Chapter Twenty-Five
oooP1ooo
(Neville)
Godric landed with a clatter. The worn shoe flew from his hands while he fell onto something, knocking the object over and losing his breath at the same time. He blinked up at an overcast sky. Rumbling noise filtered through the area and revibrated across the ground. It reminded him of platform 9 ¾. There was so much noise his head ached with it.
He pulled himself up and grimaced as he looked around. The portkey had deposited him between two tall brick buildings. A rubbish bin of some type lay tipped over, trash spilling across the ground. He must have fallen onto it. Godric grimaced and did a quick shakedown of his arms, chest, and back in case any of the trash had stuck.
A peek around one of the buildings revealed a city surrounding him. The people wandering by were clearly muggle if their muted and odd clothing were any indication.
Godric liked to think he had been in worse positions but he honestly couldn't think of one outside of battle. Visiting Egypt almost matched but Sally had been with him, magic hadn't been hidden away, and they had mostly known what to expect going in. His only hope was Pater Longbottom had sent him somewhere that spoke English. He was fluent in many other languages just like Sally, likely partly due to Sally. Godric doubted he would be lucky enough to run into a muggle that was fluent in Latin or Old French.
His eyes stung. Godric blinked rapidly. A tightness was constricting his chest as he realized he was all alone—The boy sucked in a deep, steadying breath, and took stock of what he had to work with, ignoring the slight tremble in his hands.
He had the winter outer robes, Franklin-style sweater, and collared tunic that didn't match anything the muggles were wearing as they walked by. The boy dug into the robe's pockets. He found his wand, his father's wand, the candy wrapper from his mother, and five knuts. Everything else he had brought for the holiday, which luckily hadn't been much, was shrunk in Gran's purse.
Godric flicked his wand out and tapped the tip to the top of his head. The feeling of an egg falling onto his head spread down and over his entire form. His magic pulsed lukewarm as it covered him in a thin coating of magic that allowed light through his now transparent form, removing his shadow and hiding him from sight. As long as he moved slowly and the weather held up, he would be as close to invisible as possible without an actual cloak of invisibility.
The Gryffindor founder slowly stepped out of the alleyway and looked around the area properly. There was not a spot of blue in the sky. It was all slat gray and he could taste the water in the air. Either freezing rain or snow would fall sometime tonight. He needed to find shelter before that happened.
He was at the end of a street where a small courtyard took over the area. There was a copper statue of some man in the middle of it, which stood in front of one of the buildings Godric stood between. A park stood across from him. Part of it was a fenced-in area with some type of metal goals he had seen in Dean's posters. The other part was filled with walkways and tall, leafless trees. It was also fenced-in but with a different, more stylish fence.
There was a row of some type of large contraption made of shiny material and glass. It reminded him strongly of the Hogwarts train. Each sat on four odd-looking wheels and appeared to have doors with glass windows as if a train's private compartment had been separated from its caboose. They might be carriages but he couldn't see any horses. There was no room for invisible horses either. Some were so closely packed he had no idea how any could be moved without having to move all of them.
A road, which these probable carriages sat on the edge of, led to a crossroads. More strange wheeled contraptions sat in a line at the far end of that street. He could hear the rumbling and even some honking coming from that direction. There were people inside the contraptions and for a moment they moved.—They had to be modern carriages.
As he watched, people passed by the intersection, all walking with destinations in mind. A few traveled by on two-wheeled objects they pumped their legs to move. One had a dog on a leash.
Godric took it all in, feeling distant, separate from himself—like this wasn't happening to him. A curdling, dilapidating ache vibrated through him but he squashed it to the back of his mind and focused on the mess he was in the middle of.
After a moment of staring at things he didn't know or understand, he went to the statue. Maybe it would give more details on why he had been sent here of all places or even a hint of the language of the area.
There was an inscription on the front face under the statue. It was in English.
Thomas Coram, 1668 - 1751, Pioneer in the cause of child welfare.(1)
"Orphanage then," muttered Godric. Except the summary continued about how the Foundling Hospital had moved years ago. If that had been an orphanage—the orphanage the Longbottom House had been dealing with—more than a few Longbottom squibs have been sent to the wrong location.
Godric clenched his jaw and tried not to grind his teeth in outrage. Those squibs would have been actual children unlike him. They would have been tossed out into a world they wouldn't have known anything about, with no certainty there was someone nearby that could and would help.
A particularly loud horn blared from down the road, yanking Godric's attention from the statue to the line of carriages. Godric watched them for a long moment as he worked to accept his situation and made a dull, mental note to bother Sally about muggle life when he got out of this mess. It seemed likely he would need to know how to navigate the non-magical world.
Sally.
Godric pulled his wand out, balanced it on the palm of his other hand, and silently cast the point me spell. The wand immediately spun about until it pointed North.
A moment to focus on his bonds allowed him to vaguely guess Salazar's and Hogwarts' general positions. Sally was south, southwest of him. Godric could walk in that direction but it felt far and he had no clue what to expect of the muggles. Hogwarts was Northwest of him and much farther away. At least he was able to guesstimate his location—London was the most likely city.
He supposed it could be York instead but Salazar didn't feel that far south.
It would be better if Salazar came to him in this case, Godric decided. He mentally reached out to his bonds and twisted them in a way that sent a purposeful distress signal to Salazar—an "I could use some help", not an "Oh shit, about to die" signal. He let go of the bond and looked around to find a place to wait. A little cover in case of rain would be best.
Godric crossed the courtyard and road to the tree-filled park after a moment of consideration. As he claimed a bench, the dullness of the moment began to fade. The emotional ache of being thrown out like trash and the pain of losing House magick revibrated through him. He took a shuddered breath and focused on remaining calm.
oooP2ooo
(Harry)
One of Mrs. Figg's half-kneazles, Mr. Paws from what Salazar could tell at a quick glance, trailed after him as he walked through the park toward his little local grove. Luck was on his side, Surrey didn't have any snow yet. Though, the overcast sky hinted at it coming soon. Salazar would have to set up some runic magic to heat the tent but the barrier he had placed should have protected everything from the weather and wildlife.
He shifted his satchel so it hung across his back and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. A couple of hours' travel from the heart of London on top of the day-long train ride from Scotland was exhausting. He should look into different accommodations for the summer. (Except he liked his grove. It was just not as convenient as he would have liked.—Unless he learned apparition.)
A spark of uncomfortable heat shot through him. Salazar stilled at the edge of the green's copse, his back stiffening as he came to attention.
Godric was signaling him for help.
Salazar closed his eyes and focused on the general direction the bond pulled him towards. His eyes flew open. Godric was back the way he had come. The strain of the bond implied that he was somewhere in London but that could be wrong. He could be somewhere past London. He was closer than Salazar expected but he supposed Godric wouldn't have needed him if he had been off with family—family that cared.
He pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose and turned from the copse of trees. The parselmouth trudged back through the park as he considered the quickest route to his brother. Once he reached Magnolia Road, he jogged down it with Mrs. Figg's cat following, took the shortcut down Magnolia Crescent to the alley to Wisteria Walk, and then paused to look over Mrs. Figg's house.
There was no obvious indicator of her being there but she was an elderly woman with nothing but her cats. She was likely there.
Salazar looked down at his cat-shaped shadow. Up close the half-kneazle was clearly Mr. Paws. It had the white stockings Mrs. Figg loved. He tugged his satchel's strap so the bag was against his side instead of his back as he called out, "Mr. Paws?"
The half-kneazle chuffed up at him.
"Omorose had a lucky seven kittens recently. Some of them have your handsome stockings Mrs. Figg loves." Salazar paused, firmly stamped down his amusement as the cat puffed up in pride, "Congratulations. Hogwarts has claimed one for herself. She's never claimed a pet before. He'll be the pride of the castle."
Mr. Paws started purring in pleasure at the news.
"Is Mrs. Figg home? Maybe you could inform her of your latest litter?"
The living ball of fluff seemed to consider it for a moment and then pranced to the house, tail waving proudly in the air.
Salazar pulled his pendant and emerald hat from his bag as he watched the kneazle head off. He pulled them on and then flicked his hands out around him. Runes to hide indicators a feline would notice, like his scent and sound of his clothing, glowed in the air. He could feel the layers of magic wrap about him like a blanket of warmth as the runes faded from view.
With all the layers of notice-me-not-like magic, he should go entirely undetected.
The parselmouth followed after the excited half-kneazle and watched as Mr. Paws jumped through a slightly open window and vanished into the depths of Mrs. Figg's house. Salazar slowly slid his hands over the window. He felt no magic at all so he pushed the window up until it was fully open. He glanced around the inside but saw nothing that could be an alert. The parselmouth climbed through, careful that his satchel didn't bang against anything.
He pushed his glasses up and shifted his bag to rest against his back before he took in the small room. Salazar found himself in the little formal dining room, just like he'd expect if he had entered the same way at the Dursley's. It hadn't changed since he had last been here. It was full of cat things. The door to the kitchen was wide open and he could hear Mrs. Figg within. He could see multiple cats lazying about in the living room where the fireplace stood, framed by the small archway that separated the dining from the living room.
Salazar slid the window back to its original position and slowly shuffled toward his goal. He paused at the doorway to the kitchen and glanced in.
Mrs. Figg's back was to him. She was mixing cat foods together. Tufty sat beside her tapping her paw at something on the counter. Mr. Paws mewed around Tufty in annoyance as the female kept him behind her.
"Now, now Mr. Paws must have seen Harry! He was on watch duty, dear. Let him talk." Mrs. Figg finally intervened between the two cats.
Salazar frowned but then shook his head and took her distraction to slip past the door and into her living room. He had known Mrs. Figg had to have been living here to watch him. Hearing her say it shouldn't be so surprising.
"Oh good, good. A little late in the day but maybe the Dursleys actually took him out for dinner for once. I should floo Albus and let him know—Kittens!" Mrs. Figg's voice turned shockingly disappointed, "Mr. Paws–"
He didn't wait to hear the rest.
Salazar ignored the various cats lounging in the living room as he swept through, careful to not step on anything. He popped open her case of floo powder—ignored the sudden mewls of surprise—and tossed a pinch into the fireplace. Green flames exploded high. He set the lid back on the tin and stepped into the green flames, saying quietly but clearly, "Diagon Alley Entry One."
The reincarnate stumbled out into the heavy traffic of the magical alleyway and scowled at that fact.—There had to be a trick to traveling via floo.
He was back in the same section he and Godric had traveled for his brother's wand just a few weeks ago. It was even more packed and filled with an even more festive air.
Salazar leaned back against a wall to mentally focus on the bonds with Godric without being jostled by the crowd. As he did so, he (un)helpfully realized who Albus had to be. It wasn't a surprise. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had left him with the Dursleys. Of course, the Headmaster had someone placed in the neighborhood to watch over Salazar.
He shook his head.—Now was not the time to consider the implications of that.—Instead, he looked up at the darkened, overcast sky and focused on the bond.
Godric was in London. Not only that, he wasn't that far away.
The founder pushed his way through the crowds. The Leaky Cauldron was packed to the brim with shoppers and diners. Salazar huffed in annoyance when he found the muggle side on Charing Cross Road just as, if not even more, busy. He paused at the side of the Leaky Cauldron's door to pull off his hat and pendant, and focus on his brother bond once more. It took a moment longer to focus than usual. The blaring of cars and sirens, and all the various sounds of city life with large crowds celebrating the holidays, made it difficult.
From what he could tell, Godric was technically close enough to walk to but taking the tube would be the better option—the faster option, even if he had to guess at the closest station. The Leicester Square Station was only a few minutes from the Leaky Cauldron, something Salazar figured out over the summer.
At the station, Salazar stared at the map of the Northern and Piccadilly lines. Northeast felt right which meant the Piccadilly line. He glanced over the next few stations on that line before pulling out the card he had just filled to get to Surrey originally and walked purposely away, trying to dissuade a couple of adults that had started to watch him. (He was not a lost child. Nothing to see here. It really wasn't that late for an eleven-year-old to be out alone.)
"Mind the gap," was announced as he almost jogged onto the platform in time to catch a lift and leave anyone curious about him behind. As he shuffled to a corner, he shifted his satchel about so it pressed against his chest instead of his back. It took only a few minutes to sense Godric close enough to disembark. Russell Square Station ended up feeling right. He followed the crowd of adults from the underground station up long spiraling stairs to the surface.
Streetlights glittered. Buildings surrounded him. The sounds of London city life filled the air once more as he left the somewhat quieter tube station behind. A distant siren blared as an ambulance shot past.
Salazar followed the bond right and soon spied leafless trees rising amongst the buildings. Those trees became a park as he drew closer. Salazar relaxed as he realized Godric was in there. A few minutes later, he found his fellow eleven-year-old seated on a bench, hidden under a disillusionment charm. He couldn't see Godric, but he knew his brother was there.
He shifted his satchel about so it was once more pressed to his back, stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, and said quietly, "Rie."
The air rippled as Godric jerked his head up as if surprised. A thin smile stretched across Godric's face, hazel eyes shining concerningly in the faint street light. The disillusionment charm solidified as Godric stilled, hiding his brother once more. A faint ripple in the air happened as Godric spoke. "Sally."
There was a lot of emotion in that one word.
Salazar didn't have to look around the dark park to know Godric was alone. Why was his pureblood, House and family-blessed brother here alone?
Godric answered the unasked question. "I've been disowned-d." His voice cracked at the end of that short sentence.
The parselmouth couldn't stop the sharp intake of air. To be disowned from a House was to lose that House magicks. It would be like losing part of yourself.
His brother rippled into existence as he rubbed at his face before he tapped a wand over his head and ended the charm. "R-" His voice cracked again. He cleared his throat this time before he rose and said, "Right, well…I've not the foggiest how to deal with this muggle stuff–"
"Muggle stuff?" Salazar interrupted, accepting not talking about it until Godric wanted to.
Godric pointed at a car. "What bleeding hell type of carriage is that?"
"Ah," Salazar said, tone taking on a slightly amused note, "that, dear brother–" Godric's shoulders loosened and the tightness in his face softened at the word Salazar rarely spoke. "–is a car. These muggles have upgraded their vehicles—of all shapes and sizes—to use a type of oil and technological contraption called an engine to drive it without horses. They can go considerably faster than horse-drawn carriages can."
A hum of interest pushed Salazar to continue so he tugged on Godric's sleeve, keeping ahold of it when Godric didn't pull away and led Godric back the way he came as he rambled. This time Salazar decide walking was the better option, even with the crowds (being outside seemed like the safer option with Godric's emotional state), and led his brother past the deep red brick tube station. They traveled through Russell Square as Salazar quietly pointed out odd Muggle contraptions and noted what the sirens were.
Eventually, they traveled down Charing Cross Road to the Leaky Cauldron. A toothless old man gave them odd looks but didn't say anything against giving a room for a couple of nights to two eleven-year-olds since they were waiting for their relative that had gotten stuck traveling and hadn't been able to pick them up from Kings Cross Station.
oooP3ooo
Salazar was up and ready for the day hours before Godric stirred in bed. When his brother did little more than roll over, he decided to quietly leave. Salazar left his satchel with Godric, taking his emerald hat and small coin pouch (though leaving a few coins for Godric to order something up from the pub).
The pub was filled to the brim with people enjoying a late breakfast before their holiday shopping. Salazar ducked out to the alleyway, sighed softly at the thin layer of snow on the trashcans, and quickly tapped the bricks to enter Diagon Alley proper. Christmas music jiggled across the alley, snow piled up on signs and rooftops, and everyone was cheerfully dressed for the season. He mostly ignored the cheerful, festive atmosphere, and stalked through the already busy street. He went to one of the few still empty shops—Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.
He wasn't there for ice cream.
Its owner popped his head out from the employee-only backroom. Salazar pulled his hat off as Mr. Fortescue frowned over at him. The confused frown turned into an amused smile. "Mr. Potter, ice cream for breakfast is a terrible idea."
"That's news to me, sir," Salazar countered with a faint grin before he became more serious and said, "I was hoping to ask you something, actually."
The older man nodded, "Give me a moment, lad. Take a seat where you like."
Salazar settled into a back booth where it was less likely any window shoppers would notice him. He'd prefer the parlor to stay empty for a little while longer.
Mr. Fortescue set a large bowl of blackberry mint double chocolate chip ice cream almost buried in fresh blackberries and cream before Salazar and took a seat across from him. "Breakfast."
"Thank you," Salazar said before he took a generous scope.
The man nodded and leaned back, nursing a cup of some type of coffee. "Now, what questions have you so soon into your holiday?"
Salazar opened his mouth to speak but paused. This was officially his first day of the Christmas holiday. So much had happened and it was all just beginning. Salazar made a face at the thought and remarked, "I could have done without that."
Eyebrows shot up as Florean tilted his head and asked, "Oh?"
The reincarnate hesitated for a second. Godric was in no mental state to discuss things right now but Salazar had to do something in response to Godric's disownment. He didn't feel right leaving it as is. Before he could do so, he needed to understand the situation better. His understanding was a thousand years out-of-date.
"I've questions, I suppose, surrounding Familia and Houses," Salazar offered, tapping his spoon against the bowl slightly as he slowly explained while keeping it vague, "The history books cover their existence but do not discuss anything…more personal, I guess."
"Personal how?"
Salazar popped a blackberry into his mouth as he considered how to ask. He decided to continue to leave it broad and listed, "Inheritance, feuds, alliances…disownments."
Mr. Fortescue straightened in his seat and stated, "You've seen the morning papers."
He had not, actually, but now he both very much wanted to see them and keep them from Godric. Salazar shrugged slightly in response.
A sigh rippled out of the old man as he slumped back again but this time he looked tired instead of relaxed. "Some, the ones that understand what was lost, would say the fire was an appropriate backlash to the Longbottoms…" He looked down at his cup and sighed again before he spoke once more, guessing partly correctly what Salazar was after, "Lad, a feud fueled by magic is a dangerous thing. If it is between Houses or Familias the Magicks of those families will influence their members to follow the feud if that feud is started by the head of that family. One day you'll be the head of the Potter Familia, setting a feud against a House, and one your Familia has had centuries of alliance with would be a poor first act and could influence your descendants to act against House Longbottom for centuries forward."
Salazar moved to speak but the historian raised a hand in a holding motion.
"I understand the desire, lad. It's a terrible business disowning squibs. That Fitzwilliam disowned young Neville who has proven to have magic, even if there is something not quite right about it, was a step beyond acceptable. You're not the only one outraged by the decision and shouldn't do anything foolish just because your godbrother is the one affected."
The parselmouth couldn't stop the slight hiss of surprise. Godric was his what now?
"Leave the feuding be. There is never anything good that comes from them," ordered Mr. Fortescue. He paused to collect his thoughts and explained, "Now, inheritance is twofold. The monetary and landed inheritance is restricted to thirteen-year-olds and older. You'd usually go to the Archival within the Ministry of Magic to claim your Familia and House property, if—and it can be a big if—it's been fully recorded…Some of that inheritance is hidden away in the family vaults or beyond where highly regulated rituals can help reveal them…uh, And, also, the Archival may have further details such as permits various members of your family gained as all that's been recorded by the Ministry since it was established…it, uh…Well, it depends on the family for what you end up finding there, though. Copies of your parents' O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s results would be there, at the very least."
Florean shook his head slightly, clearly realizing he was getting off-topic. Salazar considered asking questions but decided to hear the old man out fully before speaking up and focused on finishing the sweet breakfast.
The elder paused to take a sip of coffee before he continued to explain, "Once a House's magick claims someone as that House's head, the Pater or Mater must go to the next Wizard's Council to claim their seat on it. You don't have to worry about that, though. Only Houses have seats on the Council….Anyway…It is generally recommended that a representative of the thirteen-year-old sits in any government seat until the child has graduated from school or reached twenty-one…not that anyone could stop them from going if they wanted…"
After another sip of his drink, Florean continued to unknowingly lecture the Slytherin founder, "There are ancient rituals for claiming a headship…and, umm, they're some of the few still legal—they are different from the even more regulated rituals for finding the hidden away, physical inheritance…Generally, it is recommended to wait until at least thirteen but preferably seventeen to complete any of them. Ahhmmm…Let's see–" He frowned down into his coffee cup for a moment before he muttered thoughtfully, "–I haven't actually completed any of these so–"
His frown deepened as he clearly thought through what might be useful for Salazar to know. "–These rituals are regulated, as I said. There can be some painful and life-threatening reactions by Magicks if the person is not found worthy. You can set up an appointment at St. Mungo's to complete such a ritual. If you have the money, it is always best to start with the ritual to identify what Magicks might find you worthy. We're all interrelated on some level, you see. So you might end up worthy of a headship of an extinct Familia or House. I believe, Gringotts will be notified of any successful House or Familia Claiming, which is the inheritance ritual, and prepare to assist if you need keys found for any vaults—You'll definitely want to check for any vaults. The contents of the vaults, if your predecessors were diligent, will be the primary content you'll need—contracts, wills, and details of any alliances that may still exist. All that and probably a great deal of junk."
Salazar stated with a frown, "It doesn't stay private if we go to St Mungo's for these rituals, does it?"
"No," Florean agreed, looking mildly impressed and amused, "Most purebloods hear about people taking the rituals. It's one of the best gossips, knowing which–" He set his cup down and made air quote motions as he said, "'upstart' muggleborn wants to be one of us. You taking one of these rituals would make the front page of the newspapers. The results will likely end up leaked too."
Good thing, Salazar thought with a tinge of dark amusement, that he didn't need to make any such appointment to claim what was his.
"Oh. You'd have to have your guardian's permission also," added Florean before he focused on the last part of Salazar's vague question. "Now, alliances…These can be pretty straightforward. Most contracts are written onto mildly enforced enchanted parchment where breaking them doesn't strip people of their magic or life nowadays. But it can be similar to feuds where the Magicks of the family influence its members to uphold the agreement."
"And I have an alliance with the Longbottomss," Salazar half stated, half asked. His annoyance over the idea was clear by the slight hiss that escaped into his voice.
Florean shrugged. "It is one of the more well-known alliances but one that should not be officially, fully, active while you are a child and the only Potter. You likely have legitimate grounds to end the alliance once you've become The Potter since it was your godbrother disowned."
The two fell into a relaxing silence as Salazar considered the information given. Most of it was not new. It was nice to learn something hadn't changed. He did wonder if he could claim a magical feud where it was between the founders of Hogwarts instead of The Potter or Pater of House Slytherin. That wasn't a question he could ask Mr. Fortescue though.
Godric had wanted to deal with this himself too. He might still tell Salazar off about intervening.
"How do you find out the details of an alliance?" Salazar asked as he considered what other angle he could go to exact revenge.
"That is between families," Florean explained, "A copy is stored within a secure location, often the headship's seat….Potter manor or the vault, perhaps?"
Salazar stared, there was definitely nothing like that in his vault, and repeated slowly, "Potter Manor."
Florean frowned and stated, "Haven't your guardian begun explaining any of this?"
"I have no idea who my guardian is," Salazar answered leaning forward slightly as he shared this ridiculous fact.
The older man stated surprisingly mildly, "Oh, well they declined the invitation to my brother's dinner. It's set for tonight."
"What."
"I had you invited to a holiday dinner since I'm teaching you," Florean Fortescue explained with a shrug, "You're guardian sent back a firm no."
Salazar asked, already regretting the answer, "Did you see the exact wording?"
Amusement crinkled the crow feet wrinkles on either side of his eyes as the old man grinned, "Well, in fact, I did. It was rather fantastic, I couldn't help but memorize it. It said: 'No. Stop sending these invitations. He will not be going to any nutters' house for a meal. We don't even know who you people are.' Signed Dursley."
Horror, and equal parts horrible amusement, spread through Salazar. "...Aunt Petunia is receiving all my holiday invites?!" By the Mother, he both hoped she had ignored Malfoy's and sent a similar response. On one hand, the reaction to such a response would have been beautiful. On the other, Draco would be insufferable.
"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with either Dursley or your Aunt Petunia," Fortescue said kindly, lips curled up in amusement. "I wouldn't worry about missing out this year anyhow. Most of these events are deeply hated by you youngins. A waste of a holiday, I think my nephew claimed the other day…Anyone offended by the response isn't worth bothering with anyhow."
"Right," Salazar said as he scraped the very last of his ice cream from the bowl. Letting that last scoop slowly melt on his tongue as he considered it all. He should get some ice cream for Godric. Or bring him here to pick some out later.—Godric had been without his luggage last night.
Salazar shook his head and mentally pushed that issue aside for later. Instead, he considered his possible routes to get back at the Longbottoms. "Aunt Petunia is not part of our society…how is she supposed to tell me about Potter Manor and similar inheritance issues?"
Mr. Fortescue went through an array of emotions from surprise, bemusement, to open concern. "Oh." His brow furrowed as he looked at Salazar in concern. "Uh…well…The Ministry of Magic's Archival department could have the answers you need–"
"But I have to be thirteen to access the information there."
"Yes, and it might not have everything. The familia Magicks should be able to guide you to the Manor, though." He offered a faint grin, "A bit of an adventure like all those children's books about you."
The Slytherin gave the historian a disgruntled looked. "You mean my magick might force me through challenges to prove I should be allowed access to the family home?"
Florean shrugged and said, "There are so many stories like that for a reason, lad. Magick works in odd ways but it can be generally similar no matter what part of the world you are at."
"How long would my adventure to find the front door or the key to unlock the door to this manor take on top of finding the manor then?" Salazar snarked out.
A thoughtful hum was the immediate answer before the ding of the door's bell announced a customer. Mr. Fortescue rose and offered as a last note, "Most manor's protective enchantments would just unlock the home to its owner but if the Potters did use a physical key, you might have a few additional challenges to handle. I can't see it taking more than a few extra days though." The older man called out cheerfully to his first real customer of the day.
Salazar slumped back into the bench and lightly knocked his head against the bench behind him with a groan. Life was easier when he didn't have Familia or House magicks in play. He just wanted to respond to the Longbottoms stupidity.
Green eyes narrowed. There was no telling how long this little quest could take or how complicated—it could be as simple as a little scavenger hunt—but he could at least start it. He hopped out of his seat, waved goodbye to the old man as he put his emerald hat on, and vanished out the door. There were some very specific items he needed for the rituals he had in mind.
oooP4ooo
The sorting hat, Alfred, was sitting on his bed when Salazar got back to the Leaky Cauldron. Salazar stared at it in confusion. He hadn't been gone that long. It was just reaching noon. Not that him being gone at all should have led to Alfred hanging out in their rented room.
"He's in the shower, Master Salazar," Alfred offered. A grimace crossed his leathery face as he added, "He's been in there for over an hour."
Salazar snapped his gaze over to the ensuite door. He could hear the shower running. The founder stepped up to it and called out, "I'm back!"
There was no response.
He looked back at the hat, who offered a shrug. Salazar sighed and then set his shopping bags onto a chair by the small dining table.—The suite consisted of two full beds, the tiny dining table with a couple of chairs, and a single armchair. It wasn't even slightly fancy but it worked.—There were multiple letters and newspapers spread across the table.
Salazar picked up the Daily Prophet.
Inferno rages at Longbottom Manor.
The cover had a picture of a large manor almost entirely surrounded by vibrant, flickering flames. A smaller image of a group of various old men was set to the side on top of the dramatic landscape. A tiny caption listed their names. All of them ended with Longbottom. (Salazar may have attempted to commit their faces to memory for future reference.)
His gaze narrowed in outrage as he read through the article. It focused on putting the blame for the fire on some camping muggles and away from it being any sign of magic's displeasure with the House. There was only a single line about Neville being disowned but it implied that disownment wasn't tied to the fire no one could put out. There was a tiny page number at the end of that sentence.
Flipping to the page revealed a very short blurb about Neville's disownment due to the side effects of the act on his parents. It was utter bullocks.
The other newspapers were similar, though the Quibbler focused on the terrible loss of magick for House Longbottom with the destruction of its old forested land and how the fire could not be put out for some reason.
At least Godric had gotten some retributions over it all—One couldn't call Godric subtle but he had been able to do something in response.
Salazar turned to the letters. They were open and laid out on full display. Both were to Godric.
"Read them," Alfred said from his spot on Salazar's bed, "I think you need the context of it all."
He frowned at the claim but Godric wouldn't have left them out like this if he hadn't wanted Salazar to read them. His brother knew better than to expect Salazar to ignore information left in the open. (Salazar conveniently ignored the lack of literacy in their past life being a possible factor.)
ooo
Dear Mr. Neville,
It is my regret to inform you that the second installment of this year's tuition is due by 2nd January 1992, before you return from holiday. It is standard procedure to break tuition up by semester to ease families in paying for their children's preferred education.
With your disownment, House Longbottom has removed their planned installments of payment. The material assets left by one Neville Longbottom has been sent back to House Longbottom upon the request of Pater Fitzwilliam Longbottom. Neville Longbottom has been noted as deceased by House Longbottom, which is standard practice during a disownment.
Your reserved spot within Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the second semester of the 1991-1992 school year will be terminated at the end of the day on the 2nd of January if no tuition payment is completed.
Please find enclosed this coming semester's bill of service and the first-year list of necessary books and equipment.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Mistress of the Transfiguring Arts
ooo
Salazar pulled a seat out and dropped into it before he flipped to the next page of the letter. It was the bill of service, which included some type of governmental education deduction from the overall cost, but was still substantial. The final page was the promised first-year list of supplies, still missing any mention of a trunk.
He considered it all before reluctantly picking up the second letter to Godric.
ooo
Neville,
Please contact me if you require any aid. While I cannot offer a Hogwarts scholarship as they have been distributed already, I can help your placement within one of the various, excellent trade schools. I can also help you pursue a scholarship that would allow you to return after an exemplary semester at another school.
That said, It is not uncommon for a family member to step up and help disowned or expelled members of a House or Familia in these situations. Such can take a few days to establish and with Christmas around the corner, it may not occur until a few short days before the start of the semester.
I truly hope you have an anonymous beneficiary. Gryffindor house would not be the same losing you. Do not give up hope on your return to Hogwarts and, no matter what occurs, you will always be a Gryffindor.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Hogwart's Gryffindor Head of House
ooo
Salazar had always liked Professor McGonagall. He liked her even more now. He considered the letters and newspapers and everything he had learned and then looked back to the bathroom door. It remained closed.
"Alfred," Salazar asked, turning to the hat and giving Godric a little longer to mope. "Why are you here?"
The Sorting Hat shrugged its brim and grimaced at the same time. "As I understand it, Olen panicked when Master Godric requested his clothing…Everything that would be considered Neville Longbottom's had been collected and turned in to Professor McGonagall. There are some things the House elves could consider Master Godric's without any Longbottom claim…but none of them were clothing…I am the only article of clothing left of Master Godric's." Alfred wiggled his brim as if doing the equivalent of waving his arms about in a "here I am" motion.
"Well," the hat added with a curl of his lips and an odd sort of nod toward a corner of the room, "Me and that."
Salazar followed the hat's nod and fought a grin. The red wizard's hat with holiday decorations and tiny fairy lights around the brim was flopped onto the floor in the corner. Someone had thrown it there and the Slytherin could imagine the demands of doing so from Alfred.
His grin vanished as he recalled why it was here at all. It sounded like more shopping was in his near future. It really was too bad it was already noon. The place was going to be packed and he'd have to find some creative way to keep anyone from noticing Godric. Each little blurb about his disownment had shown a decently recent image of his brother. People were bound to recognize him almost as quickly as they'd recognize Salazar right now.
"This hat," Salazar announced as he rose and picked it up, "May not be as magnificent as yourself, Alfred, but it will handle its purpose well enough." He paused before he called out, "Mipsy could you bring me my metal thread and needles?"
A pop-click a moment later announced her presence. The little House elf glanced over at him in concern but said nothing as she held out the requested items.
"Thank you," he said as he settled at the table with the hat and material.
"Of course, Master Sally," she hesitated, her gaze sweeping over toward the bathroom before she added, "I be here if either master needs anything…I be able to help Olen too."
He smiled at her and nodded appreciatively. "Again, thank you Mipsy. I think we'll be alright." His own gaze glanced towards the bathroom and his smile faded. "He just needs time."
She nodded before she pop-clicked out of the room. Salazar stared at the space she had occupied for a long moment, thoughts once more turned toward his brother before he forcefully shook his head and turned to the latest task at hand.
Salazar had embroidered runic arrays into his own felt hat, hidden around the inner band where none of the metal would peek through for people to spy. It was spelled to keep anyone from paying him much attention. People knew he was there. They even had a vague impression of what he looked like and what he was wearing but he just did not matter. The magic made him unassuming and nothing special, so not worth the person's attention or thought—even when the person was a muggle and he happened to be running around with a wizard's hat on, they would not care. (Though he still tried to not wear it in muggle spaces since he could be construed as breaking the Statute of Secrecy.)
It made him as good as invisible to anyone unaware of who he was. That was the caveat of his hat. If someone knew it was him, the magic would not work.
Due to the brother bonds, Godric would never be affected by the hat's magic. Anyone with other means to tell who he was would also be similarly unaffected. But, if George or Fred Weasley for instance, saw him walking through Diagon Alley with his hat on, they would not realize it was him due to the magic telling them he was not worth their time. If they had seen him as he put the hat on, they would not be affected by the hat's magic. It would be a 50/50 chance whether the hat's magic ever affected them after that too.
Then there was the exception he had to put into place for when he spoke to someone. Salazar needed to keep that person's attention so he set the magic to weaken but not entirely dissipate. The balance of it wasn't perfect but while people were often short to him and slightly forgetful he usually got what he needed without much difficulty.
Of course, he also had the simple option of taking the hat off when needed.
The parselmouth considered the holiday fairy lights and decor that wrapped Godric's hat for a moment before he shrugged and carefully removed it all. Without the festive decorations, Godric's hat was a simple dark red felt and had the pointed end curled about into a downward spiral similar to Salazar's own green hat. He flipped the burgundy hat upside down and traced a hand over the inside. No magic sang under his fingers. So besides the color and the slightly different structure, the hat was the same as his own.
It was simple but slow work to embroider arrays into the inside of the felt hat. He replicated the same magic he had placed on his own hat but also added protection against fire.—Something he should probably add to his hat too.—Slowly an intricate matrix of overlapping golden thread covered the inside band.
Eventually, he heard the bathroom door open and steam exploded into the room. He didn't stop what he was doing and Godric didn't say anything. His brother simply snooped through his shopping bags and then flopped onto his bed to lounge as Salazar worked.
When Salazar finally sat back to stretch his back (gaining a popping sound for his effort) and snipped the thread end, Godric spoke up. "It would be wicked if the design was on the outside."
He rolled his eyes at that. "I am not going to spend the time designing layers of runic matrics where they look nice but don't scream everything they do to anyone slightly literate in the art just because they'd be wicked looking."
"I think you'd make a killing if you did." Godric countered before he got up and took the hat to look at the interior design properly. After a moment, he muttered, "This is going to be useful. Thanks, Sal."
Alfred huffed in the background.
Godric set the hat aside and nodded at the shopping bags. "Decided to do some rituals over the holidays now?"
Salazar wasn't impressed. "They disowned you. I am not about to leave that be–"
"I said leave them to me," snapped Godric, his good humor vanished.
"No," Salazar snapped back, "I did that, and look at where we're at now! This calls for reprisal–"
"I have retaliated!" snarled Godric as he slapped his hands to the tabletop. He yanked one of the papers forward and stabbed a finger down at the image of flames flickering around the Longbottom manor. "Do you know what I did, Salazar?" Godric leaned forward and answered for him, "I burned down their decrepit druids' grove."
Salazar jerked back in shock, eyes going round. "Wha–"
"The Bumblebee of House Longbottom gifted part of its Magick to the Lion of House Gryffindor, too." Godric continued before he visibly swallowed, gaze going distant for a moment as he added more quietly, "The lion wears a crown of oak leaves now, Sally…I think…"
The two male founders of Hogwarts stared at each other.
Godric spoke up, putting words to something he clearly wasn't certain he should. "House Longbottom may have disowned me but I took away their connection to the Mother. They will have their plants and greenhouses and hear the voices of the plant life if they listen hard enough but they will never be able to sense the leylines and become more than simple herbologists anymore…at least no more able than a muggleborn…I have taken what made House Longbottom one of the original seven Houses in the first place."
He paused before he said slowly, "That is more than you could ever do to them, Salazar. No feud could equal that."
"They might not even know they've lost that." Salazar countered weakly. He didn't believe his own words. Not even ignorance should keep the Longbottoms from noticing something was now missing.
A bitter laugh escaped Godric. "Oh, they have had to notice." The shine of water gleamed across hazel eyes before Godric looked away and blinked multiple times while he stated flatly, "I can feel the loss of magicks…I'm missing something that was always there. I didn't know it had been there until now, now that it's gone."
His voice cracked and Godric took a deep, slow breath. Hands became fists against the table before his brother shook his head and looked back at Salazar and offered a smile that was still tinged with a bitter quality. "I could hear the pain from the dying grove before I lost my connection to House Longbottom…I think the greenhouses are going to be…quieter now." He shook his head again as if he was trying to find the right words for it but couldn't. "It's not like the plants were literally talking…but…"
Godric looked away, towards a window overlooking Diagon Alley, and stated instead, "House Longbottom's members would feel a similar loss. Maybe even a more significant one."
Salazar nodded in understanding, as much understanding as he could having never lost an aspect of his magic before. Still, he stubbornly stated, "I'm still going to cut off the Potter-Longbottom alliance if I can, as soon as I can."
"What about the center?" Godric asked as he turned back, a frown of concern now present.
The parselmouth pressed a hand to his forehead, silently querying over why he was learning tiny tidbits of things he apparently was supposed to know instead of having somebody sit down and tell him things properly for once. "What center?"
"What do you mean what center?!"
Salazar shot Godric an unamused look and his brother claimed a seat with a bit of grumbling over people not telling Salazar things. He was certain he should be the one complaining about that.
Godric said, "We–" but stopped for a long moment. Hazel eyes closed as he made an aggrieved noise before he focused back on Salazar and explained with a more flat tone, "The Longbottoms and the Potters have been in an alliance for various reasons for almost as long as the Potters have been a recognized Familia. One of the primary focuses…I think…originally, was to support the Potters in their discoveries and inventions. The Longbottoms were the Potter's patrons. As that grew more and more successful, it evolved into a true partnership. And, uh…and that cumulated into the L&P Botanical Gardens & Husbandry Center." At Salazar's blank stare, Godric added. "It's in Sgìre de Bhàrdachd(2)…which is a magical center in Edinburgh."
"Right," Salazar said. That didn't really explain why he should keep the center running but he'd have to look into it properly before making any decisions. Or maybe not. The Longbottoms could keep the thing for all he cared. "I make no promises."
The two fell silent and just sat by each other after that.
Alfred broke the brothers from their individual thoughts. "How exactly will you do that? End the alliance?"
"By an overly complicated process of inheritance ritual, claiming ritual, and completing whatever challenge or quest or what not Potter Magicks demand I complete for access to the apparent Potter manor. That is where I should be able to find the bleeding contracts," Salazar grumbled as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair.
"So you'll be taking up the Slytherin Patership also," Alfred stated, sounding overly pleased. "If you're done hiding, I think you could take this time to remove all the curses on me and add some protections to keep them from being added again."
Salazar looked thoughtfully over at the sentient hat. "Certainly should at least figure out what we can do about it all. But, I'm not going to go announce my inheritance claims to anyone. I don't need to go through the proper authorities to complete an inheritance ritual of all things. We'll do them here. It's not going to harm anything in the room and all the active magic happening around us will hide any residue it gives off that the ministry might be capable of tracking."
"I really doubt they know how to track people down for rituals," Godric added as he tilted his chair back into its back two legs. "They might be mostly illegal but it's more the teaching of them than the actual doing of them, I think. I mean, you were able to buy everything you need by going to a few different shops–"
Salazar interrupted, "I could have gotten it all from one shop. I just didn't think that was a smart idea. You know, in case there weren't incompetent people in charge of enforcing the laws around rituals." Salazar rose and stretched. "So lunch, shopping for whatever you want, and then rituals? Or some other order?"
"Review my curses," offered Alfred.
Godric looked worn through but thoughtful. For a moment Salazar thought Godric would decline to do anything for the day but his brother put his burgundy hat on and stood.
"Food and clothes shopping first," Godric decided, "It's past time I got some clothing I liked. Just a few pieces, I can purchase more later once I've claimed my House too. It should have some money I can use…I suppose we could collect the presents for Hogwarts while out also."
"If the crowd isn't insane," grumbled Salazar while he led the way from the room, putting his own hat back on as he went.
Salazar overheard Alfred grumble as the door closed, "Oh sure, leave the only useful hat behind."
oooP5ooo
(Neville)
White chalk lines were drawn across the floor of the room, spiraling from three interconnected circles for the three building blocks of a person—magic, mind, and soul—to a central triangle shaped from the overlapped parts of the circles. Every line was made up of runes.
Godric sat on his bed, now floating close to the ceiling in a corner of the room. Alfred sat on his head so the hat could have a decent view of Sally working and mentally chat about things if desired without distracting the druid. Right now, Godric had nothing to say to his hat. He didn't want to talk about much of anything.
It was still too new.
The gape where House magicks had once resided within was too sharp. All the green that had edged his core was gone. Some of the brown too. This ache in his chest was due to the loss of magick ripped from him. His core looks smaller, though some of the sunrise oranges and reds had already begun to push the remaining brown ends outward to fill the space. (Some of the remaining gunk had floated into the space too.)
Too many questions churned in the back of his mind. The likely answers gave him a different type of ache, one only supposed family could cause.—Did Gran try to stop the disownment? What had Fitzwilliam expected to happen when he had sent the House Magick to judge him? How long ago had they planned to remove him?
He could still feel the rage of the fire he had set to smolder within the dying oak. He could snuff it out from here. (He wasn't going to.)
The Longbottoms had yet to figure out how to kill his flames, though they clearly figured out how to save the manor from it. Part of him hopes whatever they were doing failed. Part of him felt that losing the druid's grove and all the greenhouses on the property wasn't nearly enough for what they had done to him.—Logically, the magicks the Longbottom House had lost to the Gryffindor House made up for it but it didn't feel like it made up for it.
Godric knew, logically, that he should focus on the future. He had House Gryffindor to rise from its ashes. All the messy bullshit Sally was dragged into would take time to deal with. He needed to learn more about the magicks House Longbottom had left him.
There was a lot to focus on. He wanted nothing to do with any of it.
Sally carefully drew almost sunburst-like lines of Ogham around the primary center as Godric watched his brother work. He should probably just focus on this for now. Everything else could wait.
This first ritual, the inheritance ritual, was known to reveal the truth about a person. It was one of the more iffy rituals because the results were up for interpretation. Magick was never straightforward but this ritual could be considered one of the worse culprits he had seen.
The first time Godric had done this ritual he had been about the same physical age. It had shown him an all-consuming forest fire. Memories of him being protective over his sisters and Sally had been forced forward. Battle and duels danced in his vision.
Over the years, after the ritual, he learned what it all meant. His magic manifested the strongest through the elemental arts of fire. His greatest skills, the ones that came easiest to him, were combat-related. He was his best when he had something or someone to defend.
Both Salazar and he needed to go through this ritual again because they needed to know themselves as well as possible before they opened themselves up to any House or Familia magicks that wanted to claim them. They weren't who they had once been and this ritual would help them better understand that.
Even with his disownment, Godric was still more than his past life. He was still Neville, even though he had lost any right to the Longbottom name and material wealth.
"Done," Sally announced from the floor.
Alfred hummed from Godric's head. "It does look well drawn."
Salazar somehow looked like he was looking down at Alfred with a very unimpressed look. "I would hope so." His bright gaze shifted to Godric as he asked, "Do you want to go first?"
"Might as well get it over with," Godric agreed. He set Alfred onto his bed and then hopped off, swirling magic about himself to float lightly down to the floor without disturbing any chalk. It felt wonderful having his magic come to him so easily again. Now he just needed to understand the new parts of it more. (And then really push the training and squash Sally into the ground while at it.)
His brother nodded before, with a jump, he floated up to claim a seat on one of the floating chairs near Godric's bed. Alfred made some noise as Godric carefully made his way to the center of the chalked-out ritual. He glanced up, gaze glancing over the protective runes already glowing around the room's walls, and found Alfred seated on Sally's head. The sight of the tiny eleven-year-old almost swallowed by his old hat was ridiculous. He would have to get a photo of it before Sally grew anymore.
Godric shifted his focus, firmly pushed any noise from the corner his brother and hat were to the back of his mind, and magically reached out to the chalked design, seeping his magic into the eager powder. Chalk was always a particularly good conductor of magic. It just never lasted long.
The chalk design lit up a golden bright color which shimmered with an orange and red tint. It looked almost like the flickering of a flame. Godric could see the moment the magic burned up the chalk. It was when the design flickered before it shifted across the floor and moved from the floor into a multi-dimensional form that swirled in the air around and over him.
In a blink Godric found himself standing with a birds-eye view of the raging flames dancing around Longwood Manor. Another blink and he stood before a raging volcano, lava glowing vibrant as it burned through anything in its way.
The lava's glow spread and shifted to gold as he stared.
It took a moment for Godric to realize the world around him had turned dark and he was seeing golden lines traveling across nothingness instead of lava. He looked around himself in wonder, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Glowing golden eyes of his brother met his gaze. It matched the gold of the glowing lines below them. Sally's eyes only glowed gold three times in their lives. It meant Sally had opened himself fully to the leylines and was about to do something devastating.
Godric's gaze snapped back to the golden lines in the darkness, and the vision of Sally going Archdruid faded from view.
They were leylines.
Distant memories of his battles in the Middle East with Salazar jarred him from his wonder. Past duels and battles raged around him, many of which involved him protecting others.
The one where he had lost control as Sally lay dead was the hardest to watch but the one that played out in full. He was moving with instinct, dodging and moving around the less skilled before they properly reacted to his presence. It was easy to know what they were about to do.
Raging battles jerked into a quiet stillness as he found himself standing in one of Hogwarts' greenhouses, surrounded by life. He reached out and dug into the moist earth as he transplanted a plant.
The moment faded back to a view of the Leaky Cauldron suite. The floor was now cleared of any chalk. Salazar stood before him with Alfred still on his head and a notebook held out so he could write everything down.
Godric silently accepted the offer, claimed Alfred so the hat could perhaps help him recall every detail possible, and returned to his seat on his floating bed. Sally pulled out the chalk and went to work drawing out the ritual once more for himself.
The biggest difference from his past life's ritual was the connection to the leylines, plant life, and the volcano. Godric could easily guess that the volcano, having focused on the lava, was in relation to his ability to make lava now. The leylines were blatant indications that Sally could teach him to tap into a leyline and use the potent nature magic himself.
He wasn't entirely certain what to make of the last memory brought forward. Instinct was screaming at him that he had lost his connection to plants. So what was the ritual telling him with this memory?
"Earth, Master Godric," Alfred offered softly, "You may have a connection to the ground. Specifically, the elemental magic surrounding Earth, if the lava and this memory of preparing the soil for the plant is any indication."
Godric leaned back in his bed and considered that possibility. It felt right.
oooP6ooo
(Harry)
Salazar glanced up at Godric as he finished drawing the last rune. His brother was immersed in writing. Godric's mouth moved as he muttered either at Alfred or at whatever he was working out. For all that he was distracted, a weight still hung about him. Salazar didn't know what he could do to help.
Chasing down the alliance contract was a desperate attempt at doing something. Claiming a feud would have been a more visible something but one he had to agree, with time to consider it all, he probably shouldn't do. It would only add complication to a world already filled with complications.
He did not like this. Not one bit.
But he didn't see what he could do to make any of it better.
All he could do was push Godric forward, to keep his brother from stewing over what-ifs and maybes. Maybe one day he could curse a few Longbottoms with endless bowel movements or something equally petty.
"I'm going to complete the ritual, Godric," Salazar called up. A hum was all he got in response. He didn't push for more. His brother wasn't usually so quiet, though Godric was quieter in this life. Salazar frowned up at the dirty blond as he considered the differences in the once exuberant man but shook his thoughts from Godric. He would worry if the silence lasted.
Salazar stepped into the center of his ritual design and pushed his magic into the chalk. Like with Godric, the design lit up with the predominant colors of his core. Green glowed with a shimmer of silver as the magic spread across the chalk. Salazar hummed in pleasure as the chalk burned up, freeing the magic-filled runes to rise into the multidimensional swirl around him.
His vision shifted to the sky. Salazar frowned as he watched the memory of his broom flying class where he had raced Greengrass and others. He had gone faster and higher than others but he didn't see why this memory should be pulled forward. The memory changed to the moment he had jumped into Loch Fitheach and the sudden panic he felt when submerged. Then it shifted to the green flames of the floo swirling about his form as he traveled to Diagon Alley and stumbled from the fireplace.
Hissing whispered through the air and the vision shifted to a little cobbled-together home. His mouth went dry as he watched his tiny little sister giggle as she sat across from him. The hissed conversations of two little children filled the little shack. It was one of the few memories he had of her that didn't involve her screams.
A marketplace took over his vision. It was faded and worn, just one of the many days Godric and he wandered as they traveled East. Many languages rang out across the area, most of which he understood. Markings in chalk were stark across a dark slate. Salazar looked over the simple circular shape of his first runic matrix required by his master. The older man smiled down at Salazar as he considered the work and waved his hand as he told the young Salazar to start again.
Battles and fights from his past life erupted before his gaze. It focused on the many moments where he crafted defensive shields and pushed the enemy back. Eventually, it turned to the present and the most recent Samhain night with the troll slamming his branch down on his glowing shield.
He blinked and found an acorn partly covered in runes in the palm of his hand. He buried the completely rune-covered acorn in the ground for the first of eight groves. The druid grove he learned under Master Hardwin rose high around his child form. Druidic duties were learned. The leylines were always underfoot, magic brimming to his senses. Golden light exploded across his vision, revealing the leylines crossing the world.
He witnessed the moment when Godric pushed his magic into him to keep himself from lighting up the quidditch stadium and when he took hold of Godric's elemental flames in the tower to cool the melting rock. Other moments, when he worked with all the various founders of Hogwarts to craft the intertwined magics for the hidden passageways and protections of the school, flashed past.
He was in the cupboard under the stairs, brushing his fingers across the accidental magic, the first signs that magic still existed that he had found at just three years old. His fingers traced over Mrs. Figg's fireplace, sensing the magic of her Floo connection. The teasing whisper of the little grove in Surrey danced over his hearing.
Then the vision shifted to something not as visually clear. It was magic and all the strange sensory information he received from it but the vision mostly sent him those senses again—the campfire smell of Godric's magic, the joking laughter of four boys from the Mauraders' map, the taste of lemons when picking up the article about the Gringotts break-in.
This transitioned to the odd little trinkets and gadgets he crafted with runic magic. His and Omorose's pendants, their hats, the wooden bracelets Hedwig wore, the worn satchel he had refurbished, and some other items he had worked runes into filtered across his gaze before fading away.
Salazar blinked away the last of the vision, a frown firmly in place as he stared across the bedroom and at the covered window that looked out over Diagon Alley.
He had known he wasn't just Salazar Slytherin. There was a whole other lineage behind his existence in this life. The remains of a Familia stood in his shadow.
The founder of Hogwarts had simply not considered how much that lineage influenced him. The questions from Rowena about where his ability to sense magic had come from, the revelation that he might be feeling more from rituals and magic in this life than the last, had been startling. The troll, Quirrell, and Voldemort had distracted him from that realization.
He hadn't forgotten that there was more to his magic than he knew. Salazar had simply chosen not to worry about it.
"You look pained," Godric stated from his seat on the floating bed.
Salazar pulled his gaze from the covered window to glare at his brother.
"You're a Potter along with a Slytherin, Master Salazar," Alfred said kindly from on top of Godric's head, "Having something beyond the expected is not surprising."
"I was expecting to learn things," Salazar answered finally, "I can understand most of what I saw. Enough to not be concerned with the next ritual…except for the first pieces."
Godric flipped the notebook closed as he offered, "I might have some earth elemental abilities now. I saw a volcano."
Salazar snorted, amused. "Of course you did—do." He shook his head. "Lava. It explains the tower."
"I helped figure it out," Alfred puffed up in pride as he said, "Mayhaps, I could help you. Potters are always inventing, whether it is potions or spells or artifacts. I've seen some of the things you've crafted when I sorted you. You clearly take after your father's line."
He looked away from the pair as he considered the offer before he sighed. It was disconcerting to realize he had only created magical objects like his glasses and pendant and hat in this life. That something he had done so often in this life was due to being a Potter that happened to have knowledge of a master runic mage on hand was a little, oddly, offending in a way. But he couldn't deny the facts. His previous life had him create wards and rituals and runic matrixes, and help build Hogwarts but not little trinkets to make his life easier in simple ways.
While disconcerting, it wasn't the part of the vision that confused him.
He took up Alfred's offer and explained, "I saw the race I had on brooms during flying class, the moment I was swallowed by the loch where I panicked for a moment, and one of the instances I've traveled via floo…I don't understand why."
Salazar looked up in time to see similar expressions of confusion on Godric and the sorting hat. "Everything else I have a decent understanding, I believe. Enough to open myself to any possible Familia or House that would judge me."
"Let me see the visions," Alfred said, shifting about on Godric's head as if to wiggle off.
Godric helpfully frisbeed the old leather hat down to Salazar. The parselmouth set the hat onto his head, careful to angle it so Alfred rested on his ears and didn't drop down over his eyes.
"Hummm," Alfred muttered as Salazar felt the sentient hat nose around his memory of the ritual vision but politely avoided anything else the best he could. "This is most unusual for such a vision. What a mundane set of memories it pulled up. The only thing that I can think related is air or lack thereof."
Salazar's eyebrows shot up. "I was flying in the first memory and surrounded by water or fire in the next two–"
"Yes, you lost yourself in the moment of flight and had issues at the moment without air," the hat stated flatly, "It's the only thing I can think related."
"That isn't of any hel–"
A chair floated to the ground, drawing Alfred and Salazar from their conversation. Godric waved his wand at one of the floating beds and waved his hand at them in a continue-on motion.
Salazar rolled his eyes. "Fine, so maybe it is air."
Godric snorted in amusement.
"What?" Salazar snapped at his brother.
The blond shrugged as he guided the little dining table back to its spot. "Just thinking it would be hilarious if you got some air elemental abilities. Air. You an airhead!" A snigger escaped the blond and Salazar scowled.
Alfred made a slightly surprised noise before he announced, "That's it! That's exactly it!"
"No, it's not!" Salazar countered, more than a little offended. He was not an airhead.
"Back when you both were arguing over who would die first—in the headmaster's office—Master Godric made the room stifling hot but then a breeze rushed through the room. There weren't any windows open. None at all! It had been bothering me for ages now!" Alfred slumped on Salazar's head in relief. "I had started to worry that Master Godric had the unfortunate pleasure of having air and fire elemental abilities. Can you just imagine what horrors that would unleash?!"
"Yes, lava is so much better," grumbled Salazar even as he frowned in thought, trying to recall the exact moment Alfred was talking about.
Godric set the last of the furniture back into place and said, "Meditate on it. I'll go buy us dinner."
"Fine," Salazar agreed and absentmindedly handed over his pouch of coins.
Alfred hummed on top of his head as he settled onto the floor. Salazar hesitated but Alfred answered his unvoiced question, "I can aid in sifting through your memories Master Salazar. I know you are perfectly capable but aid cannot hurt, yes? Not when you wish to complete the claiming ritual tonight."
"Very well."
The two relaxed in the corner of the room and slowly synced up with steady, deep breaths. Salazar sank into his mind and memories. It was a difficult search. He found the moment Alfred spoke of in the headmaster's office and the moments the vision brought forward but he also searched beyond that.
His most blatant memory beyond what Alfred had reminded him of and the vision had brought forward, was when he had sent Godric flying backward after Godric had ignored his demands to stop the sword training. He hadn't been able to see it very well but he had seen Godric flung backward with nothing visible pushing his brother back. It might not have had anything to do with air elemental magic though. He had been furious and had snarled out something he had forgotten enough that only the impression of parseltongue in his mouth remained.
In the end, Alfred helped him find the little moments throughout his second childhood. Breeze playfully danced through his hair when he climbed the old oak in his childhood grove being the clearest—it had happened every time he had climbed the tree. There was something a little odd, and a tad adorable to see the playful tugs at his hair and clothing on days with no proper wind that pulled a faint grin to his lips.
The door opened and the smell of something spicy pulled Salazar from his memories. Godric set a box labeled Spiced Naga onto the dining table before flicking his red hat onto his bed and claiming a chair. Salazar watched as his brother pulled out copper pots with vibrant-colored food, a bowl of golden-colored rice, and a basket of some type of bread from the box. It looked amazing and smelled both delicious and spicy. Possibly too spicy.
"What did you get?"
Godric pulled out a stack of plates and stared down at them before he shrugged. "Indian...who knows what part of India. They didn't say. And apparently, I bought enough they thought there would be six of us." He looked over at Salazar with a crooked little grin. "Ready to eat too much?"
Salazar rose and claimed a chair, set Alfred on the table to form a vague circle with Godric and him before he accepted a plate. His stomach grumbled at the crowded table. "Yes."
oooPooo
1. This statue of Thomas Coram is in a small courtyard outside of the Foundling Museum in Brunswick Square, London. This was originally a primary location of the Foundling Hospital which was a children's home charity founded in 1739 with a primary focus on children's health. The actual site Godric is dropped off at was not built until some years later and the museum building isn't the original building. The charity was pretty strictly for babies and not older children, though how it operated and was funded changed multiplied times over the years.
In the 1920s it moved from London to the countryside. In the 1950s British law shifted children's care like this charity from orphanages to foster care and encouraging adoption.
2. Sgìre de Bhàrdachd is Scottish Gaelic for "Area of Poetry" or thereabouts. I regretfully failed to note its translation and my reasoning at the time I hunted down this Scottish Gaelic for the magical center. So this is according to Google translate.
I'm pretty sure there was more to this phrase than just its translation that led to me using it. We will likely never know now.
The concept of this location was for a magical theatre district basically, hence the name. Not sure if we will ever have a scene at the place but it was also referenced by the Weasley twins very vaguely.
Last Updated: December 2022