slowly nodded as he scanned the pages of the book in hand. There was just something about them that made George trust that they really weren't a threat to other students. They had vanquished You-Know-Who and took time to explain things to them. Potter had even offered the chance to prove their worth by giving more answers as long as they said nothing.
Everything they had done had indicated they might be good. And everything they hadn't done indicated they might not be evil. So maybe Gred and he could have learned a thing or two from Potter and Neville.
Could have since Fred was so insistent on not trusting them. They hadn't even been talking about rituals. They had said that. The founders had wanted them to take a bath.
_It was a ritual._
It was not. It was just a bath that was related to rituals and was supposed to help with their magic. That sounded important if it was true.
_If it was true, we'd still be doing it. It's probably just some ancient superstition. And Bill said his bath was a ritual. I believe Bill more than I believe that Snake._
He nodded. It probably was some superstition the goblins used to insult wizards. Or it really was a ritual but one that didn't matter for wizards and that's why it was insulting.—If it was the first, then they had run from the two because of a silly bath.
_He's possessing Harry Potter!_
George flashed a frown at Fred. Neville was being possessed too. That Harry Potter was being possessed by the ultimate snake wasn't why this was concerning. If it was only because of the Boy-Who-Lived, they should tell Dumbledore and give up on all this.
_Mum would want us to tell him._
George made a face but didn't comment back. Instead, he flipped through a few pages of the novel in hand. His brother never tried to appease mum. George was the one that pushed Fred to do that and he wasn't going to do that this time. Either they exorcised an evil spirit and a confused or bespelled spirit from two firsties or they gained proof there was no possession.—then they'd have to figure out how to deal with the evil one…If he was evil.
_Definitely evil. Rituals and parseltongue. Evil._
He hummed and chose not to deny it. The fact remained that if he was evil, he was very good at hiding it. Still, since he was so good at hiding it, there was no reason to inform an adult.
This secret was theirs. Sharing it would ruin it.
His gaze caught an odd phrase in the book. He skimmed the paragraph and grinned as he finally spoke out loud. "This might work."
Fred leaned over and read the paragraph pointed out. His scowl faded and twisted into something less frustrated.
Twin pairs of eyes met. Twin grins grew wide and a little vindictive. Even without the map, they'd be able to sneak out and collect everything they needed.
oooP5ooo
(Harry)
Silvery moonlight stretched shadows through the third floor windows. Snores echoed across the stones from the sleeping portraits. A glance at the Marauders' map revealed Godric waiting within the armory.
Salazar silently nudged the door open enough to slip in. He walked carefully, keeping the sound of his steps dull and as quiet as possible as he passed the weapons and plate mail suits, and stopped before his brother. Godric stood staring at the spartan shield against the wall and gave no reaction to Salazar. His brother looked weighed down and tired. It reminded him of the near loss of control at the quidditch game. Regaining so many memories, memories of a whole other life, could not be easy.
A frown flickered across his face before he stuffed his worry aside. There wasn't much he could do about adjusting to living a second life or if the Longbottoms had considered throwing Neville from their House. He hadn't had to assimilate a second childhood, only memories of a three-year-old and younger. Even if he had been in a similar position, he couldn't have helped. This was something Godric had to figure out on his own.
All Salazar could do was be there for him.
Hazel eyes moved from the shield and glanced at him before Godric properly turned and nodded. "Let's get this done with, eh?"
Salazar nodded. "It's overdue."
Godric flashed a smirk at him and headed out. Salazar sighed, knowing what Godric had been thinking but didn't say—Salazar should have handled this a month or two ago.
With Godric leading the way, having been once before, it only took a moment or two to reach the "off limits" door and corridor. Godric stepped to the side and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. "The adults have to be able to enter."
Salazar handed the Marauders' map to his brother and ran a hand over the door and door handle. The feel of clouds and fluff gave way to the taste of sticky toffee. "Silence and locking charms...I think just the alohomora charm would work?"
"That's what the twins used and it work–" Godric cut himself off and grabbed Salazar. He yanked Salazar against the door and himself.
"Wha-"
"Dumbledore." hissed Godric.
Salazar blinked up at Godric and then down at the map folded up and hidden between them. A dot moved around a corner at the end of the hall they were in. The dot was named Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. There was no way the headmaster didn't see them.
He wrinkled his nose and, after a second to consider options, pulled his wand out and leaned into Godric's space to lean towards the door handle. He dramatically waved his wand and whispered so only Godric could hear, "Must have an alert somewhere you triggered."
"Me?" scoffed Godric as he pulled his own wand out and stuffed the map away before whispering, "He's coming closer."
Godric tugged at Salazar's shoulder and stage whispered, "Let me try! The Weasleys gave me a spell for getting into places you aren't supposed to be in. It's a foolproof spell. Anyone can do it, even me."
Salazar gave the Gryffindor a dubious look but backed away. He glanced down both hallways as he backed into the other wall. There was no visible indication of Dumbledore. Still, he pressed a hand flat against the wall as he stood directly across from the door, making sure it looked like he was just leaning back against his hand. If he had to, he'd bring the wall down onto the man.
Emerald eyes stared at the door and Godric without paying either much mind. He kept his ears perked for an odd sound but considered the issue at hand. They needed something to keep children away but allowed adults through, and he needed to set it up in a way Dumbledore wouldn't notice. Technically, they could wait another night to finish this, and he had wanted to actually explore the place with Godric, but he probably would have to deal with Dumbledore at that later point too. Might as well take care of it now—If Godric could give a good enough distraction.
So Salazar considered the simplest, least flashy solution. A repelling ward like what kept all the muggles from wandering Hogwart's grounds seemed like the best option. No reason to remake the wheel if an existing solution could be tweaked slightly and work. He just needed to make a much, much, much smaller version that targeted an age group.
Hiding the door in plain sight was only part of the ward. He also needed to decide the best way to twist the desire to suddenly leave the area where it made sense. No reason to have children suddenly think that they needed to go do laundry, for instance.
He struggled to keep his frown in place as the solution snapped to the forefront of his thoughts: Anyone under nineteen would be nudged to find a different quiet spot to study—even if they had come here for mischief, they'd leave to do homework. Rowena would like that.
Arithmetically, it would be simpler to build the ward over the door, allowing people to walk through the hallway without being affected. It was a much smaller area to spell, so quicker and easier to set up. The ward would trigger only if they attempted to cross its line. So he needed to place it on the doorframe where someone attempting to open the door would trigger the alert.
Salazar's brow furrowed as he turned to the runic array itself and mentally discarded and shifted runes about so it didn't attempt to connect to other wards for a mass-area-wide effect. He would have preferred some parchment to noodle over a few options but no matter. This wasn't the first time he crafted a miniature version of his masterwork without writing anything down.
His brother dramatically, slowly, flicked his wand about as he pronounced in a loud whisper, keeping Dumbledore's attention to himself, "With the count of three, accept my knocks as the key and unlock for me." With those ridiculous words, Godric exaggeratedly tapped the door thrice with his wand tip. Each time, he made dramatic sparks flicker from the wand.
At the third, a pop and explosion threw Godric back into Salazar. Smoke rippled across the hall and Salazar could make out a vague silhouette of a tall, invisible figure about ten feet from them. Dumbledore didn't do anything obvious. He seemed to just stand there. Then the world was filled with the smell of a campfire and the black sooty smoke of a chimney.
Salazar ignored the flaring of runes across his chest and neck, the result of a ritual to help filter out the soot (and other similar material) from the air he breathed in, and focused on completing his temporary runic ward. He stalked over to the door, and angled himself away from the headmaster so the old man wouldn't see the runes spreading across his throat or the door as he pressed a hand to each side of the frame.
Godric joined him, also angling himself away from the headmaster to hide the visible glowing runes wrapping his own throat though the soot settling on his skin did a decent job covering it all up. He used his slightly larger form to help hide any visible hint of the magic Salazar was about to use. All the while he cried out in outrage and embarrassment, with a few exaggerated coughs, "That should have worked!"
His magic flowed across the door. A faint gold light flickered under Salazar's hands and spread out across the surface, wrapping the door before vanishing. As the visual faded, the sense of completion whispered through Salazar and he dropped his hands.
The smoke swirled upward slowly and away as if being sucked from an opening in the roof...which didn't exist as far as Salazar knew. He shared a look with Godric and saw the silent agreement: Dumbledore.
Salazar tugged his wand back out before they were visible to the headmaster and cast lumos, casting a golden light about them similar to the glow of his ward let out when being set up and the runes. If Dumbledore had noticed any light, hopefully, he'll assume it was this.
With the removal of the smoke, the runes on their throats faded away. Salazar could feel the primary runic array throb even though it was no longer active. That was another item to figure out when he somehow had time. You'd think seeing the tattoos every day would remind him that they shouldn't be there and could be a problem but their presence just felt right and he kept forgetting.
"Was the smoke part of the spell? It's disgusting!" whined Salazar in a staged whisper with his own couple of fake coughs as he reached towards the door handle with his free hand. "It's still locked–"
Salazar stilled with his hand on the handle. A hazy feeling swept over him for a moment.—The library was a better place to go study. It was much better than a musty old classroom.
He turned to leave and caught Godric looking at him. His brother was filthy, his face and hair dusted in a layer of final grey powder. When had Godric–Oh. Well, shit.
The founder dropped his hand from the handle as if it had burned him and glanced away from his brother, towards the headmaster. No one needed to know about that happening, Salazar silently decided as he tried to ignore the flush he could feel spreading across his cheeks. Luckily the soot covering himself probably hid his blush.
Godric tilted his chin down, entirely unaware of Salazar accidentally bespelling himself, and looked uncomfortably embarrassed, hazel eyes standing out almost gold against his soot-covered face. "You'd probably get it–"
"I think the twins were having you on," countered Salazar, sharper than he meant to but he could hear the too-real self-disgust coloring Godric's words. He added a hint of a whine back into his voice. "I've never heard of a rhyme for a spell before!"
His brother glanced at Salazar and looked quickly away as he grumbled, "There probably isn't anything behind the door anyway. It was Fred that claimed there was something brilliant inside."
Salazar straightened and snapped his gaze down one way of the hall, searching for some sign of Dumbledore—not even a shadow. "They're probably watching us now, laughing their asses off," he agreed in a grumble.
Godric made a face. "So…"
"We should go to bed, I guess," Salazar said as he turned back to Godric. "Maybe when we've learned how to unlock doors in charms, we can try again?"
Amusement sparked in his brother's gaze and he nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yeah, that'd be bril!"
oooP6ooo
"Tests will be completed in two stages before the Holiday," sneered out Snape as he loomed over the class at his lectern, fingers steepled together. "The first portion will be the technical details of everything your cotton-filled heads should have memorized. The second portion will be a practical brewing of a potion of my choosing. You will not be brewing the same potion as your deskmate. There will not be any reference books or open notes. You will prove your skill by brewing it with the information I give at the start of the test. It could be any of the potions covered so far..."
The professor continued to lecture them in the vaguest way possible about the upcoming tests. Salazar stopped listening, too tired from the late-night adventure to care. The man was just being an ass about it all anyway.
'MIDTERM TESTS' and a list of potions were written across the blackboard. Salazar glared at the board, silently demanding why it was missing about a third of the potions they had covered in class. He knew if he raised his hand, and Snape actually allowed him to speak, his question would lead to Gryffindor losing points. There was no point asking about this in class. He'd have to ask his peers if they had noticed later and make sure they knew to study the entire list, not just the truncated one Snape gave them.
His gaze slid sideways, taking in the straight backs of his fellow Slytherins as he looked about the class. They were straight-backed and seemingly attentive but he doubted most could repeat what the professor was saying. Their forms were too straight and still. It was evidence of years of training. He would bet the majority had perfectly blank expressions on their faces.
He dared turn his head to finish his sweep of the part of the classroom he could see without twisting around. Salazar couldn't stop the slight widening of his eyes as he caught sight of the children at the table to his left. The founder felt like kicking himself.
A familiar dark-haired girl sat on the far left seat of the table. He glanced at the girl seated between him and the one who had had 'Dirty Blood' bespelled on her forehead. Both had to be halfbloods like him since Snape had ordered their seats by house and blood status.
Salazar had gotten the impression that non-pureblooded magicals were rare in his school house. Yet his year had at least three, including himself. It left him wondering how many of his children were being bullied and if any muggleborns had made it to Slytherin.
The founder contemplated the matter with a thoughtful frown through the rest of the useless potions class. After Snape finally finished talking to himself, Salazar followed Godric up into the library to while away the study hour between classes. They both settled into Salazar's little study nook, with plans to read something—Godric had pulled out another book on acromantula.—Hermione ruined their plans.
"Oh Neville, what are we going to do?"
Both founders cocked their heads up in an odd, shared, bewilderment. The bushy-haired child stood before them, wringing her hands together and biting her lips which emphasized her large front teeth. She must have followed them all the way from potions.
"Sorry, what are we worrying about?" Godric finally asked.
She gained a horrified look as she flung her hands up and hissed out, "The tests! We have midterm tests in barely a month and we are not prepared—You aren't! What are we to do? I've read up everything I could find but none of it has helped...I'll-I'll write up a study schedule and we'll make certain you're ready for the theoretical tests! If you've passed those, you shouldn't fail. I'll ask Professor McGonagall to confirm that it's equally weighted testing and then you'll just need to have a perfect O on the theoretical. That'll do it. It'll have to–"
"He," Salazar said slowly, slightly miffed for his brother, as he caught on, "will be fine."
She flushed pink. "He can't cast spells! And I don't see anyone else trying to help him."
Salazar paused at that and frowned. She had a point. It wasn't like the adults knew Neville had memories of a past life. Someone should have attempted to help him by now.
Godric stood up, stuffing the book he had been about to read away as he said, tone sharp, "Leave it, Hermione. I'll figure it out–"
"But–"
"Look," snapped the Gryffindor founder, "You don't think my family hasn't tried to help me with my magic over the years? You are a little girl. You think you can do better than adults?"
Her tan skin flushed dark with embarrassment as Godric stomped away. Salazar jumped from watching his irritated brother retreat to the little girl.
His brother probably needed some time away but Salazar really would like to know what Godric had recalled to have him react like that. It hadn't really sounded like Godric thought his family had tried to help him, for all that was what he had said.
Hermione looked devastated and from what he had noticed, she might have considered Godric—Neville—one of her few friends.
Salazar decided the child was the safer choice to help. "You know–"
"Leave me alone!" she snapped, tears in her eyes as she snarled at him. She bolted with a choked sob. Salazar watched her vanish into the maze of bookshelves before he heaved a sigh and gave up on using the rest of his free time productively.
The Slytherin founder searched the library for a friendly looking girl who could help. At first, the various Gryffindor girls he spied were out. They were all Hermione's peers and shared a dorm. If they had been friends, Hermione would have been with them instead of chasing after Godric. The Slytherins were out because of Granger's blood status. He didn't need to find out which were actual bigots and which would help right now.
Finally, he found a small group of older Gryffindor and Hufflepuff girls. The five looked up when he stopped before their table. Salazar paused, startled from his planned question when he actually recognized one of the Gryffindors. He didn't know her name but she was the Prewett twins' little sister. He recognized her from Tristan's family picture.
"Prewett," Salazar greeted with a nod.
She raised an eyebrow even as one of the Hufflepuffs giggled. Her gaze jumped to his scar and she responded, "Potter."
"There's a Gryffindor girl, Hermione Granger, that I think could use someone. She looked like she was on the verge of crying...She doesn't much like me, otherwise, I'd have tried even though she was being a pain to–well, Neville could have responded nicer." Salazar shook his head before he added, "Don't know if you've noticed her but she's not the greatest with people even when she's just trying to help. Anyway, she's probably crying up on the second level somewhere."
"Oh," the Prewett girl said, startled.
The other Gryffindor nodded to Salazar as she said, "We've seen her in action, Potter. Granger is definitely something. We'll find her."
Salazar nodded back. "Thanks."
He stalked away before the girls could attempt to keep him and get a proper explanation. His shoulders relaxed at the sound of chairs being pushed back behind him. It sounded like the girls were going to find Hermione. Now he could only hope Granger actually accepted their help, as much help as fourteen-year-olds could be.
Better them than him. Anyway, he had class.
Anthony looked serious as he sat beside him in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Before Salazar could offer a good morning, the brunet asked, "You're joining the study groups, right?"
"Groups?" Salazar asked, catching the plural in the question, "I'm part of that one Hufflepuff- Ravenclaw one that meets…"
"We've set up a study group per class in prep for the midterms," Anthony explained in a rush, "It's just Ravenclaws right now but no one's going to decline you joining–"
"–He's gotta join!" cried Kevin as the muggleborn twisted about in his seat to look back at them. "You're a real lifesaver when you're at our study groups."
Salazar frowned slightly, "I can...but one per class? Isn't that a little much?"
"Nah," Padma said as she leaned over Anthony, "It's just a two hour study cram session every evening. We're not spending all night studying."
"Bring Longbottom along," pushed Anthony, "He could use most of the sessions and he'd be a huge help for the herbology one–"
"We should ask Abbott to join for charms," added Padma.
Kevin shook his head. "We only reserved the Opaleye room. There aren't enough seats."
"Just meet outside the library then," Salazar offered. There were plenty of empty rooms in the castle and the more children he could get meeting regularly between houses, the better.
Outraged looks were directed sharply at him. None of them voiced their opinion as the latest visiting DADA teacher made an appearance but it was a very clear no. Salazar sighed. Ravenclaws.
Their lecturer, an old dumpy woman that didn't look like much of a defense expert at all, humphered over a large stack of parchments, adjusted her glasses, and called out, "Attention, attention class…" It took a good moment but she did draw the children's attention, which was better than Qurriell had usually done but that wasn't saying much.
She frowned disapprovingly about her and pushed her glasses up her nose once more. Salazar slumped as she shuffled her stack of parchments and then changed it for a thin scroll. Most of the supposed experts the board and ministry had sent so far had left him wanting. This one seemed a little spacey and too grandmotherly to have ever actually done much defending from 'dark' creatures or magics.
Appearances could be deceiving but he wasn't getting his hopes up.
"I'd better take attendance," she mumbled to herself. The lectern she stood before amplified her mumble so the entire class could hear. A few children sniggered.
The old lady leaned over the scroll and read out, "Boot, Terry?" Her eyes jumped up to the class and searched out for a child to respond.
Salazar's eyebrows rose and he sat up to attention. The other lecturers hadn't bothered. They all only visited for the day, telling every class, no matter the year, the exact same lecture. It was fairly pointless since not every one in the same year got the same lectures. Some of the topics were interesting at least.
Terry raised his hand in a delayed response. "Here?"
"Are you really?" she asked in turn.
The Ravenclaw flushed and offered a quick nod.
She humphed in disbelief but marked the scroll and named off the next child. By the time she was done, Salazar finally learned the rest of his Slytherin peers' names. The girl that had been bullied was Millicent Bulstrode.—Now, he just needed to figure out how to approach her for information. She didn't look like the approachable type.
oooP7ooo
(Neville)
Sleet fell outside in the dark. It had been a long time since he last woke up this early but he needed to get used it. He didn't have time for meditating or sword training otherwise. (It would be easier once the sun started to rise sooner but winter meant breakfast started before sunrise. To add meditation and sword training before that meant the sky was still pitch black.)
Days had flown by between classes, avoiding Hermione, and study groups. Salazar had been pulled into daily studies with the Ravenclaws, which was on top of the regular Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw study group. And he had been dragged along to each one. That meant they had a study group every bleeding night—two on the days when the Hufflepuff meeting happened.
His hazel gaze moved from the sleet he hadn't been paying attention to and looked down at the box he had brought. The wooden box Sally had won from him was filled with seeds from around the world. There were seeds from rainforests to seeds from deserts. Some were valuable for potions, others were rare for their beauty. There were seeds to grow various trees and others that would sprout flowers. A couple seeds were even herbs. At least one was entirely aquatic—He had planned to expand on that section. He was supposed to...there had been some type of plan.
The reincarnate shook his head as he settled onto his pouf and popped the lid open. He frowned thoughtfully at the single aquatic seed hidden away in its little compartment filled with seawater. What was the plan? It was at the edge of his memory, on the tip of his tongue.
He set the box down carefully and shifted on his pouf so he could watch one of the candle flames. The plan for aquatic plants was tied to how he had gotten this box and why it existed at all. Why an eleven-year-old would have such a box had to be tied to the Longbottoms. Maybe it was a tradition. The other children at the quidditch match had made it out like a thing Longbottoms had.
Longbottom was one of the original Seven Houses of the Isles. They were one of the great druid clans. And yet, all that seemed to matter was the House's connection to herbology.
"We moved away from the heathen practices of the druids and only retailed the plant-based magics." said Uncle Algie as he leaned over a pot of mushrooms, "It is that plant-based magic that has given us the wealth and power we enjoy now."
A frown spread, and Godric's brow furrowed as he considered that fractured piece of memory. Salazar was going to be pissed off if that snippet was any hint of the truth behind the Longbottom and the other Seven Houses leaving behind their druidic duties. How did a House turn its back from a part of its magic? Had Longbottom really done that?
Candlelight reflected off his eyes as he stared down at the seeds. Maybe they hadn't turned their backs on it all. Maybe it had just evolved. Maybe they still did their duties without fully understanding them.
The hints Sally had given him indicated otherwise. This left one question and he didn't know if he had the answer.—How could a House turn their backs from its duty to the Isles?
They were one of the Seven and the seven, above all the other Houses, had a duty that felt as old as time. Protect the Isles. Protect the Mother. Guide and protect magic.
"We are one of the Seven Houses of the Isles," stated Pater Longbottom as he leaned back in his chair before his desk. The man's tone was superior, almost condescending.
Godric's eyes fluttered shut as the world around him faded into a memory of an office filled with warm woods and soft greens and blues.
Brown eyes narrowed at Neville from a wrinkled, old face, "We were the Langbothm clan of druids, charged with the care and guidance of what is now Wales. Druids, of course, were heathens with a poor understanding of magic outside of dark arts like rituals and blood magic...But Druids also knew the land and the plants better than most and that is that heritage we embrace. Our primary financial focus is horticulture and herbology. The House magicks give us an...advantage against others when it comes to understanding plant life."
Neville struggled along with his quill, writing everything he could down but his great-grandfather spoke too quickly for the seven-year-old to catch it all.
"One of the prize traditions of the family, one that Frank would have started with you on your birthday if circumstances had been different, is your seedbox." Pater Longbottom nudged a wooden box forward. "You will work in the greenhouses in the afternoons, after your visits with the...healers. Eventually, you may travel with some of us on trips to other greenhouses, gardens, and farmland we own. If you do well in helping and learning, you will be awarded a seed or seeds of the plant you work with. Some of these plants are extremely rare, Neville. Some of our seedboxes are worth fortunes on their own. Understand?"
He jerked his head up from the mess of incomplete scrawlings, "I–yes, sir!"
"Good. Algernon is waiting for you in the first greenhouse." Pater Longbottom raised a brow at Neville as the little boy stared at him. "Take the box and go, lad."
Neville flushed and sprang to his feet, grabbed everything he could up, and ran to the door. There he paused and turned even brighter red as he realized he had the quill still. The seven-year-old set everything on the floor as carefully as he could, mindful of Gran's admonishments of tossing things, and slowly, carefully, walked back to the desk to set the quill on it.
A chuckle followed him out the door.
It took a House elf's help to find the right greenhouse. When he did, he found more than just Uncle Algie inside. Other relatives and even some House elves were present. All of them were working with the plant life.
Hazel eyes gleamed in excitement as he took in the giant version of his Grandpa's greenhouse. There were rows and rows of plants. Honeybees buzzed about, pollinating flowers. He could almost hear the cheerful chirping of plants.—Of course plants couldn't talk but there was this energy in the room that just felt like contented plant life.
"Neville, over here," called Uncle Algie as he tended a pot of what looked like some type of mushrooms, "Let's go over some basic rules of a greenhouse first…"
Days of learning and digging into the wet earth, of carefully trimming and watering plants flowed by. Some days he was perky and cheerful. On other days he ached, physically and mentally. Sometimes the only thing keeping him from some startlingly depressing thoughts were the plants.
Godric forcefully pushed away the hints and whispered pieces of something else happening on these days. He didn't want to know yet. The founder wanted to spend a little more time focused on these pleasant moments with a family that mostly scorned his existence. It was a bittersweet collection of memories that taught him so much about his family. Godric wanted to focus on that before he had to delve into the other side. He had to recall it all eventually but not yet. (He was holding off the inevitable. He had an idea of what he needed to do to bring the dark memories forward. He would avoid it for just a little longer.)
Earth so dark it looked black spread across a whole swath of hills by the lake they were visiting. Neville wandered past burnt remains of trees. Paused to stare at the odd patches of untouched greenery the forest fire hadn't reached. He had never seen anything like it.
A crunch underfoot had the nine-year-old kneel and dig through the sooty earth. He unrolled an acorn and sprouts of some type of grass.
"Fire never kills everything." Neville looked up at his older cousin. Percival was looking down at the grass. "It can renew the land. It can burn away the dead and give space for new life to sprout. The ash and soot help nurture the land, like the various mixtures of potting soil we use, you know? Some of those mixtures have ash in them."
Neville slowly nodded as he uncertainly said, "Fire...can bring new life." That didn't feel right but he had the proof before him.
Percival nodded with a pleased smile. "It can."
Neville looked at the devastation around them. Maybe that was true but only about what happened after a fire. He looked up at one of the trees that still had a few green leaves hanging limply down from its otherwise dead limbs. Fire still killed and destroyed.
"You should take that acorn, it might be a pretty valuable oak." the teen looked around them, "This was a forest full of magic. I'd look around and collect all the seeds you can...but spread out, you know? We want to leave seeds for the forest to grow back too."
Neville fisted the acorn in his hand. "Alright…"
"Come on, I know where some of those magical plants were before all this. I bet we'll find some seeds near them."
He rose to follow but a voice stopped him.
"The lake's survived," said Percival's father as he walked up, "the lakeshore is full of life. We'll be able to harvest some of the plants we came for."
Neville stared at the older man; sunlight reflected off dirty blond hair and a sun-kissed face. The man looked like he could have been Neville's father but he was another cousin. Cousin Humphry knew the best places to find magic plants. It was why they were out there now.
The light reflected off the distant lake surface behind the older man. It drew Neville's gaze.
The lake: Cousin Humphry. He had dreamed of a lake, of drowning.
Water glittered at him as he leaned over the pier. Some of that light could be the fish. There were supposed to be a bunch of fish in the lake. Cousin Humphry had said there were, even some as big as him!
Neville frowned as he tried to see through the murky water, past all the kelp that seemed to wave up at him. If he could just get a little closer–
Something soft—it could have been the breeze (but wasn't)—pressed against his back and he tilted just a little too far forward. Neville didn't have a chance to react beyond a sudden sense of 'uh-oh'.
Then there was the shock of the cold. Bubbles escaped as a gasp ripped from his lips and he sank like a rock. Kelp floated about him for a moment but it was an overcast day and the water was murky. It took only seconds before he couldn't see much of anything. He didn't understand the situation before he was already desperate for breath.
Dark water surrounded him. He wanted out. He didn't really know how to swim, not in a lake full of things and where the water wasn't crystal clear. He panicked.
In his panic the little boy thrashed about, tangling with plant matter and flipping about. His panic grew as he tried to look around and couldn't tell which way was up and which was down. A stretched, painful feeling spread across his chest. The blond clawed at the water as he picked a direction.
Neville had no idea how long he fought before exhaustion took over. The world seemed to dull and fade towards a grey. His arms grew too heavy to continue to fight with.
He had to take a breath: he watched in a disassociated sense as bubbles floated up and away from him. Yucky water filled his mouth before he thought to stop sucking in. There was no air.
It was dark.
He was cold.
The world was fading.
—A male voice echoed distantly at him. "Where's that fire, Gryffindor?"—
Neville stared transfixed into the dark, eyes blown wide as memories floated forward as the last of the air was replaced with water. There was nothing he could do. He was dying, like grandpa. And he was recalling things that weren't real.
—Grandpa croaked out, "You've Frank in you somewhere."—Pater said in complaint, "The boy is nothing like Franklin."—Gran scowled as she asked no one in particular, "Why couldn't you have been more like him?"—
His dad would have saved himself. Neville couldn't. He was dying and he had never gotten to make up for being a failure.
—"You're the first defense of the school," a woman stated matter of factly, "With your reputation, people expect you to be the one they duel. It's their problem that fire consumes all in its path. Only fools would challenge you."—
Neville tried to keep his eyes open. He wanted to understand. What was it he was remembering? It couldn't be about him. He was nothing but a useless squib.
—"Thank you," another woman spoke, soft blonde curls framed her face as she stared across a stone room at him (the dark water had faded from view), "for all you give to protect this dream of Salazar's–"
"It's all our dreams, Helga," Neville said in a voice far too old and deep.
The woman smiled as she nodded. "Our dream of a place where children will not have to protect themselves from men and women twisted up by hate and made into monsters…" Her gaze grew distant and Neville recalled the night Sally and he had saved her and her sisters from a burning house. They hadn't saved all of Helga's family. They had tried but...there had been only so much they had been able to do.
Her gaze refocused and she offered another smile. "Still, you're the one fighting all those duels to protect Hogwarts...to kill all those people to protect us and all this–" She waved her arms out to encompass more than them, more than the stone room. "–must be a heavy burden."—
Killed people? Neville wondered: Only when there was no other option, came the answer from himself. An older part of himself but himself all the same.
A big fish swam into view. Neville focused on it. It would be the last thing he saw, unless it was an illusion like all these weird thoughts and images coming to him as he died.
—"Your fire, Rie!" shouted a silver-eyed man. "Light the place up!"
Shadows danced about him. A creature scurried across the unnatural darkness. A slinking sound, almost like a sword being unsheathed, correlated with each of the creature's many steps. It was taunting them as it hunted them.
Darkness was its preferred habitat.
He scowled, and glanced back at his companion—Tattoos glowed gold across his skin. Runes floated, almost seared into the air, before hands ready to throw the magic at the enemy.—and, with just a second thought and internal hum of pleasure, he flicked his own hand up and snapped his fingers. Warmth rippled through him. Golden flames roared.
The creature screamed in agony and the darkness fled.—
The little boy gasped out as he tried to breathe, instinct forcing him to try even though he knew it was useless. He lifted his hand in front of his face, reaching for that fish as it swam from view, and tried to snap his fingers as he had done in the memory-illusion. No sound came because he was underwater. Snapping fingers didn't seem possible. The world faded away.
But a warmth rolled over him, through him.
He had lived. Somehow he had survived drowning when no one had been there to save him.
Neville blinked heavy lids. His head felt fogged. A ceiling greeted him. Neville sucked in a breath and almost sobbed at the ache that spread across his chest.
What had happened?
"He's lucky to be alive."
Neville rolled his head toward the voice and stared at a door. It was just barely cracked open.
"Yes," agreed another voice, "lucky us the muggle fished him out–"
"How dare you!" snapped Gran, "He is the heir–"
"A squib will never be the heir." the voice said back. Neville was on the verge of recognizing the voice. It was...it had to be a cousin. Or an uncle.
The first voice spoke up once more and Neville knew that it must be Aunt Callidora. She didn't like him much but the dislike was mutual. "Algernon is the heir until little Neville proves he has magic...except, of course, Algernon has only had girl–"
"The headship will not go to your husband!" Gran seemed to almost snarl out. "My grandson is the heir! You cannot attempt to kill him off and expect to gain such a position."
"Who," the male voice—Cousin Humphrey: Aunt Callidora's son—said with a tone that drew Neville's shoulders up towards his ears. "Said anything about killing the boy? No one was around when he fell, Augusta. I admit, I told him there were fish but I didn't expect him to be such a fool to go off on his own toward a body of water. Makes one wonder what he's being taught. He is our heir's heir after all."
Godric sucked in a breath and blinked a few times as he tried to focus away from memories clawing at him to be remembered. They weren't good memories. He needed to remember them but not now. Not now.
He closed his eyes as he tried to focus. He needed a break. He needed to properly consider all he had recalled so far.
The memories didn't let him.
"You're almost ten now aren't you, lad?" Uncle Algie asked as he twirled his wand absently between his fingers.
Neville turned from the large window overlooking the famous rose garden of Longwood Manor. "Yes sir."
Aunt Enid pursed her lips together as she shifted in her seat beside her husband. "The specialists make any progress? There's only so much time left."
His gut churned at the thought of the specialists that have been attempting to find his magic. He couldn't answer, his throat clogged up at the thought of it all. Neville silently shook his head and tried to remember to breathe.
"Disappointing," Uncle Algie drawled out. He stopped twirling his wand. "It's not that difficult to draw out accidental magic." The old man stared at Neville for a long moment before he rose as he said, "I'll show you."
Neville stared wide-eyed and confused up at his uncle. "What? But...they're masters–"
"You saying I don't know what I'm doing, boy?" Uncle Algie stepped forward with a scowl, wand raised.
"I–No!" stuttered Neville as he took a step back. "I didn't–I was told to rest after the-the experi-the healing session."
Uncle Algie glanced over to his wife before looking back at Neville with a scoff, "The lot don't understand what's at stake. Uncle Harfang is going to be bleeding insufferable if you end up being a squib. Now–" He spun his wand about, a light flashed, and a breeze rushed across Neville's back. "–Be a good lad and don't scream."
"Wha-a-at?!"
The old man stalked forward as he jabbed his wand at Neville, pushing the nine-year-old back against the window sill. Neville squeaked and flung his hands up to grab the sill when his back didn't hit a window pane.
Uncle Algie had opened it.
He was going to fall.
Hazel eyes shone up at his uncle in terror and full of tears. "Un-nc-le?"
Another jab of the wand pushed Neville outward. His eyes squeezed shut in panic. His butt slid across the sill and over, causing him to fold in half with feet and hands struggling to hold himself in the window opening and the rest dangling dangerously outside. Tears spilled over, down across his ears, and into his hair as he strained to pull himself back up.
Hands grabbed his thrashing ankles. Neville snapped his gaze open and stared up into Uncle Algie's cool gaze. "No–"
Stinging light slapped his straining fingers. The sudden pain, and the shock of it all, startled the little boy into letting go. He flopped out the window, unfolding so only the hands gripping his ankles kept him from falling.
All he could see was the ground and the rose garden stretched across the property until reaching the distant greenhouses and pockets of tree thickets. It was a beautiful day.
He was going to die.
His uncle was going to kill him.
A hiccup escaped before a final flash of determination—a moment of desperation that heated through him, giving him the strength he hadn't known he had—sliced through the panic and he tried to reach back up to his uncle.
Neville met his uncle's cool stare once more. Aunt Enid had joined him at the window. Her wand was nowhere in sight. She just stared down at him with an indifferent expression.
The man let go.
—"How does it feel to know I killed you? That you died trapped in bed, waylaid by poison your precious Slytherin hadn't the foresight to protect you from?" whispered a woman's voice against his ear.—
Godric flung himself up to his feet, a strangled scream ripped from his lips as he stumbled out of the circle of candles. He needed out.
The founder ripped the protective runic circle down and staggered up the stairs and outside. Fresh air rushed around him as he leaned against a merlon. Sweat made his hair cling to his cheeks and forehead. He swiped it back and blinked his gaze into focus only to flinch back from the high-up view.
"Fuck." croaked Godric as he slumped against the wall instead. He took a deep breath and breathed out another, "fuck."
Tremors racked up and down his entire form. Adrenaline sang through his veins.
oooPooo