Ouroboros

by Novus Ars

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

26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

oooP1ooo

(Harry)

A king cobra, curled in a circle, stared across the emptiness at him.

Salazar stared back.

Earthy lemon and floral hints of rose scented the air from an oil infusion of frankincense, myrrh, and rose oil. It was the only reminder that he had completed a ritual—the claiming ritual specifically. It kept him from doing anything about his strange situation even though the last thing he recalled was joining Godric for dinner.

Salazar had never actually bothered with this ritual before.

He hadn't wanted to know, which most people would have been startled to learn. But it was a complicated mess he had chosen to ignore. After all, parseltongue was not a skill someone just randomly gained. It certainly wasn't a skill siblings both somehow had without something more in their ancestry.

Now wasn't the time to question exactly how he had gotten his parseltongue abilities but he knew his father, from his previous life, hadn't had the skill. The man would have known how to say Salazar's name correctly if he had. His mother hadn't had any magic, as far as he could recall. The specific ancestry of his parents had not mattered to him beyond knowing to avoid spreading around the high likelihood of being a bastard.

Salazar preferred considering himself outside of blood ties in many ways but magick didn't care about personal preferences. The claiming ritual was the antithesis of avoiding the matter. He had literally opened himself up to any Familia or House magicks he was connected to and asked them to judge him worthy or not for their magick and name. Most would not come forward with his strong connection to the Potter and Slytherin magicks so he hadn't been entirely concerned—except for the parseltongue magick.

The king cobra sitting before him wasn't House Slytherin's totem. Instinct screamed that fact loud and clear. Familias very rarely gained an animal representative so it couldn't be related to the Potter Familia.—He was very certain that if the Potters had a totem it would not be a king cobra.

Where the parseltongue ability came from didn't matter, will never really matter at this point in history. But it was absolutely, one hundred percent, connected to this king cobra.

The Slytherin founder sat and stared across the empty expanse at the king cobra. And the king cobra stared back.

He didn't have any idea what to do with a totem.

From what he understood, it was a physical manifestation of the House Magick (or ancient clan as was most likely in this case) but didn't necessarily mean anything about the magick itself. Parseltongue and a king cobra was a clear tie in though.

Salazar would have preferred skipping this ritual in this life too. The possible complications an ancient clan could bring were something he could do without. But this time he had a House to claim, a Familia hanging over him and, more importantly, Godric would claim his seat as Pater Gryffindor. There was no good reason for his brother not to. And Godric had demanded he deal with House Slytherin.

Even if Godric hadn't made that demand, Salazar would not leave Godric alone with the Wizards Council. So here he was, before a king cobra with too intelligent eyes and too brilliant scales—probably larger than normal too.

The things he did for his brother…and revenge. (Though the revenge was for his brother, so…)

A forked tongue darted out, tasting the air. Its hood extended as it slowly lifted its head to match the height of Salazar's. A growling hiss rumbled across the space between them. It visibly rippled the emptiness. The gleaming scales rippled apart and the cobra was undone into a multitude of designs. Color and patterns slowly rippled outward from where the snake had been.

The ripples solidified into people. All of them had the warm brown skin tones and deep black and brown hair he had seen traveling the Mediterranean and Middle Eastern parts of the world—Some darker, some lighter, all built to weather the hot sun far better than him. He would probably turn lobster red if he ever had a chance to visit that part of the world this time around. (Salazar very firmly pushed that grumbling thought to the back of his mind.)—The space became filled with foreign stone architecture. A moment in time, from long ago, was played out before him.

The people took up positions around the center of the room. All he could do was sit there and watch the moment go by.

Words were sung in an ancient tongue he couldn't even begin to guess at understanding. Blood was spilled purposely across a central area of the room. Golden magic—natural magic—roared out in response. It rushed across the space, between all the people, and twisted into the impression of a golden snake with a hood. A rumbling, growling hiss escaped the golden construct as it solidified into a familiar, though less substantial, king cobra.

A ripple rolled over the moment, distorting the people and land into a mix of colors and patterns once more. People solidified within the rippling wave of color, shifting from person to person and changing clothing and appearance over time. The color and patterns slowly settled into new people and a new place and stayed that way.

Stone pillars that reminded him of Greece rose on either side of him. Men stood about in a half-circle before another chained man. The greek they spoke was more archaic than the form Salazar knew but he understood enough.

The chained man, Herpo(1), was being judged for breeding multiple terrible species of serpent and for desecrating an Athenian artifact with his spirit. The punishment was laid out—Herpo's life was forfeit but also something would be done to his children and children's children's spirits until a thousand, thousand descendants had been punished for his crimes. One of the judges pronounced a curse of similar punishment on any descendant that dared do a similar crime after the original punishment was served.

Children and adults alike were led out into the circle and a ritual pulled their cores into easy visibility. Then one of the mages did something that shattered each and every one of the cores.

Salazar's breath caught in his throat. Green eyes blew wide in shock. The shattered cores looked horrifyingly similar to Aunt Petunia's core.

Before he could process what this could mean, the ripple returned as Herpo fell dead and the moment in time in ancient Greece rippled apart into patterns and colors once more. People came and went within the rippling world, each becoming more and more diverse in appearance as Herpo's descendants fled the Greek city-state and spread across the world, trying to escape a curse they could not flee. Many took on the togas of Rome and eventually moved west. Others headed further East than Salazar had ever been, taking on saris and other exotic clothing he only vaguely knew or recognized.

Eventually, his modor(2) rippled into existence. Salazar's breath caught once more. He could imagine what he would have found if he had ever been able to look at her for a magical core. It would have looked something like Aunt Petunia's.

A thousand, thousand people stood in her shadow. She rested her hand on her abdomen like pregnant women tended to do. Other women rippled into existence at her sides. Each of the women, appearance making clear they were from all over, mimicked his mother's actions.

The ripple blurred these people into children—him and his sister included. They all completed some feat of magic and hissed parseltongue before the ripple dissolved them into nothing at all.

In a blink, the king cobra was seated before him once more, hooded head in line with Salazar's. Its head tilted as if in question and Salazar felt judged as its shiny eyes regarded him. The truly ancient clan totem watched him in consideration.

A much smaller, more spiny-looking snake popped its head up from the depths of the king cobra's coils. It almost looked like a tiny, wingless, dragon. It was a softer green color and reminded Salazar of leaves. Somehow, he knew this little snake was the Slytherin House animal—a child of the more ancient clan he was a part of. (3)

The king cobra gave him a final judgmental once-over before it shifted and allowed the Slytherin House magicks to slither over to Salazar. He knew, somehow, that this was both an act of acceptance and a test. One day the ancient clan may claim. It would not be today though.

Salazar reached out to allow the smaller snake to wrap around his wrist.

The little viper snapped forward and sank its fangs into Salazar's palm instead. As he jerked his hand instinctively back, the world shivered and twisted. The viper vanished. He turned his hand to find the bite but his palm was fine.

"And now to honor our dearly fallen," announced a voice Salazar vaguely recognized. The words were in Old English. He hadn't heard this voice and this language in a lifetime.

His emerald eyes shot up to find the speaker and stared. He was sitting on the large roots of an ancient oak that stood in a circle of oaks. It was one of the oldest groves on the Isles. He had only visited it once for a Council meeting to petition for Hogwarts. It had not been so crowded the one time he had visited.

Salazar shifted, and when he realized he could move, stood up and took in the crowd of magicals standing in a wide circle. Half were allies and half were Norman invaders. He stepped through the crowd in search of the speaker. No one noticed him but he was able to pass through without issue. At the center of the crowd, he found the Heads of the Seven Houses standing at points of a glowing design spiraling across the ground. Salazar could feel the leyline crossing underneath pulse with power and purpose, now that he thought to focus on it. A ritual he had never witnessed was active and it used the Mother's magic.

It felt similar to the more ancient ritual he had just witnessed that had been sung into existence by ancient people in some far-flung part of the world.—The ritual that had created the king cobra totem.—This was a House creating ritual. Salazar took in the details of the marking glowing across the floor in wonder.

The Ollivander Head continued to speak in a slow graveled tone as he expanded his claim, arms stretching out to emphasize as he said, "Mother, we wish to honor our fallen with seats on this council. One of the first names brought to us for such consideration is our dearly departed Master Salazar thǣrin Sley."

A distressed noise pulled Salazar's gaze from the Ollivander. He found Godric, red-headed and blue-eyed and utterly dead on his feet, and the other founders standing amongst the crowd. They didn't look happy, none of them looked their best. Godric looked the worse Salazar had ever seen him. Salazar couldn't blame them for not being happy and couldn't do anything about why they looked so bad off. (The war must have only barely ceased.)

This had to be the Oaks Council.

Magic rippled across the ritual swirling design. Surprise sounds escaped a few people, including one of the heads of the Seven working the ritual.

"The Mother welcome's his line," called out a Norman man with a sneer, his voice heavily accented due to their native Old French language, before he waved his arms out and added, "but there isn't anyone to say the oath so how can a dead man claim a seat he'll not sit in?"

Other Normans smirked and nudged at each other as if this was a joke.

Well, Salazar supposed the joke was on them because he had clearly been accepted as a House. And he could say the oath now, even if it wouldn't be heard.

Salazar stepped forward, gaze swept over the design more closely and came to the logical conclusion that he needed to kneel within a specific spot at the edge of the circle. There was a smaller circle before him, perfect to place his hand—and either he needed to place his hand in it or drop some blood. Since he couldn't bleed himself in the vision, his hand would have to do.

As he placed his hand in the circle, the ritual design flared brighter. Salazar stilled, eyes widened as the people made startled sounds around him before the entire grove grew silent in shock.

Ollivander was the Head of House that stood directly across from him. The old man stared at Salazar in bewilderment, though Salazar was fairly certain the man didn't actually see him. The Head of Acdenu House coughed, startling the Ollivander Pater.

"Uhm," Ollivander muttered before he raised his hands up towards the sky and pronounced, "Repeat this Oath to the Mother and claim the Seat as the First Head of House Sleythǣrin!"

The elder took a deep breath before he spoke, and Salazar repeated word for word, "By magic, by blood, by heart and soul, through weapon and word, deed and skill, I and my descendants will protect and nurture and guide these lands to prosperity and away from famine, through war and away from any devastation. For the Mother, for the land we hold, so it is sworn."

Silence reigned for a long moment after Ollivander finished speaking. Finally, he added, still looking uncertain about it all, "So mote it be."

"So mote it be," Salazar answered alongside everyone else in the grove. The ritual swirls flared even brighter gold and a leaf green viper unfurled in a loop over the circle his hand rested in. Silver-green shiny eyes looked up at him as the viper seemed to almost grin.

The little snake finally wrapped itself around Salazar's wrist. Something settled within him as it did so with a pleased little hiss. The grove dissolved around them. All the people he had once known, fought beside and against, blurred into nothing.

Warm air fluttered across the back of his neck. Salazar jerked around. A glowing miasma of magick floated before him. A heaviness had settled over the area and his shoulders as he took in the haze of magick. The hints of hooved feet and the edge of velvet-covered antlers solidified for seconds and then faded back to the cloud of magick only to repeatedly reappear. It was as if the magick was on the verge of taking on a physical form. The deer motif on his parents' wedding rings came to mind. This had to be the magick of his father's family.

Before he could consider saying or doing anything, the viper still wrapped about his wrist struck. House Slytherin's snake bit into the miasma of magick. Familia Potter's magick swirled about the fangs and, as if being pulled into a straw, twisted about into the snake. The viper grew in length and thickness as the haze of magick shrank into nothing. Spiny scales at the rear of its head grew slightly longer, leaving the vague sense of antlers behind.

The snake's shiny silver-green eyes turned up to Salazar and he knew that the Potter Familia was now simply an aspect of House Slytherin. The snake seemed inordinately pleased by this fact.

Salazar could feel a shift in the air. The vision began to fade but before it did he asked, tone mildly dry at the fact he was asking this of a totem, "I don't suppose you'll tell me what I have to do to find any outstanding contracts we have, would you? Potter ones at the very least."

House Slytherin's viper dropped from his wrist with a hiss that almost sounded amused and slithered across the space before him until it created a circle with its own form. Then it bite its tail and the circle it made flickered with the image of a ruined cottage, its second floor and roof partly collapsed and at its gate was a wooden sign with golden letters that spelled out:

On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981,

Lily and James Potter lost their lives.

Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard

ever to have survived the Killing Curse.

This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left

in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters

and as a reminder of the violence

that tore apart their family.(4)

oooP2ooo

(Albus)

He apparated into an overwhelming wall of heat. Popping and cracking and the smell he had always associated with a campfire, only a hundred times more intense, assaulted his senses. Albus pulled his wand from its sheath at his waist and weaved a bubble-head charm about his head as he swept from the apparition point the DoL had set up with Fitzwilliam's permission. He walked through the protective wall surrounding the apparition point to reveal an inferno.

Albus Dumbledore came to a sharp halt as he took in the devastation of House Longbottom's ancestral property. The fire was only steps from Longwood manor. The windows closest to the inferno were cracked and shattered from the heat. The once picturesque landscape full of gardens and cobblestone and pebbled paths to wander through and various ornate greenhouses filled with priceless plants was now a hellscape. Smoke billowed about the groups of law enforcement and the Longbottoms rushing about trying to hold off the flames attempting to consume their patriarch's seat.

This had not been done by accident. Nor by muggle campers.

"Albus."

He turned at the sound of his name. "Ah, Amelia." He glanced over the scene once more and asked quietly, though the raging fire made it unlikely anyone would overhear him. "What do you make of this? Particularly…under the circumstances?"

Madam Bones, Director of Law Enforcement, frowned severely at him before she adjusted her marvelous little monocle. "Well, it's not a normal fire so they aren't telling us bloody shit about what went down.–" She shook her head. "–Cornelius has been having a panic attack over all this. If this isn't settled before the opening sessions on the third, it'll be my head."

"Oh yes," Albus said, "I happened to receive multiple missives about this fire needing to be extinguished by the time the Council opens for the season. That's why I've come…I had also hoped to speak to Fitzwilliam about Neville–"

"Pater Longbottom insists Neville was sent proper-like to an orphanage as all disowned children are," Amelia offered with a sharp look her sharp cut gray bob and sharp jaw only emphasized, "He won't say anything more about it, Albus. I doubt he'll say even that to you."

Albus frowned. "An orphanage? I haven't dealt with an orphanage in years. It's been foster parents since…oh… I don't recall. Ages now."

She nodded with a grim look as she stated, "Indeed. I'll have someone check in with young Neville as soon as I can. It's all hands on deck here though."

"Well–"

"Don't you dare," she snapped, her monocle reflecting the fire dangerously, "Checking in with him is under my purview. You keep your long noise out of it.–" Amelia gave him a hard stare down for a moment before she nodded to herself and turned sharply toward the direction of the fire and one of her larger teams. "–Now come on, let's see if you can extinguish this fire where we can't."

Albus hummed and followed even as he considered who he could send out to find young Neville. It would not do to lose him. While everything indicated young Harry was the boy of prophecy, Neville was the other obvious option. He needed to find Neville and find a way to have Neville's tuition paid for. Neville was related to a number of people that should be able to pay for it and be guilted into doing so. The Bargeworthys were out, though they could be a good option for Neville to live with. The change in living situation could be a good experience for the boy.

A shimmering wall glinted between the magicals and manor, and wildfire. A group had set up a strong enchantment to protect against fire. It didn't keep the heat out. Some of the decorative stone walls had melted and drooped, the fire was too close for the stone to keep its physical form. They could cook dinner in this heat.

"Headmaster!" squawked one of the officers, eyes round in surprised excitement as he desperately attempted to rub the sweat off his face. All it did was smear the dark ash particles that has made it through the enchanted barrier. The group was grimy and worn through even though it was early morning. It turned their gray uniforms black.

"He's here as Chief Warlock today gentlemen," Amelia interrupted before Albus could try to ease the formality. She looked back at him with a faint smirk as she explained, "The Minister asked the most extinguished of our esteemed elders to aid us in extinguishing this fire."

"Well, we don't have all day." snapped a voice from behind Albus, not that Albus needed to turn around to recognize Fitzwilliam's voice.

Albus turned to the Pater and offered a nod. "Terrible business–"

"We can have our niceties after you've taken care of the bleeding fire, Albus." snapped the less-than-put-together Longbottom Pater.

The Hogwarts headmaster blinked over the odd view. He couldn't think of a time he had seen Fitzwilliam and Harfang and the other Longbottoms all so entirely out of sorts. The entire group of them, a group of over eight Longbtooms, were all leaning into each other for support and utterly exhausted and covered in ash. Each and every one of them looked in shock and entirely bewildered by something.

The horrific assault on Franklin and Alice had not caused such a reaction from the entirety of the House. A fire that threatened the Pater's home but not the rest of their homes should not have done anything differently. Something more had occurred. Something far more significant than a stubborn fire.

Instead of asking or sneaking a peek into one of the younger Longbottoms minds for an idea of what had happened, Albus turned back to the fire and lifted his wand. A twirl and swoosh and twist sent his magic dancing out into the inferno's depth.

It was not fiendfire, which he had expected.—The fire did not have the appearance of fiendfire.—Neither was it a cursed flame which left him wondering how no one had been able to extinguish it. As far as he could tell, it was a normal fire.

Albus sliced the elder wand through the air in the sharp shape of a partial arrow, casting the extinguishing charm. A blue glowing goo-like substance shot from his wand and shimmered through the enchanted barrier into the fire. The goo spread far, farther than he would have been able to create with any other wand on his own. (A few officers made appreciative sounds at the sight of his large-scale areal spell work.) The blue glowing goo lowered over the fire and suffocated the flames. He cast the spell multiple times as he walked along the barrier and slowly pushed the flames back.

As he covered the last section he could reach with the barrier in the way, one of the officers called out, "Right let's prepare to move the barrie–"

A screaming roar and popping interrupted him. Then a whoosh and blaring heat rushed over the area. Albus turned and stared as the fire seemed to eat through his goo at the first two sections he had extinguished the fire. Apparently, he had only dampened the flame. Within moments all his work was undone.

Before anyone could say anything, he twisted the elder wand in an S shape and conjured as much water as he could in one go over the top of the first section of flame he had originally extinguished. He dropped it all. Clouds of steam hissed dangerously out toward them in one loud angry burst.

Shield and redirection spells flew up, saving most from the super hot steam. Screams rose up from the unlucky few that weren't quick enough on the draw. Amelia Bones glared over at him. Albus grimaced. The flames crackled merrily from the other side of the barrier.

"Albus! Amelia!" came a panicked shout from the apparition point. "Albus!"

They all looked over toward the tented area. Multiple healers were already rushing in their direction due to the screams from the steam attack but just behind them, waving a bowlers hat through the smoke and ash floating down from the depressingly dark sky was a rotund, very panicked-looking man in a green-striped suit.

"Is that the Minister?" muttered one of the officers.

Albus shared a look with the director before they both stalked toward the Minister in hopes of having the conversation somewhat private. Fitzwilliam and his group of shell-shocked—as that was oddly what they reminded Albus of he realized, shell-shocked muggle soldiers—Longbottoms tagged along.

"The seat-the ministry–I need–" Cornelius Fudge stuttered out incoherently before hacking up some ash and looking concerned down at the dark gray matter in his hand.

Albus helpfully cast a bubble-head charm over the man's head as he said, "Best not breathe in the air here Cornelius. It's not good for your health."

"Oh," the poor man forced out in a daze, "Yes, quite. I-I-" His gaze roved from his hand up to look from Albus to Amelia to the various Longbottoms and back to Albus. "I–" He visibly swallowed. "–Merlin. Albus. What are we going to do?!"

"Extinguish the bleeding fire of course," groused Fitzwilliam.

"Damn your fire, man!" screeched Cornelius, "This is bigger than your muggle fire!"

Fitzwilliam flushed red enough to see through all the soot streaks on his face. "Excuse me!"

"Seats have activated without a presentation!"

Jaws dropped.

Amelia stepped forward and demanded, "What!"

Albus grasped Cornelius's shoulder to force the man's attention on him. With the Minister's gaze on him, Albus searched the Minister's most recent memory and witnessed snippets of Tiberius Ogden slamming through Cornelius's office doors to announce House elves of all things finding the House of Slytherin and House Gryffindor House Seats active within the Council meeting room.

He let go of the poor man's mind and demanded out loud, "Show me."

oooP3ooo

(Harry)

He blinked away the last dredges of sleep. The smell of the infusion of ancient resins and oils hung in the air of the darkened bedroom. Thin streams of morning light cut across the room from the slits in the shades. It left the dark quiet of the room eerie.

Salazar didn't feel like he had slept a wink. He forced himself up and glanced over the room. Godric was still sprawled across his bed. The deep, slow breaths indicated that his brother was truly asleep instead of in a vision. Of course, the ritual—ancient even a thousand years ago and fascinating in its use of scent instead of inscription to guide its magic—would have been simpler for the Gryffindor.

Godric had already been claimed by his House magicks when the Longbottom House magicks had been forced to judge him. This ritual would have simply finalized his right as Pater. The vision wouldn't have lasted all night for Godric.

He heaved a sigh and rubbed his face to try and force some life into himself. There had been a great deal in his vision and he needed to analyze it all once he could think straight. His mouth twisted down as if he tasted something particularly bad as the last part with the sign came to mind.

Salazar did not like the idea of the ruined cottage being real. Lily and James Potter deserved to be remembered for their lives instead of their deaths.

If it was real, he obviously had to visit it. He vaguely recalled one of the history books noting something about the cottage being a monument to that night. It just hadn't crossed his mind what that actually meant. Salazar frowned as he tried to recall if he had read where the cottage was located. It had something to do, for some reason, with Godric.

"You do not look pleased, Master Salazar."

He blinked and then looked over to Godric's old magical hat and sighed, "Dumbledore hasn't noticed you missing yet?"

Alfred huff, "The Headmaster has many things he deals with. I doubt he'll notice anything amiss until the holidays are over. It's not like he needs me until the next start of the school year." The leather hat eyed him before adding, "What did that ritual reveal to have you so out of sorts?"

Salazar scoffed but didn't have a chance to respond.

"I second the question." interrupted a half-awake Godric. His brother sat up and grumbled out accusatorily, "Don't."

"I'm not doing anything–"

Godric noted, "Don't avoid the question, Sally. You have that meeting with Pater Black later today. You can't be so distracted by then so just tell us about it so we all can figure out the issues."

He grimaced. Salazar hadn't forgotten about the meeting but the vision had certainly pushed it to the back of his immediate concerns. He considered the details he had been shown in the vision and heaved a sigh. "It would be easier to show you it than explain."

"Show it to me…you mean legilimency," Godric said as his expression twisted up at the idea, "You said–"

"I'm aware I said I shouldn't," he interrupted as he clambered out of bed, "Legilimency is not to be used on the young…but we didn't have any of the issues that happens when I did end up using it on you–"

"Your scar–"

"–Was already strange before that." Salazar sighed and rubbed at his face, paused when he realized he was unconsciously rubbing said scar before he asked as he firmly ignored what he had just done, "Did you feel anything off beyond the expected disjointment of your memory I cut up? You said something about burning?"

Godric turned thoughtful. "No…just the hissing from you using parseltongue to help suppress things. The burning sensation was from losing control of my magic. Head felt a little achy and…foggy I guess. That could also be because you sliced up a memory and from losing control, though."

"So we might have slight headaches," Salazar said, "but we also might not…I think…we might not mentally match our physical age. Not entirely and not where it would matter for legilimency."

His brother snorted, amusement danced in his hazel gaze and he nodded. "Merlin I'd hope not! Think, we'd somehow be as mature as the rest of our peers with our past memories giving us lifetimes of magical expertise. No one would survive us."

Salazar rolled his eyes. "I mean, our minds might be developed to match our mental age for the most part and so handle legilimency perfectly fine. This should be one of the simplest tests to confirm that possibility—One I'm willing to try now if you are."

Godric frowned thoughtfully, likely considering the everything he had dealt with so far before he shifted about on his bed so he sat across from Salazar. "Let us see these visions then."

Green and hazel eyes met. Salazar sent out an intertwined thread of his magic and senses. Godric's fluttery, breathy surface thoughts danced against his senses before Salazar pushed forward the memory of his visions. Once he felt Godric accept it, he pulled away.

Salazar blinked a few times as he readjusted to the dark room. He didn't feel any side effects beyond the barest shift of something but he was likely imagining the thing in his scar acting up. Which meant legilimency on surface thoughts was likely safe, just as telekinesis was. He'd need someone he cared less about to test some of the other skills with.

"That explains so much about how you gained a House," Godric said with wonder tinging his voice, "You were there for the council–"

"I wasn't–"

Godric shook his head as he countered, "That was exactly what happened to create House Slytherin! The only part we didn't see was you…Even the snake was visible as it appeared in your vision. It vanished almost as soon as it appeared—wrapping around your arm had it vanish from everyone else's view." Godric tugged a hand through his hair and gave a weak chuckle as he rambled, "Gods…for all that we think we understand magic—The Mother—we really don't. We just pigeonhole it and create fake rules in place so we can trick ourselves into believing we understand anything…Then she goes and reincarnates us or decides a dead man can have a House built on his shoulders since he'll be back in a thousand years and what are a thousand years to her?"

His brother might have a point, Salazar grudgingly, silently, acknowledged when he couldn't think of an argument.

Alfred spoke up instead and complained, "Do I get to see the vision?"

With a soft laugh, Godric got up, claimed his hat, and dropped it onto his head. Alfred made multiple interested hums as he parsed through everything his brother was sharing before he announced, "We should have known you'd have a complicated mess of a lineage Master Salazar. Parseltongue, a truly ancient ability…fascinating."

"Exactly something I go around discussing with people," Salazar snarked out.

The hat chuckled.

He ignored Alfred and closed his eyes to consider the vision once more. That parseltongue was tied to an ancient clan was not surprising. His apparent presence at the Council of Oaks to claim his headship, while…startling, was fairly straight forward all things considered.

Even the fact that his House "swallowed" his Familia's magick and claimed it as House magick wasn't all that startling once you got past the actual event and considered the fact that he was the last of both House and Familia. They would always be intertwined going forward. It would have made zero sense for the magick to stay separate.

What was bothering him was the vision of Herpo's trial.

Salazar opened his eyes and found Godric and Alfred watching him quietly. He explained, "The moment where the cores shattered–"

"Terrible business, that," Alfred agreed.

"Their shattered cores looked just like my Aunt's—in this life," Salazar explained, "Aunt Petunia's core is shattered."

Godric sat up straight, gaze turning intent and lips turned down into a grim frown. "You said she had a terribly damage core, not that it was that bad!"

He grimaced. "There isn't a good way to describe it, is there? Shattered doesn't do it much justice either…But her's looks too similar to those ancestors' for me to not consider it. They did say a similar curse would linger."

Alfred huffed, "A curse couldn't possibly linger for so long."

His brother stood up and began to pace, his hands settled to his back as he considered the vision and the information Salazar had offered. Alfred was still sat on his head and made little thoughtful sounds towards whatever Godric was thinking.

Salazar countered the magic hat, "There are hereditary curses, ones that have been tied to a line's blood."

"They aren't reliable after a certain length of time," Godric said before he paused and a sigh burst out of him. "But it could be around in some capacity. It cann't be terribly strong anymore. We could try to figure out if it still has a reach or if whoever in your clan decided to follow this Herpo's footsteps has to be nearby–"

"Tom Riddle is a parselmouth," Alfred stated, sounding very horrified as if he had just realized something terrible.

Salazar blinked a few times as he recognized that name. "A Slytherin Head Boy back…in the 50s…earlier? He had an award for Service to Hogwarts."

Alfred announced, "He's Voldemort."

Godric pulled Alfred off his head and set him onto the table as he demanded, "What?"

"I complimented him," grumbled Salazar in disgust even as Alfred answered.

"Tom Riddle went to Hogwarts from 1937 through 1944 and is Voldemort."

His brother looked from his hat to Salazar. "When did you do that?"

Salazar shrugged and muttered, "In my head…he was one of the few accomplished muggleborn Slytherins presented in the trophy room."

"Well," snapped Godric, "He's neither muggleborn nor worthy of praise. And he is a relative. What has happened to the world that families try to destroy each other so often?!"

"I mean," Salazar slowly answered, startled, "wonderful question for the ages but…" He hesitated and switched tracks from bringing up Godric's wife or the Longbottoms to an entirely different route. "It's not a surprise Voldemort and I are relatives. It's the part that he was Tom Riddle once."

Godric gave Salazar a very done expression and proceeded to stomp back into the path he had been pacing, all the while muttering about having other things to deal with than to make that connection. He stated louder a moment later, "So he must have done something Herpo did that shattered your Aunt's core."

"That…" Salazar frowned as he paused to consider the idea. He started over after a moment of consideration and still not seeing how. "I agree that it's a little too convenient for Voldemort not to be the reason for her shattered core but there is nothing in the history books of him having some overly large and dangerous serpent. And her core was shattered…uhm…I don't know…she was very young when it happened, I think…And what about my mother or Dudley or even myself?"

The three frowned at each other.

Godric's stomach helpful growled, ending the debate before they started going in circles with what they knew.

oooP4ooo

(Neville)

Salazar dragged him to Dirigible Plum Cafe. Godric understood why when they entered the little shop. It reminded him of Helga with its soft yellow walls and warm wooden furniture and the dirigible bushes with ripe little orange plums floating towards the ceiling from their stems. Weight lifted from his shoulders as they walked through the small shop to a free corner table.

A redheaded woman stopped before their table a few minutes later, self-inking quill and a pad of little parchment squares in hand. "Good morning. No Omorose today?"

His brother flashed a faint grin up at the woman that recognized Salazar even with the emerald hat on his head. "No, she had a litter and had to stay at Hogwarts."

"A litter?" the waitress repeated in surprise.

"Seven kittens in all," Salazar explained, "Not certain what I'll end up doing with five of them."

Godric watched in bemusement as the waitress and Sally chatted idly. There was something about the woman that was bothering him. He jumped between watching the odd conversation play out and staring at the menu as he tried to figure out what it was. Salazar continued to distract the young witch from her job as the two delved into a debate about the likelihood of the novel, The Time Machine, ever becoming reality—between travel to future moments at all, which was a bizarrely entertaining notion a little too close for comfort, and the idea of society looking anything like what it was depicted within the novel Salazar claimed it highly unlikely. Godric silently added the book to his growing list to borrow.

Then it hit him. His magic—the House magicks—was reacting to the woman's presence. Now, usually, Godric tried to not assume every redhead they ran into was his descendant (it was frankly a little strange to think too hard about). But, whether or not he wanted to avoid the thought, the Gryffindor House magicks were nudging him to claim the waitress as kin.

He shifted his menu and stared over the top of it at the woman as she laughed over something that had happened in the novel. Red hair: check. Blue eyes: check. No freckles were readily apparent: uncheck. But that didn't mean anything. His daughter hadn't had freckles.

She was a Gryffindor even if she hadn't claimed the House name. Now that he was here, she couldn't claim it on her own. But he could claim her, name her kin and family and a Gryffindor. He could claim her a sister or a cousin where he recently found himself lacking in that regard.

Godric didn't, of course. He didn't even know the woman's name, let alone if he'd want her as family after it all.

"Sorry," Godric interrupted as Sally and the waitress came to a natural pause, "I didn't catch your name."

She blinked a few times before she offered a confused smile in his direction. "Don't usually expect anyone to ask.–" Her head tilted in further confusion as she took him in. Sally tilted his own head in interest at the waitress. Godric realized as he watched her struggle for a moment that he still had his hat on. His newly magically enhanced hat was doing a number on her perspective of him he was sure.

"–and I don't think we've met but it's Nimue…Nimue Weasley," she slowly finished, confusion slipping into her tone.

Salazar perked up, gaze sharpened intently onto her and he asked, "Related to..uh…Arthur Weasley's–well, Arthur Weasley?"

Nimue turned to Salazar and her smile became almost brittle as she forced it to stay in place, her jaw working slightly as she clenched her teeth together. Godric blinked, knowing he wouldn't have seen any of that if she hadn't turned her head. She would have fooled him with her smile.

"All we Weasleys are related," she answered with forced casual air. "If you want the specifics…well, officially Arthur's my first cousin once removed." Nimue glanced at the menu set before Sally and stated, "Take your time, boys." Then she all but fled their table.

His brother watched her leave for a moment before he met Godric's gaze and stated flatly, "We're not getting involved in more family drama that's none of our business. I don't care if the Weasleys are technically yours."

Godric helpfully offered, choosing to speak one of the now long-dead languages they both knew in case any of the other tables overheard, "House magicks thinks she should become an official member."

"Oh gods," grumbled Salazar, responding back in the same language without hesitation, his nose wrinkling slightly, "The Weasleys really are yours?"

He shrugged. "The Weasleys are a Familia so I suppose I could technically take them all under the House but I doubt the magick will call out each one."

"Just the ones that would fit within the House?" Sally asked, jumping through the process of magick being sentient enough to have such opinions and reaching the right conclusion.—A quality of his that once pissed Godric off as often as it impressed him.

Godric nodded in confirmation and turned back to the menu. The two sat quietly, each looking over the breakfast offerings available.

"You realize," Salazar spoke up, still speaking in the old tongue after a few minutes. Godric looked up and saw Salazar almost glaring down at the egg section of the menu as he spoke, "the entire Familia would literally not exist if you hadn't fucked the woman that killed you?"

"It's even worse," Godric stated, tone taking on a slightly despondent tone as he recalled the Longbottom family tree. He had had time to consider the implications and it was just a little bizarre. "I wouldn't be here if I hadn't fucked the woman that killed me." He leaned forward, his move pulled Sally's gaze from the offending menu. "I am my own bleeding descendent."

Sally's mouth twitched and his brother turned slightly red.

Godric rolled his eyes at Salazar and groused, "Yes, laugh it up. I'll not hex you for doing so. It's hilariously horrifying is what it is." He leaned back in his chair as Salazar burst out into helpless laughter. The Gryffindor folded his arms across his chest, the ache he had been feeling since his disownment fading against the warmth of the moment. "At least I know who Bryony married."

A warm smile spread across Salazar's face as he calmed down. His brother said, tone kind even if a hint of humor remained, "I'm glad."

Nimue returned to their table and asked for their order but didn't stay for chitchat. The place had filled up since they had entered.

Neither of them was rushed. There wasn't much to do, which was the point of the holiday. Or he supposed it was more accurate to say neither of them wanted to do anything so they did not rush into the many things they did need to do. Eventually, Sally would have to go to that meeting with Black and he should figure out his monetary status to lock in his place at Hogwarts and purchase some more clothing.

Still, he just didn't want to do shit.

Godric leaned back and closed his eyes, focusing inward to feel his magic and the House Magick moving more freely through him. It had always been there but quieter. He imagined part of the reason had been the state of his core with all the residue clogging everything up but the other was due to his position as a Longbottom over a Gryffindor.

He felt more like himself since he had woken up a thousand years in the future. A ting of regret flickered through him before he squashed it. What had happened had happened. He still wasn't just Godric Gryffindor. He was still Neville. He had just lost the family that had come with his new identity—and a bit of plant magick which he hadn't been sure about in the first place.

There was another side of his family that he hadn't lost. He had never had it, technically. Godric couldn't help but wonder where the Bargeworthys were and why they had never been in his life. Had the Longbottoms told them to stay away? Maybe it was time to find out.

A distant rumbling echoed through a bond he had been vaguely monitoring since he had woken yesterday. His fire was still burning. While no one seemed to have figured out how to kill the flames, they had contained it. The bond was strong enough for him to tell that it had consumed multiple small buildings—the greenhouses but it had yet to reach the manor. Unless he pushed more power into the flames, it was unlikely to reach Longwood.

While he felt a grim pleasure at the destruction, a twinge of regret rose too. Some of those plants had been priceless and he would have preferred stealing them over burning them. Some had been extinct outside Longbottom's care.

He considered killing his elemental flames.

But no, not yet.—Maybe tomorrow.

The Gryffindor Pater shook his head of his thoughts. Time to wash his hands of his old House and focus on thumbing his nose at them. He doubted he'd have much to do with any Longbottom until he took up his House seat in the Council. When he did that he would enjoy crossing wands with them and being a thorn in their side.

He opened his eyes and a faint smirk spread. What would people say if he returned to Hogwarts disowned but capable of doing magic in class? It would spread that he could not only do magic but did it well enough to be near the top of the class, for every class. (He could be top of the class but he didn't need to be. Some of the actual children could use such standing for their future careers. So he'd set himself near the top instead. It would have the same effect for his purposes.)

All he needed to deal with was paying for his next semester, which might be complicated. A thought nudged at the back of his mind and he paused to consider it even though all he wanted to do was not think about his situation.

The public floo had allowed Salazar and him through without "adult" supervision. Sally thought their minds might not be mentally eleven. Their first purification rituals in this life had removed the Trace, whatever that actually did.

There were multiple indicators that he might not have an issue claiming House Gryffindor's monetary assets. It probably included his political seat in the Wizards Council but that shouldn't truly become active until he went before the Council to claim it during Presentations.

Godric rather have money at the moment. Money was rather important for surviving at this point. And Sally only had so much money to go around.

"I should go to Gringotts while you chat with Black," Godric said as he set his fork down, "Need to see if I can pay for Hogwarts."

"Ah," Salazar answered, green eyes suddenly dancing with humor once more, "Since you might have some money asPater Gryffin a'dor."

Godric turned red at that nickname. He had prayed to the gods Sally had forgotten that nickname.

Salazar remarked, lips curled into a smirk, eyes still dancing with silent laughter, "You even have golden hair this time around. Your moder would just adore you."

He could feel his face burn. "Moder," Godric blurted out, feeling himself burn brighter, "willnever need to know this." Taking a calming breath he ordered, "Never, you hear me, Sally!?"

This was probably the first time he regretted having a master druid as a best friend and bond brother. Salazar could literally invite his dead mother over for fucking tea next Samhain if he wanted to. He knew her well enough to know that she'd absolutely accept the invite.

Oh gods, Sally could invite his mother and his sisters to tea.

It was a rather horrifying thought. He had to make sure it didn't happen until his dirty blond hair properly darkened to more of a brown.—Which was what usually happened with his hair tone and what appeared to have occurred with his father's hair. Godric hoped to the Mother it was the case for him. There was only so long he would be able to distract Sally with the crap they were dealing with.

He was going to have to find all the photographs of him as a kid and burn them too.

"Actually," Sally spoke up, "I think we should go to Gringotts together. I need to see about my own House and what my apparent guardian controls if the goblins let us claim anything."

Godric shrugged. "Fair…I guess I'll just look into the curses on Alfie then."

Nimue showed up with their food and refills of their drinks, and Salazar focused on her with interest.

"I was wondering," Salazar spoke up as she set his plate before him.

Nimue straightened sharply as if expecting something unpleasant she needed to stand against.

"Do you know where the Drunken Unicorn is located?"

Her shoulders drooped in relief even as she gave Sally an odd look. "Really?"

"Muggle raised." Salazar offered as an explanation even though Godric had no idea where the place was either.

It seemed to be an acceptable answer though. Nimue nodded in understanding and said as she set Godric's food before him, "You've walked past it all the time over summer. You'll want to head right–" She waved her hand in the general direction of the main road. "–when you leave here and return to the main street. Turn right once you pass the Whizz Hard Books Store and it's at the end of the road before it turns to go back toward Gringotts. The public floo station sort of hides it. If there's a bunch of tourists swarming from the floo, it's even harder to spy but it's there right by the butcher's side of the marketplace."

Salazar's thoughtful frown lit up in recognition. "Oh. I did see it. People were taking photo's outside the door and it had a huge line the one time I paid it any mind."

"That would be it," she agreed with a wrinkle of her nose, "My dad took me there once, years ago, and it was just as packed. Or felt like it at least. He knew what he was doing though, and reserved a room. If you've reservations, you can skip the line."

Godric tilted his head in curiosity, set his fork down, and asked, "What room did you get to see?"

She flushed. "It's a bit of tradition you know? Every Weasley that goes to Hogwarts has been in Gryffindor for ages now…so he took me to House Gryffindor's room."

"Oh," Godric grinned, more than a little amused as he asked, "You were a Gryffindor then?"

Nimue grimaced and looked ready to bolt. She opened her mouth to make her excuses.

Salazar spoke up quickly. "You know one of Arthur Weasley's children, Ronald, is in Hufflepuff. It's really not an issue–"

"Let me know if you need anything," she stated quickly before she fled once more.

His brother gave him a flat look and announced, "Your family, your mess to clean up if we get dragged into the middle of it."

"Even if I haven't claimed them?" Godric couldn't help but whine. Sally rolled his eyes in response. Godric's gaze followed the waitress. Wonder and not a little concern sparked to life even though he internally told himself to stay out of it.

oooP5ooo

Godric stepped back into their rented room and dropped his red hat onto his bed as he announced, "Alfred, I've a thought."

His old hat hummed disbelieving from his place on the table.

He ignored the disbelief, long since certain Rowena had added a few odd bits to Alfred's personality best ignored, and explained, "If we removed all the curses on you when Dumbledore is expected to be out, the alarms on his trinkets will be alerting no one. Then Mipsy or..uh…Olen could collect those trinkets for Sally and I to place new alerts on the trinkets. The old man will be none the wiser."

"Master Godric," Alfie said with a slightly insulting amount of surprise, "that could work well."

Sally had wanted to stay incognito and Godric agreed that it still made sense. They didn't need more attention than they both already had between Sally's whole The-Boy-Who-Lived nonsense and Godric's disownment. But that didn't mean they couldn't take care of things on their ever-growing list of to-dos. They just had to do so in a way that no one noticed until it was too late to do anything about it.

Godric picked up Alfred as he sat down. "Let's see what all is going on then. It shouldn't be that difficult to remove them all. Just time-consuming."

"Of course," Alfred agreed.

He hesitated as another, entirely unrelated thought came to mind.

"Master Godric?" Alfie prompted as they stared at each other.

Godric grimaced but blurted out the question. "Do you know anything about the Bargeworthys?"

Alfie stared for a long moment and then asked in bewilderment, "As in your mother's family? Do you not know them, Master?"

Godric flushed and shook his head very slightly, unable to speak up.

"Well, I cannot say what has happened since I have sorted any single child Master but Alice had two cousins and a little sister I sorted around the same time as her. There should be Bargeworthys around for you to speak to," Alfred answered kindly, "Of course, you must keep in mind the war that happened between their sorting and now."

"Yes, of course," Godric said quietly, even as his heart hammered against his chest. There might be an aunt and cousins and grandparents that cared out there.

Or maybe not.

They had never been in his life for a reason.

Godric looked away from his enchanted hat and stared out at the window that looked out over Diagon Alley. He had Salazar. (Salazar had died on him once before.)

The founder snapped his gaze back to the Sorting Hat. "Right. Let's take a look shall we?"

Alfie grin.

The Gryffindor Pater closed his eyes and mentally, magically, reached out to the hat in his hands. The dark against his eyelids lit with the layers of Alfred's weave of magic. Having created the original enchantments with the others, he immediately recognized the layers that did not belong. The pattern was different and didn't match even with the evolution the original enchantments had gone through over a thousand years. Still, he doubted many would realize what didn't belong without a deep investigation, or unless they possessed the odd sensory connection Salazar had.

Knowing what was foreign, didn't mean he knew how many different spells had been used. Godric reached out to inspect it carefully. An enchantment, in its simplest form, was a spell whose magic had been weaved about an object with an anchor to allow the magic to linger for a lasting effect. To alter an enchantment, another would have to be weaved into the existing enchantment's essence. Some enchantments were charms, others were curses, and every once in a while someone was petty enough to weave a jinx together.

Rowena was the best at weaving an enchantment together and creating weave matrices. (Or cloth enchantments as most would consider multiple enchantments combined for a singular goal or object. Matrices were more a runic magic term.) Most of the cloth enchantments she had created were stable enough that others could recreate them, which made Rowena's enchantments highly prized knowledge.

Helga was very good at weaving enchantments also but she could never teach anyone how to replicate the complex work. Salazar had been similarly skilled with weaving up enchantments but he found them boring compared to the cousin art of runic matric building—Or annoying due to their natural evolution of magic over time. Godric had never gotten a straight answer from Sally about it.—That Sally could combine the cloth enchantments and runic matrics was an added complexity most couldn't do. Even Rowena had taken years to do so.

Of course, most of what kept Sally's attention were things too complicated and delicate for another person to replicate often. The wards surrounding Hogwarts were a prime example.

Godric certainly helped work enchantments when building Hogwarts. He had been particularly skilled at the offensive defenses near the end of the build and had a heavy hand in creating Alfred.

But before Hogwarts, he had mostly deconstructed cloth enchantments instead of building them.

It had been a long time since he had last removed an enchantment. And even longer since he had to remove multiple from a cloth-enchanted object that should keep its cloth. The challenge of it was exciting.

And beautifully distracting.

oooP6ooo

(Harry)

Diagon Alley was a mess. Salazar tugged his emerald hat down, tilting it wide brim to hide his face a little, and made a mental note to never come here so close to a Holiday again. He had thought it had been bad when Godric and he had come for just a wand but he had been wrong. The crowd had somehow grown three times larger every day they had stayed here and there were still days until Christmas Eve.

The pub was exactly where Nimue had said. There was no actual sign announcing what it was but he guessed that was how it worked for famous places. The swarm of tourists was announcement enough.

Salazar tilted his head down to avoid being recognizably caught in a photo, not certain how the hat's magic would effect the photography, and shuffled past a line going out the pub's door. The pub itself had double doors with stained glass of prancing unicorns which literally pranced about a little as the doors opened and closed. The rest of its exterior was wooded and aged from weather and time. It didn't look particularly special. Not that it stopped anyone from taking pictures as they waited.

The interior was a different story. It made the popularity of the place make more sense. The walls were ornate wood paneling with beautifully carved details. The beautifully carved wood traveled all the way up to the ceiling where it continued in an intricate lattice design. Oil-painted portraits lined the walls. Twenty-one portraits were the largest and plainly visible from the foyer. They were likely some important members of the Ancient Houses.

A quick look around and Salazar spotted the inaccurate Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin images Hogwarts also kept. Beside them were portraits of two women. The colors covering the women heavily hinted at them supposedly being Helga and Rowena. The painter had been woefully inaccurate for Helga beyond the use of cheerful yellow tones over the deep black.

Rowena's painting was surprisingly accurate looking if you ignored the style of clothing. But that was because it was a colored painting of Helena instead of Rowena and only inaccurate in giving Helena exaggerated coloring. Her hair was overly dark, her skin almost unnaturally pale, and her eyes shockingly blue. Of course, the eyes were entirely wrong. Helena had inherited her mother's gray-silver gaze, though Rowena's had been a darker shade of gray than Helena's as far as Salazar could recall.

Turning away from the paintings with a slight shake of his head, he focused on the rest of the pub. The main section was open and filled with tables and chairs and benches. A large bar was situated in a corner and a small dais stood higher than the rest. A bard—or musician now, he supposed—sat playing a cheerful jingle. People were seated for a late lunch or afternoon tea (with beer). It was decorated for the holiday in vibrant reds, greens, and gold.

Then he noticed the rows of doors. Each door bore a crest of some type. Salazar was only able to count seven visible doors, one of which had a large ornate bumblebee carved in its wood, but a hall wrapped out and away from the main area. The rest of the twenty-one private rooms were down there.

"You need somethin' love?" ask the receptionist.

Salazar turned and smiled charmingly up at the woman. "I have a meeting with someone in one of the rooms, do I need to check in or just go to them?"

"Well, we can't have just anyone goin' into a room dear. What's your name? You'll be on our list," she offered.

Salazar rose onto his toes and leaned over to take a peek at what she was looking at. Magic kept the list a blur to his eyes but that wasn't important. He was supposed to be a child. A child would have tried to take a peek. That was what was important. (It was entirely not because he was actually curious. Not at all.) "Harry, Harry Potter."

Her head snapped up from the list. Her eyes jumped to his covered head. He reached up and nudged his hat up off his forehead. Her gaze focused sharply as the hat's magic faded for her. The hostess's gaze dropped to meet his vibrant green eyes behind his round glasses and she squeaked out, "Who you seeing?"

He leaned forward more and whispered, "Pater Black."

She gulped, glanced down at her list, and gave a jerk of a nod, "Right. This way." Salazar followed her down the hall until they reached a door with a crest of a black dog wearing a crown of floating stars. "This is it, dear."

The receptionist knocked for him and opened the door when prompted. The woman dipped into a courtesy, "Mr. Potter, sir," and waved him in.

While the woman closed the door, he pressed his hand to it as if to do so himself. Salazar could feel the privacy enchantment activate—they were actually decent protection. No one would be able to break through without being noticed. The eleven year old pulled his hat and cloak off before he turned to regard the room.

His green gaze swept over the area as he turned.

An elderly man rose from the square table in response to his attention. He was emaciated and frail. There was an air about him that was heavy. This man didn't have long for the world.

Salazar would not get what he needed from the man if he died.

A withered hand rose and Salazar stepped about the table to grasp it. The hand had a surprisingly strong grip but it was the elder's magic that kept Salazar's immediate attention. Salazar could feel the residue of aged and twisted magic. He wasn't even trying to feel it but it was there plain as day to his senses.

It was killing Pater Black. Magic that should have extended the man's life far past a muggles was struggling against the taint and finally losing the battle. This must be the fate of all wizards and witches that failed to cleanse their cores and who had such extensive amounts of the residue. It surprised Salazar that the man had lived this long.

Salazar frowned. Pater Black wasn't a squib. His core didn't feel nearly as bad off for that but there was a heaviness to the residue. It was old.

It was also odd that he could feel it so easily. The only reason why would be if Pater Black has pulled his magic to the surface—to his hand grasping Salazar's.

The elder wrapped his other hand around Salazar's wrist. The sense of Pater Black's magic increased. His emerald eyes snapped up to Pater's Black's blue gaze, demand to know what he was doing on the tip of his tongue. He tugged his arm back instinctively as magic seeped into the air around them.

Black didn't let go.

Salazar demanded, "Wha–"

"I am Arcturus Marcel Black, Third of his name, Order of Merlin First Class, Senior Member of the League of Transfiguring Duelists, 28th Black of Black, Pater of House Black, and Sitting member of the Council," croaked out the old man, magic seeped into each word he spoke, "Who would meet with me?"

Salazar couldn't stop the hiss that escaped his lips at the magic twisted into something familiar—old and ritualistic power. It hung like a heavy curtain over the area. Magical demand probed at him, seeking the truthful and entire answer the Pater of Black demanded. It pressed down against his shoulders and sank into him to grasp at the truth within Salazar.

The reincarnated boy had felt this demand before. It had been used when he had visited the Council. A few of his student's parents had utilized the ritual to determine his and the other founder's trustworthiness. It had been considered a sign of goodwill and trust to answer without hesitation or struggle against the magic.

Salazar imagined it still was, at least amongst those that quietly used the ritual despite it possible illegal nature.

He could fight it off but he would ruin any chance to continue the meeting. He could not answer with half-truths either. It was all or nothing. The magic would guide his words once he began to speak.

Salazar hadn't expected the tradition to continue to this day. So many seemed to have vanished overnight. He certainly hadn't expected anyone to use such a ritual on an eleven-year-old.

Blue eyes narrowed but Arcturus Black declined to end the ritual. If the elder spoke, he would end it and allow Salazar an out.

The probing demand had started to press more insistently and it would become painful the longer he waited. The founder wondered if the old man would allow it to reach that point before he discarded the thought. Instead, he forced himself to consider his options.

Salazar closed his eyes and sighed. He needed answers and this had been the only avenue he had found to date. He would simply have to deal with the consequences.

"I would meet with you," Salazar answered, resigned even as he opened his eyes to meet Pater Black's gaze once more. In some ways, this had been inevitable.

Black relaxed at the ritual response. The painful pressure on Salazar's shoulder and against his chest faded back to a simple probing.

"Who would drink with me?" Arcturus repeated.

"I would drink with you," Salazar answered once more.

"Who would break bread with me?"

Salazar tightened his grip on the withered hand as he answered. His emerald eyes still locked on the elder's face, waiting to see the man's reaction. Words, formed by the demand of magic, fell from his lips. Some were familiar. Some were new. "I, Salazar Harry James Potter Slytherin, The-Boy-Who-Lived, thǣrin Sley, Twice Born, Thrice Held of the Triad, Master of the Metaphysical Guild of the First Order, Founder of Hogwarts, Last of the Familia of Potter, First and Present Pater of House Slytherin, and Sitting member of the Council would break bread with you."

Pater Black's eyebrows shot up at Salazar's first words. His eyes widen the longer Salazar spoke. The old man's grip on Salazar's hand and wrist tightened throughout the entire speech. The frail man certainly had a strong grip.

Arcturus Black stared as the magic shimmered about them waiting for him to complete the next part. The ritual magic simmered under their skins and in the air. The growing intensity jarred the elderly man and he spoke the final words of the ritual, his voice strong if not edged with a little shock, "Then join me at my table, share my hearth with me, take your fill, and let us speak openly and frankly of what has brought us together."

Finally, Arcturus Black let go of Salazar's hand and collapsed back into his chair.

Salazar turned to the table and found the offered food and drink. He ripped two pieces of bread from the loaf, set them onto the little plates proved, and poured tea into the two cups before pushing one set before the old man. Then he finally took his own seat. By then Arcturus Black seemed to have collected his wits as he held his cup up in silent salute. They silently drank and ate together. With their actions the ritual magic finally dispersed, leaving only the residual sense of welcome and warning against breaking the trust offered.

Silence continued to reign.

The parselmouth was content to sit back and watch as the elder processed recent revelations. There was nothing he could do about this. The grown man was unlikely to fall into the same trap the Weasley twins had. Salazar would have to accept that this old man could tell the world about him…unless an opportunity was presented. Salazar only knew what he wanted from Pater Black. He did not know what Pater Black wanted from him.

Anyway, the tea was acceptable. He could sit and drink and wait all day.

He took this time to take in the private room of House Black. The square, black table sat eight chairs, two on each side. It was directly across from the door but the room extended beyond the simple table. An actual hearth stood with a gray couch and plush chairs framing it. A shield painted with the House of Black's crest hung above the fireplace. Its more well-known French motto, Toujours Pur, was painted on the wall above the crest. Various portraits of famous house members filled the gray walls. Those portraits were perfectly still but Salazar watched them all the same.

"What can I do for the Salazar Slytherin?" Arcturus finally asked.

Salazar set the mug down with a faint smile. He had half expected the man to demand how this was possible. It was always pleasant to find someone able to set curiosity aside and focus on the actual point of a meeting.—Curiosity, of course, was to be pursued as possible. It just should happen after business. Most of the time. (This might be a case of doing what he said and not what he did but Salazar didn't really care at the moment.)

"I require a meeting with my godfather," Salazar answered back just as plainly.

Arcturus Black had concluded the ritual to nudge them both to speak openly and frankly. It would take effort to speak against that result. Possible, of course, but an additional effort that could affect one's focus. Luckily, Salazar had no reason to twist his words toward a sly slant. He wasn't here to trick the old man into anything.

"Sirius Black," Arcturus stated with an edge of query in his tone as he leaned back in his chair.

"Yes."

"He betrayed your parents."

"Yes."

Arcturus stared hard at Salazar but he didn't ask why. "A private meeting with a mass murderer?"

"Preferably," Salazar replied.

"Impossible."

Salazar tilted his head but didn't respond.

The elder frowned as he considered Salazar for a moment. "If I set up a meeting with my grandson, you will have to deal with others present for the conversation."

"That is not surprising," Salazar answered because it wasn't. No adult would allow a child alone with a mass murderer, especially one that had caused the death of said child's parents. He still would have preferred a private meeting with the man, though. It would have made it simpler. He would just have to prepare for an audience. The tests with legilimency indicated it a promising route for pulling the answers from his godfather without having anyone learn the answers themselves. "I would ask that you attempt to minimize the number of people present. It is a private matter, after all."

"What do I receive for setting such up? I am an old man. My limited time is precious and this will take effort," Arcturus said as he leaned forward and steepled his hands before his face as he considered the matter.

"I imagine you came here with something in mind," Salazar countered, having no desire to throw out ideas that might be worth more than the plan the old man had come up with himself.

"Humph." Arcturus seemed to slump back for a second before he sat upright once more. "You've nothing you can give me."

Salazar narrowed his eyes, as he considered that. There was no way the old man would have agreed to this meeting if he hadn't had something to ask of Harry Potter. This meant whatever he had wanted was no longer an option. His true identity was the only change in circumstances that could have affected the man's interest.

Tristan's words from weeks ago sprang to mind. The Blacks are pretty sparse these days.

He spoke up, acknowledging a fact out loud as he watched Pater Black, "House of Black is dying out."

Arcturus stiffened. His lips pressed into a thin line and he bit out. "Some child will be chosen to carry it on."

"But they would not hold the surname, only the title," Salazar said slowly as a thought formed and he realized, "You wanted me to be your heir? To take up the Black name."

"It's not possible," Arcturus countered, "No one can be head of two Houses."

"Ah," breathed Salazar. Silence fell over them as Salazar considered the issue. He looked over the room and stared at the dog in the Black crest. Overheard conversations between Uncle Vernon and 'Aunt' Marge came to mind.

It was of questionable morals but could be a solution and it really wasn't that different from how things had been handled for centuries. Could he offer the idea and wash his hands of the results and consequences? Not really but perhaps he could guide the process a little.

At least Sirius Black was a mass murderer. The man had betrayed Salazar and his parents. His godfather had betrayed the Familia of Potter and House Slytherin.

He felt no remorse or guilt as he spoke, "You could artificially inseminate some woman."

"What?"

Salazar turned back to Arcturus and expanded his statement. "With dogs and other animals, muggles collect a male's sperm and inject it into their chosen female. You could take your grandson's sperm and impregnate a particular woman. That child would then be your heir…It wouldn't be a particularly complicated ritual to set up even. Neither your grandson nor the woman would need to do anything but stand there. You would have to find the woman and set up this meeting long enough for me to speak with the man and do this ritual."

The Black Pater stared. He opened his mouth a few times but closed it before he spoke. Finally, he demanded in a slight daze, "What witch would agree to this? It would have to be someone willing to look the other way with a ritual involved...and the public reaction...House Black cannot have more bad press...Its…"

"So that's a no?" Salazar asked.

The elder frowned and bowed his head in thought. Salazar quietly munched on another piece of bread as he waited.

"I would not have a muggle impregnated," Arcturus Black finally said.

"Why would you need to?"

Arcturus scowled at him. "This cannot become common knowledge. I would need to keep it under wraps. The only way to do that is with a muggle. Any witch I'd approach would run to the Daily Prophet the second she had the chance and would receive more money than I could possibly offer her. Yet a muggle could birth a squib!"

The eleven-year-old reincarnate frowned, decided to ignore the squib part of the elder's words, and tried to understand how Pater Black kept returning to muggles. He asked, "Why a muggle at all? Wouldn't that be against the statute of secrecy–"

Arcturus raised an eyebrow as he stated, "She wouldn't remember a thing."

Salazar was unimpressed. "You'll have to find a woman willing to be a part of this. I'll not have her bespelled, used, and tossed out afterward."

The elder scoffed, "Then we've no agreement at all! This is already as illegal as can be with the ritual, I cannot bring a muggle into the magical world. And no witch would agree to such a thing!" Arcturus spat out as he sprang to his feet and began to pace. "No witch willing to bare a child by contract will keep it mum and agree to give full custody to House Black. The last war ruined our reputation. And a muggle is no proper answer either but is the only answer that might work."

Salazar's eyebrows rose and he couldn't help but note, "I'd think you'd have an easier time finding a woman if you offered to marry her to your grandson and set her up as the next 'Lady Black' or whatever the spouses of Heads of Houses are called these days. The political clout of being the mother to the next Pater Black should do wonders in convincing her, even with the potential effort needed to fix the House's reputation. Just find one able to handle House Black until the child is of age."

Arcturus grimaced and grumbled, "You underestimate how poorly House Black is seen and how badly the ones that do think well of us think of my grandson. He may have been a Death Eater but he had played the part of a spy or something of the like and utterly ruined any relationship he had with anyone that may have considered being a part of this…and that's not taking into consideration what prospects could possibly be available at this point. This is already far too unusual a situation to also convince a slip of a girl, who barely graduated from Hogwarts to marry my mass murderer grandson."

Salazar considered the argument and weighed it all with what he knew and sighed. There was an obvious solution but only if Pater Black bothered listening. He seemed far more interested in arguing. Still, that was part of the negotiations. The parselmouth took a sip of his tea before he offered the solution, "A squib then."

Black's head snapped about as he stalled in his passing, eyes wide in shock as he cried out, "That is worse than muggles! At least with a muggle I could maybe have a magical child born–"

"All the squibs I've met have magic. It's just trapped inside their core because of magical residue clinging to them from generations of idiocy and ignorance regarding cleansings and purifications," Salazar huffed back as he leaned into his chair and folded his arms across his chest, "You just need to find a squib woman willing to do this and you're set."

At the sight of the elder's startled expression, Salazar said, "I'd still recommend marrying the woman to your grandson. A child should have at least one parent if possible."

The elder began to pace once more, brow furrowed in thought. Salazar left him to his thoughts and focused on his tea.

"And you are certain all squibs are magical?" he demanded after a few minutes.

Salazar frowned thoughtfully up from staring into his mug. He was hesitant to say all squibs were magicals with contaminated cores. Logic dictated that there had to be a true squib born every once in a while.

"No," he finally stated, "but every squib I've met has been. You'll need to set some form of test to prove their magical inheritance. If they can see Hogwarts they are magical, for instance. The wards on the land won't allow a non-magical from seeing the castle. All they see are rundown ruins with danger signs and they are compelled to leave the area. A true squib is a non-magical and would not see Hogwarts. Of course, that would simply mean the child's mother was a muggle who knew about magic, yes?"

Arcturus hummed thoughtfully as he returned to pacing once more. His expression had cleared though. He looked less stressed and frustrated.

Salazar imagined it was a difficult decision to make, even with a possible route vaguely found. He wouldn't want to be in the position of deciding between letting the House magicks find a random child to continue the line (and possibly fail for generations) or use his grandson like a bull.

Of course, it could be argued that many women were treated as nothing more than breeding stock. What was the difference that it was the man being used this time around? Or, he supposed it was both parents in this case. Though, the woman would be in a position to set herself up for both autonomy and the security of a House. He knew more than a few women in his past life that would have jumped at the opportunity. Helga, if she and Gareth hadn't been besotted with each other, would have been one since she didn't have the monetary support of a father to offer a dowery and had certainly wished for children. If Arcturus chose wisely, House Black could be formidable long before the child was of age.

"Very well," Arcturus breathed out as he stared into the fire.

Salazar set his mug down and confirmed, "We are agreed?"

Arcturus pursed his lips together as he looked back over to Salazar before he asked, "What do purification and cleansing entail?"

Salazar tilted his head in acknowledgment of the rather important question. He would have thought poorly of the man if he hadn't asked. The founder explained, "Purification rituals clean out the residue left from casting spells and having spells cast on or near you. Cleansings are baths that help wash away the equivalent of dirt, I suppose. Such baths can also help loosen older residue…Everyone has such gunk but the excessive amount squibs possess blocks their access to their magic." Salazar tilted his head in thought before he added, "The purification rituals I know of require a druid grove. There is the first purification completed immediately after birth. It is known as the Mother's bath and the child is bathed in water infused with a leyline's pure nature magic. Then there is a minor ritual that can be done every dark moon. Last, I suppose, is the major purification which would be completed on the first day of Spring."

"I can feel residue on yourself, you know. As it stands, I'm surprised you're still alive," Salazar continued to explain before he held out his arms across the table and offered, "I can show you what could be striped from your core if you would like. Just clasp my forearms."

"Residue," breathed out Arcturus thoughtfully. The old man stared down at Salazar's arms, almost as if he could see the tattoos through Salazar's sleeves, "Are you saying you can show me my magical core?"

"Yes."

The man hesitated for a moment more, then he crossed the room and leaned over the table to grasp Salazar's forearms.

"Close your eyes," Salazar directed as he closed his hands around the elder's forearms, "Take deep breaths and, if you know the process, meditate, focus on your heartbeat. Do not fight any tugging sensation."

Salazar felt Arcturus's heartbeat slow as his fellow Pater followed his instructions. The parselmouth reached out for the man's mind and core and carefully pulled Black's consciousness into the part of his metaphysical landscape that was the visual manifestation of his core.

When he opened his eyes, Salazar found the view changed from the private room of the Drunken Unicorn. Contamination coiled around a core of midnight blue. In some ways, it was as bad as Godric's had been. In other ways, it was much better.

He turned to the other consciousness beside him and found an Arcturus that was younger and healthier in appearance. "Open your eyes."

Blue eyes blinked open and slowly widened.

"I imagine you can tell what is the contamination, the residue," Salazar said even as he waved a hand towards the closer clump of dark gunk.

Arcturus stared for a few minutes with a stillness that implied both horror and wonder. "Yes," the old man breathed out after a long moment.

They stood there staring at the sphere for a few minutes. Salazar took in the core and compared its form with all the others he had seen. No core was ever the same. Not even the residue appeared visually identical, though it was nearly always a darker substance to the core.

Arcturus finally spoke up, his gaze never leaving the view of his core, "Return me to the room."

"Close your eyes," Salazar answered. It took a moment to shift their consciousness back to the physical world.

Pater Black slumped back into his chair. He was lost in thought once more but only for a moment. His blue gaze snapped to Salazar's emerald ones and he laid out the offer, "I will set this meeting up and you will complete this ritual for an heir then you will have time to speak with Sirius as privately as you and I can make it. I would also have everyone in House Black go through these purifications and cleansings."

"And what," Salazar asked, pushing back on Pater Black adding the purifications in, "Would I get for doing that? And how many purifications would you want?"

The old man stared hard at Salazar. His expression became odd and he asked, "Who is the Gryffindor you are hanging out with at Hogwarts all the time?"

Salazar stared. Arcturus could find that out very easily. He couldn't see a reason to not answer but he also had a nagging suspicion why he was asking, "Neville."

Blue eyes widened a touch and then he nodded. "I would pay for Pater Gryffindor's Hogwarts tuition. I would be his silent benefactor so that my House and I may have all the purifications and cleansing as recommended by you."

Eyebrows shot up and Salazar couldn't help but state, "That is quite a jump in logic there."

"I have it under good authority that your closest friend is All Gryffindor and a combination that should not be so surprisingly complementary. Knowing who you are is all the clues I needed."

"Which headmaster are you related to?" Salazar asked in turn. It was the only logical way Pater Black could have been given any sort of hint about either Godric or him.

A smile tugged at the man's lips as he answered, "My grandfather was one of the most hated Headmasters in history…for various reasons I'm certain you could look up if you don't already know of them. He was very pleased to tell me he couldn't tell me anything. He was the one that recommended I complete a hospitium ritual with you."

He did recall a Black headmaster from that Hogwarts history book he had tried to wipe from his memory and used a kindling. Maybe he should have paid some of it more attention past the horror of its supposed history of him and the other founders.

Salazar nodded in understanding as he hummed and considered the offer. It would be helpful if the tuition came from an anonymous source instead of him or the Gryffindor House vaults. With Aunt Petunia being his apparent guardian, Salazar didn't know if he could pay for it at all, let alone in a way Dumbledore wouldn't notice too.

Pater Black offered, clearly taking Salazar's silence as disagreement, "I'll even pay the equivalent of your tuition. Seven years' worth of tuition for both of you is no small amount. I would have to speak with my solicitor to determine the best way to go about it but it would likely be a direct, anonymous lump sum payment to Hogwarts for Pater Gryffindor and another to one of your vaults for your half since you must have some payment scheduled out already."

That would not be a small amount of money. The secondary payment would cover all the expenses they'd have over the next few years living on their own and for school materials. He might not actually need the money, though. His vault had a decent couple of piles of coins. It could be enough to pay for him and Godric without making deals with other Houses or dipping into his Potter funds so that they could have more time to figure out their life past childhood. It was a good deal.

Salazar watched the frankly desperate Pater Black thoughtfully a moment longer as he considered if there was a better way to handle this. Pater Black took the silence the wrong way. Not that Salazar could complain.

"And…and I will offer a boon, within reason, that you can claim at any time during the remainder of my life. Just," He leaned toward Salazar almost beseechingly, blue gaze shiny with emotion but intent, "heal my House. All of us—It would be Cassiopeia, my daughter Lucerita…though she's married into the Prewett's, her husband is gone and so it should only be her…she may ask for her daughter to be included, I suppose…and the great-grandchildren but that would be an agreement between you and them. This would only include direct Blacks…Some cousins and my daughter, myself and my heir."

"How many cousins, exactly?" Salazar asked, "And how long do you expect this to go on for?"

Arcturus hesitated for a second as he considered the answer. "Two," he confirmed, sounding a little pained at the low number, "Only two are still Blacks. I would, with your agreement, inform the other women that have married into other houses…This cannot be left as is. I will not allow my kin to crumble because of…whatever caused us to stop caring for our cores. And–and the number of purifications for the number of school years?"

"I can agree to that specific number of purifications for each Black," Salazar stated slowly. He wanted to bring purification back into society after all. This was a perfect way to do so. By the time they reach the end of the agreement, perhaps there would be an easier way for the Blacks to continue their purification rituals without him. He added less agreeably, "but I'm not going to give you access to Hogwart's cleansing baths."

"But-"

Salazar shook his head. "They are hidden away for a reason, Pater Black."

Arcturus frowned and demanded, "Then where would I buy one?"

He blinked a few times at that surprising question. "I have no idea–"

"Yes, I suppose a thousand years since you ordered these Hogwarts one would make it difficult to say," huffed the old man.

"No," Salazar countered as he reclaimed his teacup and found it still warm, "I crafted them myself…I mean, maybe you could purchase such an object but they require an advanced understanding of runic magic…that, uh…well, I haven't seen anyone that knows anything significant about the art."

Arcturus sprang up, gaze alight in excitement as he exclaimed, "Then I would include that too! A cleansing bath crafted by you. I'd offer money for it of course…though I have no idea how to quantify its worth…Perhaps you'd like property instead? Or I suppose I could hand over some lucrative investments?" Arcturus rubbed at his jaw and grumbled to himself. "We are going to need an actual contract for all this. A notary is oath-bound to not tell anyone about the details of the contracts they write. Shall I floo call mine in?"

Salazar kept himself from grimacing. "For the best, I suppose. And, I imagine Godric should be included."

The elder twitched. "That–as long as you are alright offering such services for his benefit and he is fine accepting it, it is not entirely necessary."

"Would the notary agree," Salazar countered, amused by the vague attempt to avoid actually meeting Godric.

Arcturus's soured expression was answer enough but Arcturus countered, "The notary need not know which student's tuition is being paid for."

"Very well," Salazar agreed before he added one final bit as he considered the legality of rituals in this day and age, "I would also insist on privacy oaths from all that end up involved in any rituals I complete. Will you be able to force your grandson to speak such an oath? My and Godric's identity and either of our involvement in ritual craft must be protected."

Arcturus nodded as he went to the fireplace and opened a container on the mantel. "The standard contractual oaths will protect all of us from any of that. Doesn't cover accidental revelations, of course…Half the fools out there would have lost their magic halfway through their twenties if that was the case but the oaths do include enhancing our need to take all precautions to avoid such mishaps. If a mishap happens, we can create addendums to the contracts as needed. And I will include the power of Pater Black behind the oath so all Blacks will fall under it whether they want to or not!"

oooPooo

1. Herpo brought up here is Herpo the foul from canon. If you don't recall any details about him feel free to look him up but beware of spoilers.

2. Modor is Old English for Mother.

3. The Slytherin House animal is the African hairy bush viper or Spiny bush viper. Mostly chosen for their dragon-like appearance, that they are often found in trees, and are native to Africa—similar (in modern times) to the lion.

4. The sign for Potter cottage is from canon. Don't have the exact page or chapter but Book seven.