Serpent's Bloodline: Legacy of the Basilisk

The start of the new school was a little bit rougher than Salvazsahar had anticipated. The first hurdle they had to cross was just two weeks before the students would come. They had decided that the students should gather at Grim Manor and that one of them would then come to bring them to the castle.

It was a week before one of them had to leave to Grim Manor, when Sal one day entered the Great Hall and saw that the other Founders had gathered in front of the teachers table, talking with each other heatedly.

"Did something happen?" Sal asked them when he saw their nervous faces.

Rowena grimaced.

"We won't have enough servants to help us maintaining the castle and the students," Peverell said. "Even if we relocate every servant of Grim Manor to the castle it still won't be enough."

"Yes, and there is no way that the children can help us in the kitchen like we did it before now," Rowena added. "Their schedule has changed too much to do it and there are too many mouths to feed to manage the cooking even with their help…"

"And I told you we simply should add some house elves to the castle!" Helga said, frowning at her sister-in-law. "It would be the easiest way to gain servants without relocating the ones of Grim Manor."

"Do you know how expensive it will be to buy enough house elves for the castle?" Peverell said, frowning at his wife. "We don't have enough money to buy that much and we definitely don't have enough people to bind them to them. It wouldn't do them any good if we bought them just for them to starve because of the lack of magic they are able to access."

Sal frowned when he heard those words.

"Starve? I fear I don't understand…"

Peverell blinked and turned to Sal.

"You never had a house elf, growing up?" he asked astonished.

Sal shook his head. "Should I have had one?"

"Well, it's normal," Rowena said. "Since the romans brought them with them to Britain, it's normal for a lord to have at least one house elf. And why not? They are useful creatures and they need another magical being to bind themselves to so that they are able to fully control their own magic. If they don't have a binding they will slowly go crazy. They literally 'starve' because of the lack of magic that flows through their veins. If they are too long unbound, they will die, so they bind themselves to wizards like us or other purebloods. In return they serve the one they are bound to."

Sal listened interestedly. Until now he had never heard about house elves in the past. Of course he remembered Dobby but until now he had never thought about how the house elves came to be or why they were serving wizards.

"But there is a limit of house elves you can bind to yourself," Godric added. "A pureblood like a vampire or such would be able to bind more to them" - To Sal's surprise he saw Godric grimace when he said the word "pureblood". Of course until now they had just once talked about purebloods - or Firbolgs, like Sal called them - but at that time Sal hadn't seen Godric grimace the way he did now - "But a wizard like us is just able to bind two, maybe three house elves to themselves - and that definitely won't be enough to keep the whole castle clean."

"And they have to be bound to a wizard?" Sal asked softly.

"Where else should they be bound to?" Godric said sorting. "They need magic to survive. If they don't bind themselves to a wizard they won't be able to get access to the magic they need."

"What about binding them to the wards?" Sal asked interested. "The wards of the castle are strong. Shouldn't they have enough magic for house elves to be able to bind themselves?"

Peverell, Helga and Godric gawked at him. Rowena frowned.

"The castle would have to be sentient for that to be a possibility," she said coolly. "I have never heard about a sentient castle, so there's no way that that is something we could do."

To Sal's utter amusement, Rowena stumbled in the next moment forward as if she had been shoved.

"What?" she exclaimed surprised and whirled around to look at the air behind her.

"It seems as if my father has a different opinion," Sal exclaimed smirking. He knew of course that the slight shove Myrddin's essence had given Rowena was the most it could do, but it was nevertheless funny to see Rowena stumbling forward seemingly without a reason.

"Your father?" she repeated with huge eyes and Sal snorted.

"You lived the whole summer in this castle and you never found out it was sentient?" he asked amused.

"Sentient?" this time it was Helga who spoke. "How?"

Sal shrugged.

"The castle is surrounded by soul wards," he answered. "Those wards and the very soul of my father are the reason for the castle's sentient state of mind."

"Oh," this time Rowena's surprise was echoed by the other three.

Then Helga's eyes lit up.

"So we can bind the house elves to the castle instead of to us?" she asked interested. Sal shrugged.

"I would recommend putting up another layer of blood wards to strengthen the wards, but then, yes, we could," he said.

So instead of relaxing the last two weeks until the end of harvest, Sal and the others warded the castle with blood wards and searched for house elves. It was Helga's idea to simply offer the castle as a sanctuary for the house elves.

It worked.

As soon as the word was spread, the first house elves appeared and bonded to the castle. At the end of the two weeks, the castle had seventeen elves - enough so that at least the most important tasks were tended to. Another three weeks later the number of house elves would have doubled.

"Sometimes", so Sal mused. "Sometimes Helga had definitely terrifying good ideas."

It was the night before one of them had to go to Grim Manor to retrieve the students when they decided to celebrate the beginning of their apprenticeship program in the castle.

Godric and surprisingly Peverell had decided that that event had to be celebrated thoroughly and had fetched some Firewhisky from wherever. Sal suspected those two had it brought with them all along - or had bought it when they had left to order furniture or to look after their estates.

Anyway, they had it - and they were determined to fill up their wives and Salvazsahar.

Not that the women minded it at all.

Even Sal who normally didn't drink was alright with the improper drinking session that night.

"Ya know, we sould… er… shwould think of a way to sort the apprenice… appentice… ya know the things we fetch tomorrow - we sould find a way to swort them when we're gone!" Godric slurred.

"Yeah," Rowena said. "Sumat like a talking hat or a colour chaining… changing cloak."

"Yeah, right you are! Right you are!" Helga exclaimed giggling. Peverell instead was staring into the flames of the bonfire they had started in the evening, his face sever as if he had been told the reason of life just a moment ago.

"We also have to find a way to ensure the apprentices will continue to come after we are dead," he said before he burst into tears. "We will die someday and then there is no one there anymore to continue our work."

Salvazsahar had to keep in his laughter when he heard Peverell. The man definitely fell out of his normal sever character when drunk.

"Maybe we sssshould go t'bed," Sal said, also slurring a little. He wasn't as dead drunk as the others but he had had his fair share of Firewhisky and Parseltongue had crept into his voice.

"Yeah, bed. G'd idea," Godric slurred. "Bed's sooooft, waaaarm 'n' sooo sooft."

"G'd bed, g'd bed," Helga snickered. Rowena just giggled but with Sal's help they all stood, Sal extinguished the flames of the bonfire and they returned to the castle proper.

"Y'know, we neeeeed 'name foa th'castle," Rowena exclaimed drunkenly. "Can't callit castle all th'time afer all…"

Sal just snorted.

"Then think o' somethin'," he said, before he shoved her and Godric into their rooms. "Bed, y'two."

After he had done the same to Helga and Peverell - as long as the others were in their rooms he did not particularly care if they found their way into bed - Sal returned to his own quarters. In there he simply fell onto the bed and without changing fell asleep.

The next morning was gruesome - and not only because of his hung over.

It was six in the morning, just an hour after he finally had entered his quarters, when someone pounded against his door, singing.

"Go 'way!"

The pounding just increased, so Sal finally stood up and went to the door. In front of it stood Rowena next to a sleepy looking Godric, Peverell and Helga.

"I know how we name this castle!" she piped up laughing and then started to sing again. "Haugh's Wards, Haugh's Wards, Hoggy Warty Haugh's Wards! Haugh's Wards, Haugh's Wards, Hoggy…"

"Fine," Sal interrupted her snarling. "We name the academia Haugh's Wards. Could we please return to our beds now?"

"Sure!" Rowena said while smiling brightly and then entered first his rooms and then his bed chamber. "Coming, luv?"

"Yeah," Godric said, shoved Sal to the side and followed Rowena.

Sal gawked at them.

"That's my bed! I meant you should return to yours!" he cried.

Helga just padded him on the head and drew her husband into Sal's quarters and his bed chamber.

"Coming, Salvaszahar?" she asked.

Sal just gawked at her.

Then he snorted.

"Get them drunk and suddenly they are able to pronounce my name!" he exclaimed disbelievingly. Then he followed the others into his bedchamber.

When Sal woke up the next time at midday, his head was killing him - but not only that. He found himself lying at the foot part of his bed, in his back were poking some sharp limbs and a leg was slung over his hip, the foot nearly poking him in the nose.

It was a hairy and broad foot, so Sal deduced that it had to be either Godric's or Peverell's foot.

He groaned.

How by wind and fire had they all ended up in his bed?

And then last night caught up with him.

"I didn't give my go ahead to name the castle 'Haugh Wards', did I?" he asked aloud. He definitely didn't want to believe that he could have been so out of it to agree to a name like 'Haugh's Wards'!

"Yes, you did!" Rowena's voice was heard somewhere behind him.

Sal snorted.

"And it was your idea!" he said coolly.

"It was! And I still find the name very catching!" Rowena answered sniggering. "And because all of you agreed, it counts! We name our - what did you call it? Academia? - academia Haugh's Wards!"

"Yeah! Haugh's Wards, Academia of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" Godric was heard.

Sal just sighed.

"It could be worse," Peverell told him and a limb stopped poking in his back when he lifted an arm to pad Sal on the shoulder.

Sal could not even object to this reasoning, after all he still remembered the name his castle had in the future.

"Better Haugh's Wards then Hogwarts - not that I am delusional enough to believe that the name won't change in time!" he murmured to himself. After all, the castle itself was built above the Black Lake and the river that recharged it, so that it overlooked a great part of the in the wards included flood plains - which were called 'haugh' by the native people, so 'Haugh's Wards' was definitely fitting. Not that he thought that they couldn't do better if they tried. But finally he decided that there was nothing he could do about that at six in the morning and instead opted on a little revenge for being woken again an hour after he went to bed.

"You know that someone has to go today to fetch our apprentices at Grim Manor," he said then he smirked. "And I promise you, I won't be it." The answers were four loud groans and moans about headaches.

Sal smirked.

Yep, revenge was sweet.

Godric finally was the one who brought the students to their new home in Pictia. He had left two weeks ago and finally returned together with their new and old students.

They all looked at the castle in wonder after they had crossed the lake with boats. Sal had insisted on it. He had talked with his father and they had decided to welcome a student and to add them to the inhabitants of the castle, they would have to cross the lake. Like that it would be easier for the essence of Myrddin to recognize friend and foe.

And of course the first few of the castle was even more impressive if you stared at it from the lake…

When Godric entered the castle with the students, Sal saw that his friend was carrying a new sword at his hip - a sword that looked oddly familiar to Sal.

Sal blinked, but finally decided to say nothing for now. Instead he concentrated on using Legilimency to sort the students in their new houses. The most of the older ones he did not have to look. He knew were they would fit in, but the younger ones he sorted with his skills. It was tiring and he soon wished for the Sorting Hat just to escape his fate as 'The Sorting Hat'…

After the ceremony he had a headache.

Still, he kept quiet about it. Instead he welcomed his students back, told them the new and old rules and after that left them alone in their common room for the first time ever to return to the teacher's conference room - or what would be the teacher's conference room later on…

"How was your trip?" Helga asked Godric as soon as all five adults were present in the room.

"Pleasant," Godric answered and pulled out the sword he was carrying. "I also had time to go to the goblins to ask for a new sword. They sold me this one."

Sal stared at the sword. It was his. Exccaliebor - just that there were suddenly letters etched in the blade. ' Godric Gryffindor' it proclaimed proudly.

Fury rose in Sal's stomach.

"Sold?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Godric answered proudly while he caressed the hilt of his sword. "The goblin Garnag sold it to me for a very good price. He even engraved it when I asked him to do it."

"Sold," Sal repeated, his voice suddenly deadly. Godric stopped caressing his sword and stared at Salvazsahar.

"Salazar?" he asked hesitatingly.

"He sold you this sword?!" Sal said, his eyes blasting. Then he turned.

"I have to go. I have to gut a goblin tonight."

It was Peverell who stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Salazar - what happened?!" he asked astonished and uncomprehending.

Helga and Godric looked at him with huge eyes and Rowena had hers narrowed in thought.

"Betrayal," Sal answered. "That's what happened."

"Betrayal! How?" Godric asked confused. "I just bought a good sword - that has nothing to do with betrayal!"

As an answer Sal returned to the table and the others who were standing around it. Then he strode on until he reached Godric and ripped the sword harshly out of Godric's hand. He turned it and showed the phoenix and basilisk engraving on the hilt to Godric.

"Look at thissss," he hissed, Parseltongue playing with his normal speech. "These are the symbols of Morganaadth - the clan-leader of LeFay, your Head of House in the eyes of the goblin nation."

Godric blinked and then took the sword from Sal and softly caressed the tiny figures.

"I still do not understand…"

"This is the sword of a clan-leader," Sal answered with fury in his eyes. "It is holy in the eyes of the goblins. Only the clan-leader and his direct heirs or ancestors are allowed to use it. You, Godric, are an heir. You have the right to use it. That you had to pay to get it is an insult to the clan of Morganaadth."

Godric's eyes widened when he heard that.

"But… but…" he stuttered, but Sal was not finished.

"A goblin that is able to spit on something holy like that, spits on the goblin nation itself and all its dealings within the nation and between the goblins and other races. I cannot let this be. This goblin insulted you, it insulted its king and it insulted everyone that ever fell by the blade of that sword or held this sword in his hands. I will not let it tarnish my brother's and father's legacy!"

And with that he wrest himself free of Peverell's grasp, took the sword, buckled it and hurried out of the room, still fuming with his fury.

Behind him he could hear the hurried steps of Rowena, running after him.

"How?" she cried loudly. "How is Myrddin involved in all this?"

So she finally had remembered…

Sal stopped dead and turned back to her.

Behind her stood Godric, Peverell and Helga - all of them with confusion on their faces.

"What are you talking about?" Sal asked harshly.

Rowena snorted.

"Do not lie to me, Salazar Emrys, son of Myrddin Emrys" she said. "I am not an idiot. It took some time but I know whose son you are - even if I don't know how you are still alive after all this time."

The others stared at him when they heard Rowena's exclamation. Then they turned to Sal.

"That's… that's… Rowena is wrong, isn't she?" Godric stuttered.

Sal scowled, but he ignored Godric and answered Rowena icily. Of course, he could have denied it and tried to wiggle out of Rowena's accusing words, but he was riled up with fury and all he wanted to do was to go to Londinium and kill a goblin. Sal might have never been a true goblin but he had lived long enough with them to act like them if he worked with them - and now his goblin-raising was taking over…

"This has nothing to do with my birth-father" he said clearly but coolly to Rowena. "This is about the man who adopted me because I was a son of his line from my mother's side and he wanted an heir. This is about my brother. Atr had nothing to do with this sword - but I will not watch when my brother's and adopted father's names are tarnished."

He turned away again, just to be stopped by Helga this time.

"Adopted father?!" she asked.

Sal didn't react.

"Salazar!" the doors in front of Sal were blown close by a strong gust of wind. Rowena had drawn her wand and used a spell to close the doors.

The resulting bang brought Sal out of his fury induced stupor.

He stopped mid-step.

"Salazar," Helga repeated. "What did you mean with 'adopted father'?"

Sal stared at her, then he sighed and warily rubbed his forehead.

"Godric and you… you are the descendant of my younger brother Medrawd" he finally answered.

"So when you are talking about your father - you meant Arthur Pendragon?!" Peverell asked, half astonished, half flabbergasted.

"Yes," Sal answered curtly. "And now let it be."

"I still don't understand why you are the one who wants to gut the goblin," Godric said. "Given… You are my ancestor's brother and as such you also have been insulted - but shouldn't I be the one who goes to gut the goblin? I mean: It was my family heirloom they sold to me…"

"And it was my sword they sold," Sal countered. "To the goblin I am known as 'Morganaadth'. I am your clan-leader in the goblin nation and as such I will go there tonight and get revenge."

"Oh."

Silence, then Godric spoke again.

"Well… then I definitely won't stop you…"

"You wouldn't have stopped me even if you wanted," Sal countered banged open the door and left. The others watched him go, still reeling with what they had learned tonight.

Ragnuk the First, King of the goblin, was in the middle of working on his paperwork. He hated paperwork, but he still had to do it. And he had done it the whole morning until now. After working hours and hours on his paperwork he had started to wish anything, anyone to interrupt him!

Well, at least he wished for it until suddenly the iron taste of fury cursed through his mouth, followed by the icy fire of a clan-leader that rippled through his veins. Ragnuk shuddered.

As the king of the goblins he could feel all clan-leaders and their feelings as soon as they came near him. Normally a clan-leader had enough control on his emotions to not disturb the goblin king - and the taste of old blood on Ragnuk's tongue told him that the furious clan-leader was definitely old enough to be able to shut the goblin king out… unless he was furious enough not to care or wanted to warn the king.

This time it was both, Ragnuk understood the next moment when his doors were blasted open and in marched a cold eyed human looking clan-leader.

Ragnuk never had seen this man before - but the magic of the clan-leader felt familiar, so Ragnuk definitely had met this man before. And a man it was, even if it definitely wasn't a human…

"Clan-leader" Ragnuk finally greeted the fuming man softly. The man said nothing. Instead he took out a sword and threw it on the desk before Ragnuk. The goblin king stared at the sword and softly held his hand over the hilt without touching it. To touch the sword of a clan-leader without his consent was an insult no goblin would even think about.

He knew the sword. Every goblin king recognized the sword of every clan.

The clan of Morganaadth - a clan of Olde ones.

The clan had a high standing in the goblin nation. Its leader was a powerful Healer - not someone you wanted to cross at all.

He looked up at the cold eyed human-looking man in front of his desk. The clan-leader of Morganaadth, Morganaadth himself.

"Take it, my king" Morganaadth hissed, fury still tinging his voice.

Ragnuk raised his eyebrow but followed the demand of the clan-leader - a clan-leader that was not really his subject but still belonged to the goblin nation. To be called 'my king' by a free clan-leader like Morganaadth showed him that whatever happened was something grave.

He hesitatingly touched the sword.

The sword was filled with the fury of its wielder but also of the feeling of betrayal. Betrayal by one of them.

"What happened?" Ragnuk asked sharply.

"The child of my brother had to pay to be allowed to wield my sword" Morganaadth hissed furiously. "He was told that the sword was made for him. Pull it out!"

Ragnuk knew better than not give in to a demand of a furious and betrayed clan-leader. He pulled out the sword. When he saw the blade he hissed.

"Who?" he asked furious himself now.

"The child told me Garnag" Morganaadth replied. "I want to see him when I withdraw my aid to him. I want to see his eyes when he understands how he has wronged me."

Ragnuk gulped.

He knew that a healer normally did not fight - but taking on the fury of a healer was the most stupid thing you could do. A healer did not fight. A healer simply stopped to recognize you as one of his subjects.

"Sentinel!" Ragnuk cried and two of his guardians entered the room.

"Your majesty?" one of them said, eying Morganaadth nervously. Ragnuk knew they could feel Morganaadth's status in the magic surrounding the Olde one.

"I want Garnag in here, now!"

"Yes, your highness" the other one answered.

A few minutes later Garnag entered the room.

"Your highness" he greeted, bowing to Ragnuk without even looking at the clan-leader next to the king.

"Explain" the king said, taking up the sword and showing it to Garnag.

Garnag sneered.

"The human asked me for a sword and this one appeared. I thought it prudent to make some money with a fool like him."

Again the fury of Morganaadth tasted like iron on the king's tongue - iron and blood.

"You dared to befoul the sword of a clan-leader with your greed?!" Morganaadth hissed. "You dared my wrath to gain money that belongs to my clan - a clan of the goblin nation?!"

Garnag looked up sneering - but the sneer vanished when he suddenly was met with the familiar power of a goblin clan-leader.

His eyes widened.

"C… clan-leader?!" he stuttered, shivering under the death glare of the man in front of him.

The answer was a cruel smile - a smile Garnag recognized as a death sentence even in the human looking face of the other.

"I… I would never dare… dare to befoul a clan of the goblin nation!" Garnag insisted. "You… you cannot be part of a… clan…"

The green eyes now shone with death and behind their debts hell was burning. Garnag shivered and turned to the king with pleading eyes. The king looked away and dread settled in Garnag's stomach. And then the human looking clan-leader spoke again - no, he hissed, his voice marred with the soft hisses of a snake…

"Not a clan?! Not a clan?" he whispered and Garnag shivered when the soft hisses of Parseltongue-filled words caressed his ears. "You tried to trick my heir, you sold my sword and now dared to insult me even more by telling me it was all for the money that belonged to a clan - my clan - long before you were even born! You disgust me!"

There the clan-leader stopped and Garnag suddenly was very aware of the sword blade that caressed his cheek without hurting him. He eyed it warily. But even with his eyes on the sword he was not prepared for the knife that came out of nowhere and marred his face with the symbol of a traitor. Garnag's eyes shot up and met with the eyes of Morganaadth.

Said clan-leader sneered at him. "I do not want to see you again. You, Garnag the Greedy, are no subject of mine. You will be less than dirt beneath my feet from now on. You will be marred with your shame so that no one will ever dare to even look at you again. You will suffer until you die - and die you will. Pray that it will be soon because if it isn't you will suffer endlessly from my curse until you die" with that Morganaadth shed his sword and knife and left the room.

Garnag sighed. He had feared the wrath of the clan-leader but now he was content so he turned to his king again and sneered.

"This human has no idea how to be a clan-leader" he said sneering. "I cannot fathom how he even got to be one. I know, my king, that you would be wiser then to make a human like him a clan-leader."

But Ragnuk just shook his head sighing.

"You have no idea what he has done to you, Garnag" the king said. "Morganaadth is one of the oldest or maybe even our oldest clan-leader. You do not cross him - never."

"Why? Because he mares your face with the symbol of a traitor?" Garnag sneered. "I might have lost my honour with this symbol - but there is far worse than being marred as a traitor."

"There is - and you have been given the worst fate" the king replied and shuddered. "I remember him saving my life when I was a child and I remember the words my father spoke when he heard the fate of my attackers. 'Just ask for my sword when I have wronged you. I will give it to you freely so that you can stab me. It will definitely preferable to this punishment' he said - and he was definitely right. I would prefer to be killed with my own sword then to die your death."

Now dread settled in Garnag's stomach.

"My death?" he asked hesitatingly. "He didn't do anything…"

"You are wrong. He cursed you with the most dreaded curse his kind can come up." the king retorted. "Morganaadth has revoked your right for a healer. No goblin healer would go against the words of Morganaadth. They all will follow a fellow healer long before thinking about kinship to you."

Garnag paled.

"A healer?" he whispered.

"No, Garnag" Ragnuk answered. " The healer. Morganaadth was the healer in charge of the Battle of the Great North Fields. He's one of our best - to act against him and his heir was a serious mistake in your life."

Garnag paled even more and his fingers run along the bloody mark on his face. The king send him a grimaced smile.

"Now you understand, don't you? He killed you as soon as he had marred your face" because no-one would go against a healer's wrath - and even if Garnag would be able to heal the injury on his own, from now on he would just be able to pray because whatever happened - no healer, no potion master and no-one with even the tiniest bit of healing knowledge would ever look at him again…

Garnag shuddered when he understood his fate.

"My king…" he started.

"No Garnag" the king said. "I will not change your duties to aid you after what you have done. I am the king. I do not go against the judgement of my clan-leaders."

With that Ragnuk dismissed Garnag and returned to his paperwork. He definitely had enough action for one day…

When Sal returned to the castle, the others were waiting for him. Sal just shed is travelling clothes and returned his sword to Godric.

"Here. Take it," he said.

Godric blinked and stared at the sword.

"It is yours, Salazar…" he finally said. Sal just snorted.

"I left it at Gringoods for the heirs of my brother if they needed it. I do not mind if you carry it."

"Er… all right…" Godric hesitatingly took the sword. "Thank you…"

Sal just nodded and left the hall again. He had been gone long enough; he had to look out for his Slytherins… even if he might be a week late to do so…

The first class in the dungeon room he had chosen as a potion classroom was odd again. Especially because it was in the middle of the first class that Sal suddenly realized he had chosen his old potion classroom, the one Professor Snape had lectured in.

The rest of the class he pondered if it had been by chance that it was the same one or if it had been his own experience that let him chose this room as the classroom in the first place.

He snorted inwardly, when he thought about it.

"I bet Snape used that classroom because it was always used," he pondered under his breath. "Funnily I'm sure I wouldn't have used it if Snape hadn't!" The snort that wanted to escape was just in time suppressed.

It was later that day when he heard two newly named Gyrffindor talking - not that you could see that they were Gryffindor. There was nothing that proclaimed their houses - yet at least.

He wouldn't even have bothered listening, if he hadn't heard the words "Father's decided to forbid purebloods to enter our realm."

Purebloods?

Firbolg.

But why would a wizard forbid a Firbolg to enter his realm?

Sal could not remember any time in the past where wizards were biased against Firbolg - well, except for the goblins. Somehow these always seemed to rub the wizards the wrong way, whatever why.

"Why did he do that?" the other one said, confused.

"Because they are dangerous," the other one replied. "Think about it! If they aren't allowed to enter your father wouldn't have been bitten by the werewolf!"

For a moment Sal thought about intercepting in their discussion, but then he let it be. It would change nothing if he talked to the children. He had to talk to the lords. Still, he would look out for discussions like that in the future…

Life went on.

Within the next month the children adapted to their new home and the odd quirks it had gotten thanks to Rowena, Helga and Godric.

Finally it was Samhain - or what later would be Hallowe'en.

If they still would have lived in Grim Manor, Sal would have left the manor three days prior to find a secluded place and prepare for the coming feast.

But this time it was different. This time, Sal had students he alone was responsible for so he had to stay near.

"You're not leaving?" Rowena asked him a day before Samhain night.

"I can't," Sal answered sincerely. "I cannot leave the children without an adult around…"

"You have done it before after harvest" Rowena pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"And you all chastised me for it," Sal answered.

"So… you'll feast with us?" Rowena asked but Sal shook his head.

Sal sighed. Of course he had heard of the feasts they had on Samhain. It was tradition to stay inside for the night and feast, but Sal had not grown up in the same time like the others…

"I do not celebrate Samhain like you do" he said softly. "I won't celebrate it with you."

Rowena looked at him surprised.

"You do not celebrate like us? So… how do you…?"

"It's the day of the dead, Rena," Sal answered sincerely. "Don't ask me to feast on a day like that."

Rowena frowned but let him go.

So the next day, while the others were feasting in the Great Hall Sal entered the Chamber of Secrets and in it, his ritual chamber.

He had planned for this day since midsummer.

The first thing he did was to draw runes on the floor of the chamber. Then he added some different potions on crucial points and some earth on others. At the end he put down some knives in the middle of the circle and stepped out of the ritual room to do a ritual washing and then return.

When he was done with that, he sat down in the middle of the runic circle, naked like the day he was born, and started to picture the runes he wanted to add to his blood-magic in his mind.

He closed his eyes and the first wickedly sharp knife in front of him was lifted in the air with his magic. One moment it hesitated in front of him while he braced himself but then it cut for the first time that night.

While wielding the knives with his magic, Sal lost totally track of time.

He lost sense of his own body and mind.

The only thing that existed were the runes, the skin and the knives that added the tiny runes to the skin.

Blood-magic.

One of the most forbidden magicks for nearly a thousand years - since the day the romans had killed Arthur and the most of the druids on the isles.

Sal did not care that it was outlawed.

Ever since the day he had finalized his awakening, Sal had used Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane and Lughnasadh to add to his blood-magic.

Blood-magic like he practiced was used to strengthen body, mind, soul and magic. There was no way to increase your magic by practicing blood-magic, but with time you had better access to your magic and your endurance to use magic increased. The same was said for body, mind and soul: you could not overcome your natural limits but with blood-magic you were able to reach them.

Using blood-magic for the body normally increased your life - an aspect Sal was not really interested in because he would live another thousand years if he used blood-magic or not.

Using blood-magic for the soul wakened your ancestry and increased your connection to the abilities you had inherited - be they magical, creature or mundane.

Using blood-magic for the mind increased your memory - something Sal really didn't need but did anyway because it was a part of using blood-magic - and aided you against foreign magic and intrusion of the mind. Simply said: It was another aid for those who thought Occlumency was not safe enough and Legilimency not subtle enough. Sal always had thought both…

Using blood-magic for the magic instead was tricky. Every ritual to aid the flow of the magic through the body had to be planned carefully. Not, that the other blood-magics weren't dangerous but doing blood-magic for your magic was not only dangerous but the power-rush you felt afterwards - not that you had more magic afterwards, it was just flowing better - simply was addicting. Sal had heard of thousands of druids who had given in to the feeling and had died an extremely painful death just a few days later. If you gave in, your magic would react to it and it would not stop to rush through your body anymore. Magic like that would burn you inside out in the end - a slow and extremely painful death.

And it was a blood-ritual like that Sal was doing tonight. He always used Samhain for blood-magic for his magic. The connection to the dead on that night aided him in grounding himself and not losing himself in the feeling of his magic.

Blood-rituals were done at least every second year. They had to be done regularly, otherwise Sal would slowly use the connection to his blood-magic and the results could be disastrous. Every experience, every loss and everything else important had to be added in another runic chain to his body. Sometimes he just had to add one or two runes to an existing circle, other times he had to draw a fully-fledged new one. It was his magic that told him what to do and he complied.

Sal was thoroughly. Every year on Samhain he would add runes to do with his magic, on Imbolc runes to do with his soul, on Beltane runes to do with his mind and on Lughnasadh runes to do with his body - simply said, his blood-magic was like a complicated diary of his life.

The last knife softly landed back on the floor. Sal inhaled deeply, then he opened his eyes and inspected his wounds. Newly engraved runes were covering his entire left shoulder his right hip and his left inner thigh, mingling with the other runic circles that were glowing slightly beneath his skin. The runes were bloody and red blood was slowly oozing out of the cuts and running down his back.

They seemed to follow the runes Sal had seen in his mind to the T. Sal sighed, then he softly destroyed the runic circle in front of him.

Pain shot through his left shoulder, thigh and his right hip, followed by the addicting feeling of power. He was drowning in power! He was powerful! He could do everything he wanted to even if others would object because he was more powerful than they were!

Salvazsahar gasped and tried to suppress the feelings, knowing exactly what would happened if he wouldn't be able to…

For at least ten minutes he rang with his magic, then the feeling slowly vanished until only Sal was left behind.

He was tired. His body ached even after the runes had sunk under his skin and bonded with the other runes. He was covered in blood and was shaking with exhaustion.

On the way back to his rooms in the dungeons, Sal was going slowly. His body ached terribly - not that he hadn't expected it. It was a normal occurrence after using blood-magic on his magic. Fighting back the feeling of power always was extremely strenuous…

"By Myrddin! Salazar! What happened?!" Sal flinched and turned around to face whoever had found him on the way back to his rooms.

It was Godric.

"So the feast ended, hu?" Sal said softly, knowing that Godric always was the last to leave a feast.

"Er… no…" Godric said, sounding oddly sober for coming from a feast. Normally Godric was the first to get drunk.

Sal raised an eyebrow.

"You're strange, today, Godric," he concluded. "You're out here and the feast is still on - and you are sober…"

Godric snorted.

"No, I'm definitely not sober," he said. "And I'm out here because… well…"

He hesitatingly showed off his right hand which had until now been hidden behind his back. In it was a hat; a hat which looked as if it had a face - THE hat.

Sal nearly whooped with joy when he recognized the Sorting Hat in Godric's hands.

Of course he wouldn't show his joy - after all he hadn't told the others how headache inducting the sorting of the students had been…

"So… you're out here because of a hat," he said instead sarcastically. "A simple, odd looking hat."

"Er… something like that" Godric said, still eying Sal nervously as if he thought Sal would faint every moment. Salvazsahar could not even fault him. He definitely felt tired enough to lose conscious right here, right now.

"Something like that?" Sal repeated while he tried to ignore his shaking legs.

"Er… well… you see… I…" Godric stuttered then he straightened up. "I somehow enchanted it… I don't know how… but… well, when it started to talk and didn't stop anymore; Rowena was furious and drenched me in ice water to sober me up before throwing me out of the hall until I find a way to end the enchantment on my head…"

"Er, Godric - I know you're drunk but even you should be able to hear that the hat doesn't talk," Sal said, eying the silent hat confused. Of course he knew the hat would learn to talk eventually, but right now it definitely didn't.

"Yes, well. Stunning-spell, you know," Godric said embarrassed. "I told you it wouldn't shut up before."

"Ah… well, alright. Have fun," Sal said and turned around again to continue his way down the dungeons.

"Wait, Salazar!" Godric said, and one of his hands came down on Sal's shoulder. Sal flinched again, this time violently. It was just his luck that Godric had to choose his left shoulder!

"Shite! Salazar?!" Godric let go of the hat and before Sal could stop his friend, his tunic was ripped open and his left shoulder exposed.

It still was drenched in blood and the skin was of an angry red. The wounds itself had closed but blue and green bruises were littering the angry red skin where once had been open wounds and Sal had not wiped away the blood from the cuts. His shoulder looked like it had taken a front seat of a battle mage's target practice. Sal winced just by looking at it.

Godric let out a horrified gasp.

"Salazar! What by Myrddin and Morgana were you doing tonight?!"

Sal looked at Godric warily. He had never told the others of his blood-magic because he knew what the sorcerers of these times were thinking about it.

"Salazar?"

"I… I don't think you should know, Godric" Sal said while his mind played over and over Hermione's voice, talking about Salazar Slytherin being cast out of Hogwarts…

Godric scrutinized Sal's shoulder; then he frowned.

"I think I should know," he said. "Whatever happened: your shoulder looks horrible."

As if to emphasize his words, Godric prodded Sal's shoulder. Sal hissed in pain.

"Godric!"

"Don't Godric me, Sal," Godric said. "I have to know how hurt your shoulder is."

"It's not too badly hurt," Sal said and tried to escape Godric's fingers. "Believe me, I know."

"Salazar! Don't you dare to talk around the bush!"

Salvazsahar hesitated another moment but when he looked at Godric he understood that his friend wouldn't give up until Sal told him the truth.

He sighed.

"It was a ritual" he said sincerely.

Godric frowned.

"A ritual?" he repeated. His voice wasn't damning Sal so Sal scraped together his courage and defined it even more.

"Blood-magic," he said and Godric sucked in the air, staring at Sal with unsure eyes.

"Blood-magic?" he asked and this time Sal heard the accusation in Godric's voice.

For a moment, Sal had the inexplicable urge to apologize to his friend, but then he straightened his shoulders and looked his friend directly in the eye.

"Yes, blood-magic, Godric. The same blood-magic I have been raised with."

Godric gawked at him.

"Raised?! You're telling me that your father - your father, Myrddin Emrys - raised you to use blood-magic?"

Sal sighed.

"Godric," he finally said, while he searched for the wall to lean against it when his legs started to feel like pudding. "Do you know when I was born?"

Godric blinked then he slowly shook his head.

"You never told…"

"I was born over a thousand years ago, Godric" Sal said truthfully. "When I was raised, there were no wands. Rituals, runes, potions and blood-magic - those were the magic I was raised with. I might have started to use a wand like you do - but I am still a druid. I won't quit using the magic I was raised with just because you started to call them dark."

Godric bit his lips and Sal sighed.

"Please, Godric. Just tell me if you can't accept it - I would prefer to know before you try to kill me for being dark," Sal knew he would leave if Godric could not accept him like he was. He did not want to destroy the school by fighting with the Founder of Gryffindor House.

"Salazar," Godric finally said hesitatingly. "Do… do you teach blood-magic to our apprentices?"

"No," Sal shook his head. "I would have told you if I did. I might ask the others in a few years' time to add some blood-magic rituals for the protection of the students against the dark arts but I did not teach any of them any kind of blood-magic until now."

Godric scrutinized him again; then he nodded.

"Let's get you back to your rooms," he said. Sal stared at him.

"That's it?! I say 'no' and your sole answer is 'Let's get you back to your rooms'?"

Godric shrugged.

"What else should I say?" he said. "I think I know you, Salazar. You never lied to us before so if you tell me you don't teach blood-magic to our apprentices I believe you. That doesn't mean I simply will accept that you practice it, but that discussion can be postpone at least until we reach your chambers."

Salvazsahar eyed his friend warily, but then he nodded.

"Alright," he said and slowly let go of the wall. His legs definitely were shaking now and he wasn't sure if he would be able to reach his rooms before he collapsed.

"Let me help you," Godric said and made a motion as if he wanted to start supporting Sal.

"Don't forget your speaking hat," Sal commented dryly. Godric just chuckled, picked up his head and again reached for Sal. This time Sal let him.

With Godric's support Sal was in his rooms just a few minutes later. His legs and hands were still shaky but when Godric sat him down on a chair and tried to pull of Sal's ruined shirt, Sal stopped him.

"I'll do that myself," he said. "Thanks."

But instead of leaving, Godric just stepped back a step or two.

"Do you intent to stay here to watch me strip?" Sal sneered.

The answer was a delicately raised eyebrow.

"Do you intent to sleep on the ground if you fall and are unable to get up again, tonight?" the Gryffindor Founder countered.

Sal just snorted.

"It's not the first time that I used blood-magic," he said. "I'm definitely able to look after me without you hovering in the background."

"So you are," Godric said uncaring, still planted on the same spot. For a moment Sal scrutinized him angrily but then he just sighed and striped with caution first out of his ruined shirt, after that out of his trousers.

He felt, more than saw Godric's eyes travelling over his body, taking in every scar and every blood-covered bruise he could see from his position. It was a clinical glance, there to assess the damage done to Sal but Sal could see a short flickering of horror crossing Godric's features when he saw the scars - especially the one scar Sal had gotten the day he died for Camelot.

Then his friend turned his eyes away and instead busied himself by magically calling a bowl and filling it with water. He heated the water and conjured up some cloths.

"Let me at least help you to clean away the blood," he said.

Sal eyed the water nervously.

"It's just water, isn't it?" he asked and Godric nodded. For a moment he hesitated, but then he inclined his head to give Godric the go-ahead.

The other founder smiled then he sat down the bowl on a table next to Sal's chair, gave a conjured cloth to Salvazsahar and circled Sal to have a better look at Sal's backside. When Godric started to clean away the blood that had from the shoulder flown down Sal's back, he started to talk again.

"The scar on your chest," Godric said hesitatingly but still too curious not to ask his friend. "Shouldn't you be dead? I mean, it looks fatal, you know?"

Salvazsahar just snorted.

"Is there a reason you ask or is it simply curiosity?"

"Er… well… I…"

Sal laughed softly when he heard his friend stutter embarrassedly.

"Curiosity it is," he remarked still silently laughing when his friend failed to answer.

"Well, it looks awful!" Godric tried to defend himself. "You can't expect me not to ask!"

Sal turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

"And I thought you would try to assess if I am a danger to the apprentices and not if there are some war stories I'd be able to tell you!"

"War stories?" Godric ask interested. "You were in a war?"

Sal shrugged; just to hiss when his shoulder protested the movement.

"Several," he answered finally. "I'm a healer, Godric. Believe me, as a healer you'll end up on the battlefield if there is a war."

The answer was a thoughtful look.

"I forgot that you are a fully trained healer," the Gryffindor Founder said. This time Sal turned and looked at his friend in disbelieve.

"You're telling me that you forgot that I'm a healer after I practically called you back from the dead?" he asked astonished. "How by wind and fire did you manage to forget that you nearly died when we met?"

"Well, I didn't die, did I?" Godric answered shrugging. "And it was years ago!" Then he stopped and looked Sal over again. "Not that I could tell that it was years ago by looking at you."

Sal blinked uncomprehending.

"What…? Why?" he asked.

This time it was Godric who looked at him with disbelief.

"Maybe because you haven't aged a day since we met?" he said sarcastically. Sal just raised an eyebrow.

"Pot, Kettle, Godric."

"Well, I am a LeFay," Godric said as if this was the only explanation needed.

"And?" Sal said.

"And we LeFay's age more slowly than other wizards," Godric concluded and rolled with his eyes as if it was obvious to everyone but Sal.

"And what about Rowena and Peverell?" Sal asked.

"Something to do with their parents," Godric said. "I never truly asked. I just know that their parents were odd and that they left Rowena and Peverell to fight by themselves when they were just twenty years of age."

"Ah," Sal had suspected that the parents of those two had been Firbolg but until now he had had no evidence. That the parents left them when they turned twenty however was definitely supporting Sal's suspicion. Thirty years were the longest a Firbolg was able to change to human form - and that form for so long was a one-time deal, so it was no surprise that Rowena and Peverell's parents departed after those two were twenty. Their parents would have to go if they had been human for ten years when they met.

"But you, Sal, shouldn't you have aged since we met?" Godric asked him in that moment and brought him back from his thoughts with that question.

Sal blinked disoriented then he snorted.

"Have you forgotten who I am, Godric?" he asked with disbelieve in his voice.

"Hu?" Godric looked at him confused.

"Godric," Sal said patiently. "I am Myrddin Emrys' son. I am Arthur Pendragon's adopted son and adopted brother to Medrawd LeFay, your ancestor. Did it never occur to you that that makes me a lot older than you are?"

"Oh," Godric said, staring down at Sal. "But, how are you able to live so long? I mean, shouldn't you be dead now?"

Sal just snorted and pointed at his chest and the deadly looking scar on it.

"I have a little problem with dying, Godric," Sal said. "Add to that that my parents were Firbolgs and you have the explanation why I am still alive."

Godric looked at him thoughtfully.

"Oh, alright," he finally said. Then he hesitated another moment before he again gave in to his curiosity. "Did your father really teach you blood-magic? I mean, blood-magic is part of the Dark Arts and your father Myrddin is known as a very light wizard…"

Sal just snorted.

"The meaning of light and dark has changed over time, Godric," he explained. "The time I grew up in, it was normal to do blood-magic. Rituals and potions were the most often used arts of magic. For us, blood-magic wasn't evil, it just was a way to gain control over your gift."

"But it's seen as evil now - so why didn't you stop?"

"Because I can't," Sal answered sincerely. Godric gawked at him.

"What do you mean 'you can't'?"

Sal sighed.

"Blood-magic can be deadly if you…" he stopped, not content with his sentence. "There are rituals and rituals, Godric," he started again. "The first rituals a druid does are those to shield their body from the following rituals. After that comes the blood-wakening. If you wouldn't do the blood-wakening, you could stop after shielding yourself from other rituals. But after the blood-wakening you have to keep doing blood-magic. If you wouldn't you would lose the grip on your magic and finally on your mind. It wouldn't do you any good if you stopped."

"Oh," Godric said, his eyes wide. "So… so you have to do it? You would go crazy if you didn't, right?"

"Yes," Sal said then he shrugged. "But there is always a setback in every kind of magic you practice."

"I don't know a setback in my kind of magic," Godric snorted.

Sal just raised an eyebrow.

"Let me break your wand and we'll talk again," he countered.

"If you would do that I wouldn't be able to use magic… oh!"

"Yes, oh," Sal just shook his head at his friend. "Like I told you, every magic has a setback. You don't have enough control without your wand, I have to do blood magic every other year to keep a grip on my magic."

"So you can't help it," Godric concluded. Sal shrugged. Of course he could do blood magic less often, but in the end, Godric was right. He wouldn't be able to end it.

"And you won't teach it to our apprentices?"

Sal sighed.

"I was thinking about teaching them the protections," he said hesitatingly.

Godric frowned.

"Why?"

"Because you told me about the texts that still exist. I don't want them to go insane just because they decided to play with the instructions in the texts. And there will be some that will do it even if they are warned, don't delude yourself in thinking they won't."

Godric frowned at that, but then he nodded.

"You're right," he said. "But if you truly do it, please speak to the others beforehand."

Sal just nodded. He was surprised that Godric didn't object his plans, but he also was glad the other didn't. Like that he might not to go behind the others back to shield his students…

"So, I'm done," Godric said in that moment and vanished the bloody cloth he had used to wipe the blood off Sal's back.

"Thank you."

Godric just nodded and turned away while Sal put on his clothes again.

When Godric turned back to him he had the talking and silenced hat in his hands.

"Er… another question, Salazar," he said hesitatingly. "Would… would you mind to help me with that thing?"

Sal just laughed.

"Well, I definitely have an idea what to do with it," he answered. "Give it to me."

When he later that day, it was after midnight after all, showed off his idea to the other Founders and told them to imbed some of their personality traits in the enchanted sarcastic hat, they looked at him oddly. At least they did until he told them he planned to use it to sort.

"Good riddance" was the only thing Peverell said when he heard about Sal's idea - and was promptly promoted to house the Hat for the rest of the year. Like that the Sorting Hat started to inhabit Peverell's office.