In which Godric Gryffindor meets his heir, and we get a glimpse of how Salazar Slytherin perceives his descendant…
Augusta Longbottom was a principled woman, sure of her value and confident in her beliefs. She raised her son to have a similar personality. She was happy to meet his chosen lady, Alice, a dedicated wife, caring mother, and successful auror—an adequate match for Frank. Their fate was a tragedy from which Augusta never recovered. The additional hit was that Neville, a boy who held her hopes, was a disappointment. She would never say that straightforwardly, but she had to put a lot of time and effort into schooling him with no significant improvement. She believed that Algie could be a good example, a positive influence on the boy, and his confidence and character, but her brother did no good. Tried to push the child to change, causing Neville to… well, Augusta wasn't happy, and Algie happily returned to his travels after the last wonderful idea of throwing a child out of the window. Thanks to Merlin, the boy bounced and got distracted with celebrations, but Augusta was terrified of losing the child. She was resigned and could barely stand the clumsiness of the boy. It ached her how withdrawn and friendless he was in school. She hoped that other Gryffindors could help, but as nice of the children they were, their key traits weren't consideration and care, after all.
Augusta was out of ideas to help the boy up, and she wasn't the most patient or warm of all grandmothers. Possibly just the opposite.
But Augusta was also proud. And it was hard for her to seek help with raising the boy. Of course, she consulted Minerva once or twice about the problem as her friend and as Neville's Head of the House. She talked about it with Griselda over tea. But Minerva was of the opinion that she had too high expectations, and Griselda that the boy needed a stronger hand. Augusta thought that neither was true and that what Neville needed the most were his parents, especially his father.
On Wednesday evening, July 14, 1994, Augusta's dreams started to be fulfilled. The dinner had just ended, quiet as usual, and Augusta retired with a cup of tea enhanced by Ogden's best Firewhisky and an evening edition of the Prophet. She was interrupted by Jokby entering the room to announce the guest's arrival. The unexpected visit made her sour, but she invited the person in. When she saw the broad-shouldered, strongly built man with a mane of red hair and an equally red beard, she recognised the expressive face she saw in her in-laws' vault at Gringotts. The resemblance was too significant, too exact, to be accidental. He even wore a robe in the accurate shade, with golden applications, and Augusta furrowed her brows.
"Now, young man, such identity theft is contemptible," she declared, folding a paper and snapping it on the end table. "What are you trying to achieve here?"
"And good evening to you too, my lady," the man smiled broadly. "My name is Godric Gryffindor, not the identity thief. And I am looking for my heir. Your grandson."
"And will you swear you're who you claim to be?" She laughed in response. "On the most precious thing that you possess?"
"But of course," the man reached to his belt, "I hereby swear on my magic and sword that my name is and always was Godric Gryffindor," he said with complete confidence.
"I hereby accept your oath and call you upon it," Augusta replied sharply. Only after a moment did she place her hand upon her chest as the realisation came. And she exclaimed, "Merlin! You are truly! That's… unexpected, to say the least."
Godric smoothed his beard but couldn't hold a chuckle.
"I guessed by your first reaction, my lady. Nonetheless, it's a pleasure to meet the grandmother of my heir."
"The pleasure is mine," she replied, recovering quickly. "Do sit down. And… Jokby!" She called for the elf, "Call Neville to us, please. Tell him that the guest and I would like to see him in the living room."
As the elf popped out, Godric grew curious about the boy. The stern grandmother was admirably strong, he had to admit. But the boy… wasn't. He looked twelve, not fourteen. Chubby, child-like, closed up, and shy lad stood uncertainly on the room's doorstep in his own house. It was difficult to see a young man so different from fourteen-year-olds, whom Godric remembered from his own time. Then, they were practically adults, and here - children.
But the understanding of his demeanour came soon. In no more than a few seconds.
"Come in, Neville," Augusta said impatiently, "We have an unusual guest that came to meet you, so you can't just stand there all night. My grandson, Neville, as you probably guessed. Neville, this is Godric Gryffindor. It's not a hoax, as you think. I've checked already."
The boy stood where he was, gawking, looking… well… pitiful. And ashamed of his grandmother's behaviour. And for Godric, there was only one conclusion: unacceptable. Shortly, he thought about standing up to greet the child, but it would only intimidate the boy further. Instead, he remained in his seat with a smile to counter the effect the grandmother had on the boy. He had seen such behaviour several times, mentoring hundreds of children over the years in Hogwarts.
"Good evening, Neville."
"G-Good evening, s-sir," the boy answered, anxiously tugging the edges of his own sleeves, as his grandmother frowned, dissatisfied with his response.
"Godric would be just fine. Join us if you can. I have some information that will probably turn into questions and conversation."
Now, the boy sat down on the edge of the loveseat. Godric pretended not to notice how uncomfortable the boy was, while Augusta expressed disapproval of her whole person. Godric wondered how much more relaxed the boy would be further away from grandmother's watchful eye.
The elf provided more tea and some treats, and Godric introduced them to the matters of resurrection and heirship, stressing that he would like to get to know his heir and - of course - his grandmother. As he expected, they had plenty of questions (mostly Augusta). The conversation dragged long into the night, and they only scratched the surface of the issue. But he couldn't predict everything.
Augusta looked like a serious question or problem was arising during the conversation. Something brewed inside her, but she restrained until all the other questions were answered. Then, she finally cleared her throat.
"I believe that is the appropriate time for Neville to retire so that adults can talk," Augusta declared, causing Godric to raise his eyebrows. He looked at Neville just in time to see the resignation on the boy's face covering the flash of defiance.
"Neville is fourteen," Godric said, looking back at Augusta. "He should stay and listen."
"Neville is a child," Augusta shook her head. "That is something I wish to discuss with you alone."
"Grandma…" Neville started, but she shook her head.
"That is not up to discussion, dear," she said, a little apologetically but still firmly. "Off to bed."
But for Godric, it was unacceptable. The child was suppressed, squished under his grandmother's strong character. He already looked like he was asking for permission to breathe! This would go no further if only Godric could help it. And he could.
"Stay where you are, Neville," said Godric sternly. "We can talk about whatever you wish if Neville stays. I can see that in this century, you tend to treat young men as children, but if a thousand years ago, a fourteen-year-old boy could fight, marry, and cope on his own, I doubt that a fourteen-year-old in this century can't bear an adult conversation that undoubtedly concerns him. Can you, Neville?"
"I can," Neville said quickly, nodding, and Godric smiled at him broadly.
"Good," he said, "What is it then, Augusta?"
Augusta pursed her lips. Her stern expression looked like she would like to argue further, her eyes locked on Godric, then on Neville. The silence dragged on as she thought about what to do. Silence, during which Neville seemed to shrink, and Godric hardened in his decision that if Neville leaves, he does as well.
Suddenly, Augusta smiled sincerely, even if she looked a little sour.
"Very well," she decided, "I wanted to discuss the matter of one Tom Riddle because I will not call him by any of his ridiculous monikers any longer. I knew him as a boy of eleven, and he wasn't so high and mighty back then." Dowager Longbottom said sternly, "I fully understand that he led a war, and we were on the opposite sides. You made me aware some factors may shed light on many events and circumstances from the war period. The world is not black and white, after all, no matter what children believe these days. I also understand that, at this point, in our situation, there must be some cooperation. However, I have non-negotiable terms. First of all, I will participate only with a counting vote on every matter. With no exceptions. Can you give me your word on that?"
Godric nodded. The request was perfectly reasonable, even if Salazar could be a little sour about it. But could and would were two different issues, and they expected some kind of conditions from a woman of such reputation.
"You have my word," he said, "What is the second term?"
"My son and his wife were tortured and driven to insanity after the end of the war. Neville and I have watched how they exist for thirteen years. Alive but not living. They suffer, and we suffer with them. This was done by the loose Death Eaters desperately searching for their master. There were four of them. One died, the other three are in prison. And I," she raised her chin, "want their heads. Azkaban is not enough."
Again, the room was silent for a longer moment. Godric saw how terrified Neville was, but also a glimpse of… hope? determination? something in his eyes that made Godric smile broadly and break the silence.
"That I can do for you," he declared. "Revenge is the right of the living, and you shall have yours—both of you. Would you like them alive, or shall I do the honours?"
"I don't want to see any of them ever again," she decided. But Neville did not look very confident. Godric made a mental note to ask the boy separately on another occasion. Actually, the whole situation demanded a much longer conversation in the future. Before that, Godric saw a few more important things, such as getting to know the boy more and pulling him out of this scared shell he currently inhabited.
"What are your living arrangements?" Augusta asked suddenly. "Considering that I currently administer the Longbottom estate, I don't believe there's any place left in our hands from your time."
Godric laughed.
"No, I don't believe there is. Only Helga has anything to go back to. Salazar and I stay at the old manor that wasn't used for decades. It's a grim and rundown place, as you will see on Saturday. It belongs to… Tom Riddle, as you prefer to call him. Helga and I usually go with Young Tom or Tommy. It annoys both him and Salazar immensely. But a little joke never hurt anyone, right?" He winked at Neville, causing the boy to smile, probably for the first time during the entire conversation. He decided to work on it and go with his hunch. "It would be good to get out sometimes, and I wanted to see some of the modern Wizarding World. Would you give me a tour, Neville?"
"We could go to the Diagon Alley," the boy offered uncertainly, much to Godric's satisfaction.
"Wonderful! How about tomorrow?"
"Yes, you two could go after breakfast," Augusta stated, "And I believe that it would be a much better solution if you would stay with your family, Godric. This family is your legacy. This place is your legacy. I believe you could claim the Eastern wing of the manor. It's out of use nowadays, but in an excellent state, and has a splendid view of the valley and the lake. Neville will show you the way," she decided, standing up. She was a tall woman and used it to look down at them with satisfaction. "Have a restful night, both of you."
Godric responded with a similar sentiment and watched the woman leave the room.
He couldn't remember the last time someone instructed him in such a manner. It caught him off guard enough that he didn't even think about questioning the decision, and only after she left he decided that it suited him quite well. And gave Augusta the satisfaction. What was also suitable for Godric, considering she seemed similar to Salazar. Salazar always needed to feel on top, especially if he thought he was not in total control of the situation.
"I'm sorry for my grandma," Neville said quietly, "She's quite bossy."
"Oh, I've noticed," Godric laughed, shaking off his bemusement. "Don't worry about it. Her offer is very much appreciated. Being locked up with Salazar alone would be hard to stand, but two of them? Don't get me wrong, boy, Salazar is my friend. However, prolonged exposure is not advised. He's as cheerful as your grandma."
Neville's smile grew a little.
"Then I better show you the way," he proposed. Godric stood up, gesturing to the boy to lead. As they went, the boy started talking more. "The manor is rather big, but Jokby can always help you if you have trouble finding something. And the view is nice, as Grandma said. There's a valley and the lake on one side, and on the other, our gardens, including my greenhouses…" he stopped himself, uncertain again.
"So you're interested in herbology?" Godric asked to encourage him.
"Yes, I have a collection of magical plants. Professor Sprout gave me a couple of Umbrella Flowers seedlings last year. They seem to enjoy my greenhouse. I also have a lot of roses: mask, luminous, screaming, corpse, and others. I wished to plant some endangered species of trees, but most of them grow too big or dangerous, so Grandma objected. But my Uncle Algie sends me rare seeds that I keep to preserve and plant in the future. Although maybe in some other place. Yggdrasil would probably grow over the entire valley."
"You have seeds of Yggdrasil?" Godric raised his brows, immensely surprised.
"Just one. Uncle Algie won it in the duel somewhere in Sweden. They like colder climates and more stony ground. They need a lot of stability, and their roots can seek very far to find everything they need. But because of that, they are very demanding at the beginning of their growth. All their minerals must be supplied externally before the roots grow long enough. That's why they are so rare. If they have minerals at the start, they usually lack the stability to keep steady, and if there are enough rocks, they can't feed to grow. So, I would have to be around for the first two or three years, which is impossible with Hogwarts."
Godric patted his arm.
"You can plant it around Hogwarts if it's rocky enough."
"Really?" Neville beamed up like a bit of sunshine, yet still uncertain. "But would they allow it?"
"Who?" Godric snorted. "That's my land, boy. I have fought and bled for it, defended it, and no one has ever taken it from me. And if you moderns need more, Salazar has documents to prove my rights. Our rights. So don't you worry. You will plant whatever you want, wherever you want. You can plant another Druidhean Forrest."
"What Forrest?" Neville looked at him with confusion.
"Druidhean… Don't tell me the Forest is gone!" Godric exclaimed in full dread, stopping in his steps.
"Well… There's a Forbidden Forest…"
"Forbidden Forest?" Godric frowned. "Why Forbidden?"
"It's dangerous, full of creatures and other things," Neville explained with a shrug. "I heard there are werewolves there. And there are centaurs, who aren't that bad but don't want us there. Oh, and Ron said about a bunch of Acromantulas, and who knows what else is nesting there."
Godric listened with… something akin to sadness spreading around in his chest. But Godric's sorrow never sat well or stayed long. It quickly drove him to action. So now he huffed and shook his head.
"We'll fix that, boy," he declared vehemently.
"The Forbidden Forest?" Neville sounded confused. "You want to clear it of those creatures?"
"No," Godric responded with a heavy sigh, "Believe me, boy, this… whatever is happening, it's wrong. In short, magic is always present in nature, but it's not enough to draw and use it, even if you have potential. We need to do things to use magic. And as far as I see, you moderns use it happily, drawing from the pantry and doing nothing to fill it up. We need to fix you, moderns, not the creatures."
"Magic could… be used up?" Neville asked, shocked.
"Very much, boy. Very much…" Godric felt resigned again. He wanted to ask whether Neville slept during his lessons, but he got the feeling that no lessons taught the true theory of magic. With another sigh, Godric added, "Let's retire, boy. I promise you'll learn everything."
Neville nodded and resumed their walk.
The living room they were sitting in was located on the first floor. From there, Neville led Godric back to the staircase and through a couple of corridors to the doors separating the part of the house available to the guests from the private Eastern Wing. The air there bore the signs of stagnation and disuse, but the place was spotless, dustless, and immaculate. Godric wondered why anyone would need a place so big for a family so small. He saw the family tree and knew there was no time when there were enough family members to take up all that space or need that many servants, especially with house elves in play. What meant pride, prestige, and general softness. They were probably pampered and dabbled in politics much more than necessary. Salazar would be overjoyed, but Godric? Godric was not.
There was a reason why there could be no place for him to return to. He led a simple life and wanted one, but these modern times were far from simple. They were simplified and overly complicated, which itched under Godric's skin most of the time. Unfortunately, he couldn't change everything. Even if he could, not everything demanded change. So he would have to adjust and wait for it to go through, and then he would create a place that would suit his liking perfectly. Maybe claim one of the islands on the Eastern Shore, build a village, and invite people. Falling asleep in another too-soft bed, Godric planned and built his future place, dreaming about a tavern he would place right in the centre of it all.
Happily for Godric, they landed in an inn just after breakfast: The Leaky Cauldron. The windows let some sun in, but the fireplace and oil lamps still brought most of the light. When Neville and Godric exited the hearth, the room greened temporarily, briefly causing some heads to turn. Some boy waved at Neville. Godric looked around, first noticing a complete lack of weapons besides the wands. It made him reach for the belt when the uncomfortable feeling of lacking a sword became much more pronounced.
"Anything for you, lads?" Asked the man behind the counter, drawing Godric's attention to himself. And just as Neville said, "No, thank you. We're just passing," Godric asked louder and with enthusiasm, "Have you any good beer?"
A moment later, they were sitting at the corner table, Godric with three pints in front of him and Neville with a glass of butterbeer.
"Since I woke up, I wanted to try modern beer," Godric admitted with glee. "And just look at that," he lifted one of the mugs, looking through the light golden liquid inside. "I've never seen a beer like this!"
Neville was surprised.
"Really?"
"Sure, it was more similar to this one," Godric said, pointing at the mug with the darkest brew. "But it wasn't that clear."
Neville's curiosity grew as Godric tried the beer from all three pints and furrowed.
"That bad?" Neville chuckled.
"That is… Different." The man judged finally with a sigh. "Bit disappointing. But not bad. I will get used to it or make some."
"You know how to make beer?"
"Well, boy, where I lived, you usually had to know how to make beer to drink beer. Not always. There were places like this and brewers who could always sell you a barrel, but we tried to avoid it… It was a messy time. After all, there are things that you have better now. Not much, but still."
"Like what?" Neville asked, moving a little closer to the edge of his chair. His whole body leaned forward, eyes open wide.
"For once, you're safe," Godric responded, a little amused by the boy's enthusiasm but mostly pleased by how quickly he was losing the withdrawn and shy attitude when his grandmother wasn't around.
They spent some time in the Leaky Cauldron and talked about the time that had passed, but Godric focused on the differences he found funny to try to pull the real Neville from underneath. When they left, the boy was relaxed and smiling despite the bright noon sun burning their eyes as soon as they left the pub. And then it was Godric's time to ask questions.
The place looked… well… a lot like the large cities looked back then. The street was cobblestone, and most buildings looked similar to those built in towns at his time. It was not the same, however. There was much more stone and brick than wood, and it looked more solid and better constructed, even if many of the houses leaned toward one side or the other. The style differed, but it was like a difference between London and Edinburgh. What differed the most was what was sold in the ground-floor stores: everything was clearly magical. The whole street bubbled with magic in every corner. And there was one thing missing. One thing that a thousand years ago made coming to the cities an unpleasant experience: dirty mud on the ground and a stench from it.
But the rush and noise were familiar and pleasant. The magic and the chatter made Godric feel alive. He was curious about everything, wanted to enter every store, and was willing to buy something in every place, which he didn't. He only grabbed a book called Basic Theory of Magic in the adorable little bookstore, which he wished to look through to see what this day is called basic. The rest of the items… Well, he would have to wait for the time when they'll have more money to spend on unnecessary trinkets. Even if Godric really liked the idea of wand holders.
"The brooms certainly evolved," Godric noted when they reached the store called '2nd Hand Brooms'. "Is there one that sells new ones nearby? I would certainly want to see how they look, judging by the old ones…"
"We might go to the Quality Quidditch Supplies, my favourite. And they have everything you need for Quidditch."
"And what is Quidditch?"
"You don't know?" Neville's eyes grew. "Wow! It's just like the most famous sport there is. It's played on broomsticks… there's a World Cup Final in a couple of weeks in Britain. It's a shame that grandma doesn't want to go. But it's a cool game. There are two teams, each has seven players and…"
As they walked through the crowded street, Neville introduced Godric to the general rules of Quidditch. Godric wanted one of those awe-striking brooms but decided against buying one. There will be time for that as well. Still, they went a little crazy when it came to buying ice cream. After all, it's just a cheap treat, and Godric wanted to try some.
By the end of the day, Neville came back home as a slightly different boy.
A plethora of things could be said about Salazar Slytherin. None of them referred to being naive optimists relying on chance and being satisfied with mediocre solutions. That's why the sight of his heir irked him every time. That's why this pathetic excuse for home made him irritated. And that's why he was livid about the fall of his family line. Furious at himself. Because he knew that the fall of Gaunts and the resulting fiasco of Voldemort was his fault. He wasn't precise enough in passing on his will, his understanding of what shall be, what shall happen, and how to proceed. And his descendants were either too stupid to understand or intelligent enough but too young to be wise enough.
"Any progress?" Salazar asked as he saw his mutilated heir walk into the room. "Reflections? Realisations?"
"Nothing new," Voldemort replied tartly, claiming a seat in the neighbouring armchair.
"As I expected… Fortunately for you, I have found something."
"The way to fix my resurrection?"
Salazar looked at him with distaste.
"You only learn when you have to fix your own mistakes. And don't start with this Wormtail of yours. Your servant, your fault, son," he snapped. He looked at the man for a short while before he shook his head and levitated the map towards him. "I have marked the location for the new Slytherin abode. Just make it more representative than your Muggle ancestors made this place. And don't go with castles. I've chosen it previously because it was the best achievement of architecture at the time. Now, it would be just an imitation of past excellence. Reflect the history, don't pretend it's there."
Salazar saw the irritation on the face of his heir yet tried nothing to calm it. The critique was deserved, after all.
"Haven't I told you that the development of wizarding architecture hasn't progressed in centuries, and whatever change was made was only correcting the imperfections of Muggle projects?"
"You did. And I have told you to find something appropriate. You have plenty to learn and understand and need help, but I will not offer you solutions where you can find them yourself. But I can offer you some advice: if you can't find an excellent solution among what exists, create your own."
"And you don't expect much, only excellence."
Salazar observed that the redness of the eyes burned with anger and satisfaction.
"You only need appropriate motivation to achieve it," he said lightly.
Satisfied, Salazar summoned a book on modern history that he was currently reading and immersed himself. Parchment and quill lay handy on the side. Salazar hadn't tended to make notes. He just noted the quotes and the keywords to inspiration found while reading. If only it were worth writing down, naturally. Even though his ideas weren't perfect every time, some were good enough to be useful after careful consideration and modification.
As time flew slowly, only the crackling of the fire and the sound of the pages turning disrupted the perfect tranquillity. Until the man walked into the room, his steps and presence destroyed the concentration and disrupted Salazar's sequence of thoughts. Not only his, because two similar looks found the intruder with poorly hidden annoyance.
"What is it, Barty?" Voldemort asked, his voice surprisingly calm, not reflecting the emotions in his eyes.
"The first guests arrived, my Lord," the boy said, "Gryffindor with Longbottoms."
Salazar furrowed, looking at the clock. It was early.
"Never on time," he huffed, standing up. He left the room, briefly thinking that even though the creature called Wormtail was a disaster, this boy made a good impression. That gave some hope to the rest of the so-called Death Eaters. It was a stupid name—childish. What proved it was that Godric found it funny.
Just after entering the room, Salazar was ready to rebuke (again) his friend (with a poor sense of humour) for ignoring the established time (or place) of the meeting. But he held back for two reasons. First was the stern elderly woman of a significant height, thin as if already standing over the grave. Her attire was smart, and the blasted Wormtail accepted her bottle green cape and a hat with a bird on top. Peculiar. Unfortunately, she was left in the dark dress that underlined her bony figure. Her shoulders hugged a perfectly black lace shawl. Her whole person was a perfect opposition to reason number two: a round-faced, chubby boy with blond hair who looked like he felt uncomfortable not only in this room or his elegant robes but in his own body. For a second, Salazar felt good with his heir. At least his character was appropriate to the heritage, and the looks could be fixed. This boy, however, had the potential to grow up to be a Gryffindor, but there was an equal chance that he would collapse in on himself.
Godric himself looked enthusiastic as always. As always, he ignored the outstretched hand and gave Salazar's shoulders a strong squeeze and a few pats with a broad smile partially hidden under the beard but reflected in his bright eyes even more extensively.
"You have no idea what a treasure I have brought here!" He informed eagerly, turning to his companions, "Let me introduce you to dowager Augusta Longbottom, a repository of knowledge and a grandmother to my heir. She is an awe-inspiring woman! And, Augusta, that's my old mentor and dearest friend, Salazar Slytherin. Quite grumpy, but I doubt you'll mind."
"It's a pleasure, Madame," Salazar responded with a slight bow.
"Likewise," she said in a crisp, matter-of-fact tone. "I'm not surprised Godric didn't protest moving out... This place is so depressing. But I heard you're working on obtaining something more appropriate."
Salazar smiled at that, pleased to hear the shared opinion.
"Indeed, it's a work in progress. But the state of the magic in the construction field is rather pathetic. I expected significantly more."
The woman hummed in confirmation, nodding, but said nothing more as Godric placed his large, heavy hand on the boy's arm, bringing him forward.
"And that's my heir, Neville Longbottom."
Judging by the glimmer of amusement in Godric's eyes, he was dying to add some snipe or not-at-all-funny comment about noses. Salazar was sure to hear it later, in private—not that he wanted to.
"I hope that Godric won't make you regret being his heir. Have you already talked about swordsmanship?"
"Erm… A little…" Neville said uncertainly.
"Enough for now," Godric added, "Enough that I know where my sword is. Apparently, it was found, imagine that, in the fake sorting hat. A sword in a hat! Good thing it wasn't the real one, or the moron that put it there would kill us by accident. The bad news is that, apparently, Buttons is really dead. The rat wasn't exaggerating."
"Beathan, Godric, his name was Beathan, not Buttons. But it's no matter, we can hatch another one. Have you heard anything about Vyrnith?"
"Nothing on Little Sausage. But considering what I have heard about the Druidhean Forest, I bet she's good. Don't worry."
"I am not worried," Salazar answered coldly. Maybe a little… concerned. He had two beautiful creatures raised from an egg, and to hear that one of them, the basilisk, was killed just a year before his resurrection? That wasn't wanted news. Hopefully, the beithir was fine. She was a feisty beast, after all, and self-sufficient. Salazar shook his thoughts off when the fire on the hearth shot up with green flames.