Serpent's Bloodline: Legacy of the Basilisk

The next two and a half years were pure horror for Godric.

Until Salazar left, he had always thought that he was right and that purebloods were a threat for the wizarding world. He had never ever thought about the fact, that he once had known that Salazar was a pureblood. When Salazar had told him all those winters ago, the fact that he was a pureblood was something abstract and not worth thinking over for Godric. He had simply accepted it at that time. And he had forgotten it over the decades he had worked with Salazar side by side.

After all, who would remember something like that if the man you work with was not different than every other man he had ever met? There was no aspect in Salazar's personality that screamed "pureblood" - or at least that screamed "pureblood" to Godric. Salazar was simply nothing like the picture Godric had constructed for himself of a pureblood.

And so Godric had forgotten. Maybe him forgetting had also to do with the fact that he had never heard of the word Salazar had used to name himself a pureblood, before he had met Salazar. Salazar simply never had said outright "I am a pureblood," not because Salazar was ashamed, but because Salazar had never called a pureblood a pureblood. He had always spoken of… Godric had forgotten the word again.

It had been two and a half years since Salazar had left. It had been two and a half years since Helga had even looked at her brother or spoken to him about anything but classes and the academia. And Godric had learned the price you payed for prejudice.

Salazar's house, the Slytherin's had ochestrated themselves from the rest of the houses, sneering at them and ignoring them. Especially Godric's house was scorned by the Slytherins - and of course, Godric himself. Oh, the Slytherins still attented his classes and did the things he ask of them. But when they spoke to him their voices were icy and their gaze cold. They blamed him for Salazar leaving. And he was to blame. He was the one who had not stopped the students when they biasedly talked about purebloods. He was the one who had bought into the rumors. He was the reason Salazar left.

He and his big mouth.

He and his single brain cell.

And Godric blamed himself. He blamed himself for Salazar leaving. He blamed himself for Rowena's tears and her refusal to even look at him for a whole month after Salazar had left.

Of course, Godric had appologized. He had appologized to his brother-in-law and his wife for calling them a monster. He also would have had appologized to Salazar - but the man had vanished and wherever Godric looked, he could not find him.

And Godric had looked. He had looked everywhere and he would continue to do so whenever he had time. Every summer break since Salazar left he had vanished looking for his friend, with no success. Every day he had free he left Haugh's Wards by horse or wrote letters to every acquaintance he had - the letters to Salazar himself returned unopened.

Slytherin house was in the moment managed by the potion professor - just that the man was unable to teach at all. Godric regretted now that he never listened to Salazar when the man had complained about the potion master. Godric had always thought the man complained because of his wish of perfection - Godric had never guessed that his complain was founded on nothing but the truth.

They had to call back a former student to find an adequate rune master, but the man was not truly interested in teaching and he was not even half as good as Salazar had been. On the other hand the position of the healer was left unoccupied because every decent healer was employed and the others were mostly inadequat or asked for too much money.

And all that was Godric's fault.

All because he had decided to believe in rumors.

Oh, how Godric regretted his stupidy! Oh, how he regretted not even trying to learn about the people he was afraid of!

In the end Godric had done the only thing he could do except of searching for the vanished Slytherin-Founder. He had started to work on his fear.

Instead of sneering at the centaurs in their woods he had searched them out and had spoken to one of them. His heart had fluttered the whole time and he had been ready to bold at the slighest movement, but he had spoken with the centaur.

Centaurs were not terrifying, at least not much - that was the result Godric drew at the end of his conversation with one. Not much of a result, but enough for Godric.

Then Godric had searched out other purebloods. He left the castle and visited another lake because he had heard the rumors of merpeople. The merpeople had been terrifying to look at but they had been friendly and patient when Godric had tried to start a conversation with one of them. This time the results were that Haugh's Wards gained some new inhabitance in the lake - Godric dearly hoped that Salazar wouldn't mind but he guessed that if the man could accept centaurs in their woods, he would be able to accept merpeople in their lake.

Peverell had just shaken his head and mumbled something like: "The next time he comes back with a grim or a dragon!"

Maybe Godric would have - but he definitely knew his sister and his wife good enough to not even try this stunt. He would be banished from Haugh's Wards before he could even open his mouth and tell them about the new addition if he would dare to bring a dragon or another dangerous creature…

Not that he would have brought a dragon. Well, maybe…

Godric shook his head to clear it. He was back in the outer world, searching for either a pureblood he had not met or Salazar - whatever crossed his way first. Usually it was a pureblood.

"You should look where you're going," a voice suddenly interrupted his musings. Godric startled. "It's definitely not a bright idea to walk through a forest like this one without being allert. There are more terrifying predeators in the world than animals."

Long years of training kicked in instantly and a second later Godric had turned to where the voice had come from, his wand in his hand and a spell on his lips. The stranger reacted just in time to step out of the way of the spell.

"Well, it seems that you are at least adequate with your defences if you are allert," the stranger drawled, white fangs gleaming in the dimming light of the evening.

Vampire.

That was a pureblood, Godric definitely had not wanted to meet.

He gulped.

Immortal, his mind suplied. Drinks blood. Dangerous.

Nope, definitely not a pureblood he wanted to meet.

"Cat got your tongue?" the vampire asked with a raised eyebrow. Apparently it had judged him and had dismissed him as a threat - or why was it still talking to him after he had shown it that he was a wizard?

Then the words of the vampire caught up to him and Godric snarled.

"Definitely not," he hissed. The vampire just looked at him, clearly unimpressed.

"So, wizard, is there a reason why you wander these woods while clearly asleep with your eyes open?"

"I was not asleep! I was thinking, remembering!" Godric defended himself while blushing. He could not believe he hadn't payed attention to his surroundings while walking in the woods! Especially unknown woods!

"Maybe you should remember elsewhere when you need to be asleep to do it," the vampire remarked. Godric hissed.

"Shut up! Clearly whoever raised you had no idea what he was doing if you are that rude with every person you meet!" it was after he had uttered his sentence that he remembered that he was speaking to a vampire - a human blood sucking, ridiculously powerful vampire. Maybe not the best idea Godric ever had to insult a vampire's parents if the vampire could rip him to shreds without anybody wiser.

But the vampire just laughed.

"Pater wouldn't mind. I grew up getting reminded to never sleep in the woods without proper wards around myself. Of course, it still can happen that you are surprised or captured by whatever, but it is less likely if you are cautious - and you definitely weren't," the vampire added after having a good laugh at Godric's words. Godric just growled.

"And I bet he also taught you how to prey on innocent wanderers," he mumbled. He thought that he had been quiet enough but it seemed that the hearing of a vampire was far sharper than he had assumed because the vampire looked at him stunned and a little bit offended.

"I'm not preying onto you!" the vampire said. "If I truly would have liked to do that I would have done that hours ago when I first saw you - not when you were just inches from kissing a tree goodnight!"

"Hu?" Godric asked and turned around to look in the direktion he had been heading - just to hit his head on said tree.

"Oh, ouch."

"So much to my warning," the vampire snorted and shook his head. "You're definitely an odd sorcerer, you know?"

Godric looked at the vampire oddly.

"I would say you are an odd vampire," he countered. The answer was a pearly laugh.

"Aye, that I am," the vampire said grinning. "But I'm proud of it!"

And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, the vampire bowed in front of Godric and said. "Anastasius Sanguini, at your service."

Godric refrained from rubbing his eyes to see if he was hallucinating. A vampire wouldn't act like a properly raised lord, would it?

"Er… Godric Gr… LeFay, at your service," he said, correcting his own last name in the last minute. He had not spoken his own last name for such a long time that it sounded nearly foreign in his own ears.

"LeFay?" the vampire repeated surprised. "You're a child of my uncle?"

Then recognition lit his eyes.

"You're the wanna-be mixblood who insulted my father," it said knowingly. "I never thought I would meet you after Pater left you and your relations."

It was the way the vampire said 'wanna-be mixblood' that sparked recognition in Godric.

He had heard the description before.

But where…?

Salazar.

Godric's eyes widened.

"You know Salazar?" he asked interested. Then the words of the vampire caught up to him and he fully understood what the vampire had told him.

"Wait - Pater ? As in father? As in Salazar is your father?!" he asked with huge eyes. The vampire's eyes narrowed.

"And if he is?" it - no, he asked and Godric had a feeling that if he would dare to say something against his friend, the vampire would use him as his next evening snack.

"I was searching for him!" Godric explained hurriedly. "I wanted to appologize! I acted like a dunderhead. I never thought the words I said through. I never wanted to hurt him and I was an idiot whose impressions of the purebloods were based on nothing but unfounded rumors and the fear of the unknown! I've been searching for him for the last two years and… and… Do you know where he is?"

The answer was a snort.

"The error of your ways?" it - no, he repeated with disbelieve coloring his voice. "Did you, really my dear wanna-be mixed blood?"

Godric frowned at the creature his friend had raised - no, his friend's son.

"Yes, I did," he finally said, his eyes never leaving those silvery, uncanny eyes of the vampire. The next steps the vampire took were too fast for Godric to follow. One moment the vampire was still some feet away, the next it was in front of him, nose to nose, watching him with eyes that seemed to see more than normal eyes.

"I still don't think you understand, Godric, child of my uncle," the vampire said, its eyes looking into Godric's soul with a clarity that was as frightening as Salazar's deathly gaze could be.

"Believe me, Salazar's child, I know now that I looked at purebloods the wrong way. I know now that my bias was based in fear. I had my reasons to react like that," Godric whispered, but his eyes still stayed on the eyes of the vampire. He couldn't show weakness. Not in front of a creature that could kill him with its bare hands if it wanted to.

"You had your reasons?" Anastasius raised a single eyebrow at that. "Then tell me your reasons. Maybe I will forgive you and help you to find my father."

Godric opened his mouth to tell the vampire that he was an idiot, that he simply never new that Salazar was a pureblood as well and that his bias was founded in his unfounded fear of the unknown.

"My father was killed by the goblins," he said instead. "I was a lad of seven at that time. We were on the way home from my grandparents house. They killed my father because he was there . He wasn't even fighting them! They just came, saw him and killed him! My mother took me and my four year old sister and ran. She died the day after we reached my grandparents. Something about her being unable to live without her bonded! Purebloods… purebloods have done that! Can you truly blame me if I hate them after that? My sister might not remember - but I do. I do!"

Godric stopped, surprised with himself for the answer he had given the vampire. He had not truly remembered that incident until his mouth had spoken for him those damning words of hate.

"You seem surprised," the vampire said, raising its eyebrow.

"I… I forgot that incident. It was years ago - way before I even met Salazar," Godric said. "I… how can I give you an answer like that if I never even remembered that incident actively?"

The silvery eyes of the vampire sparkled.

"Because I wanted to know the truth - and if a vampire wishes to know it there is no way to stop it from getting it."

Vampire abilities - at least this explained Godric's answer a bit.

"Is it wrong, to hate those purebloods?" he asked, his fists clenching while his eyes finally left those of the vampire to study everything but the being in front of him.

"Is it wrong to feel hate for the killers of my family?"

And Anastasius looked at him with understanding and wisdom in his eyes.

"I hate humans", Anastasius said, it was not an answer - but at the same time it was the only answer the vampire seemed to be able to give. "I was just a lad of three when my parents fell to their hatred. When my parents died because they decided that they wanted to raid the city we lived in. But as much as I want to hate them - I am unable to look at them and see nothing but monsters.

"Maybe I can't because when I look at them I see my father looking at me. For all its worth, my father should have hated me. I belonged to the very nation that killed his family - but he doesn't blame them. The romans were the reason his fathers, brother and uncles died. The romans are the reason why he still feels the pain of death sometimes - and he still took me in and loved me. I was a roman child when he found me - I might have been a roman vampire child, but still a roman. You cannot blame a whole nation for something a few of its people did."

This time Godric snarled, forgetting that his opponent was a vampire.

Instead the old feeling of hatred and fear found its way out and showed itself on his features - features that looked so much like Salazar's and were so different at the same time that it was uncanny.

"It is my right to blame them all for the death of my parents! Someone has to! If I don't - who will remember them?" he hissed. "Someone has to keep their legacy alive!"

"And yet you worked with my father for years. You even went to the goblins and interacted with them. Tell me what changed?"

"Nothing!"

"Did you maybe remember that you aren't different than them in the end? Did you fear to go against the current believes because you know deep down in your heart that there is nothing to distinguish between you and them?"

Godric just snarled again.

"I am absolutely different than a pureblood!"

"Are you? If you truly believe that - tell me the difference you are refering to, cousin," Anastasius voice was hammering away the shield Godric had build to shield himself from prejudice and pain. "Look in the mirror and tell me the difference between you and me - between my father and you!"

Godric opened his mouth - just to close it again with a snapping sound.

In his mind he saw Salazar's deathly green eyes.

Godric's eyes.

In his mind he heard Salazar's voice telling him about a pureblood soul.

" A pureblood has a hard soul. If they marry another pureblood the child is still a pureblood. It still has a hard soul. If said child marries another mixed-born pureblood, their child will still be a pureblood - a pureblood with four halfs of a different pureblood.

" If neither of the child's grandparents is the same pureblood the child will have four halfs of different souls. The soft soul of a mundane has no chance to add itself to a construct like that. It cannot interact with a full circle - and four soulparts build a full circle. Those children are the beginning of a line of Olde ones.

To add a mundane soul part would mean to destabilize said soul. It's just stable because all those soul parts are hard and easy to fit together. A soft soul part wouldn't act the same as the hard ones and in the end the soul wouldn't be able to stabilize itself. An Olde one cannot have a part of a mundane soul. They would not be born alive if they did. They are basically still Firbolg-born."

And when Godric had ask how the conditions of the Olde lines added to this mix, Sal had just shrugged.

" They are the tricker to manifest the soul of an Olde one. Your sister is a Firbolg-born because your mother obviously was a Firbolg and not a sorceress. But if your mother would have been a sorceress, your sister would never have been a Firbolg-born. She would have lost this part of her inheritance, because it was you who inherited the tricker. The inheritance of the abilities of an Olde one is tricky and there are few lines who are producing Olde ones to beginn with. Lines like yours. Lines like Peverell's will be if Helga and he will ever have children of their own."

Anastasius was right.

Whatever argument Godric would try to utter - there was no difference between himself and a pureblood. He was a pureblood. Like Rowena was a pureblood, like Peverell was, like Godric's own little sister Helga was.

The knowing eyes of the vampire filled his vision.

"I… I can fight evil. I can fight those that want to destroy our world," Godric finally said, his eyes begging the vampire in front of him to forgive him, to understand him. "But I cannot fight prejudice. I cannot sit there and accept that they belittened me - just because I was born the same as this… this mass-murderer!

"I am strong - but I am not strong enough to stand up to the Gathering of the Lords and tell them they are idiots because I am the same as this mass-murderer they fear! Because my sister is the same! My wife! I cannot stand up to them because if I did they would come after my family instead! I know the fear that drives them! I felt that fear myself when the goblins killed my father! I cannot and I will not let them have a go at my family! If that means to forget what I am - so be it. If that means to anger those around be, so be it! As long as they are safe, I don't care!"

And it was the truth - a truth Godric had kept enclosed in his heart, a truth he had never considered, never actively known but had followed it nevertheless. He was a lion at heart - but even a lions priority was its pride.

And Godric would do anything for his pride - even let them hate him as long as they were safe.

And Godric would have been fine with their hatred if Salazar hadn't been. If Salazar hadn't confronted him and forced him to take a look at his own behavior. It might have begun with the wish to keep his family safe, but on the way he had forgotten his goal and had instead become what he tried to avoide.

Salazar would never forgive him for that.

"And yet you are out here, searching for my father, ready to tell him that you are sorry, ready to give up everything just to get him back," Anastasius said in that moment.

Godric snorted, but this time self-hatred colored his voice.

"He was one of those people I tried to shield. What use has a shield if those shielded stand in front of it?" he asked.

The answer was a small smile.

"My father… Pater always was the one shielding. He doesn't take well to being shielded - especially not if others are in harms way because of the shield that is build to shield him," Anastasius said softly. "You cannot shield someone who has long since lost every kind of blindness to the cruelness of the world."

"Salazar still believes in those around him," Godric answered. "He always sees the best in them."

"And yet he was able to look at you and believe that you have lost your path. Pater might give everyone a fair chance - but he knows that people can be fickle. He was hurt because you turned on him, but he wasn't surprised that you did. He knows it can happen. Pater has seen the bitter truth too often to be blind to it."

Godric stared at Salazar's child. In front of his inner eye he saw every interaction he ever had with Salazar. The other man had always acted nice and approachable. But at the same time there had been times in the past that told a different story. Godric just had never looked.

He had not understood Salazar's reaction when they gave him the name 'Slytherin'. Now, looking back he could see that Salazar had known that they would give up on him in the future. It seemed the moment they called him Slytherin he had known they would go against him some time in the future.

And Godric had been to blind to see that knowledge, that pain, at that time.

And Godric cursed himself for his blindness.

"Will he ever forgive us?" he asked nearly silently. "Will he ever forgive me ?"

The answer was a shrug.

"He will forgive you, cousin," Anastasius said. "Pater doesn't hold a grudge. But even if he forgives you - if he will ever trust you again is another thing."

For a moment Godric said nothing, then he nodded.

"It doesn't matter," he declared. "As long as I can say sorry I will be able to accept any punishment he bestows on me."

The answer this time was a bitter smile.

"I cannot help you, cousin," Anastasius said. "I know where he is - but even I can't reach him there."

"Why? Where is he?"

This time the vampire winced.

"He was captured by sorcerers two month ago," Anastasius said, guilt showing on his face. "It was my fault. I was careless and Pater had to help me to escape them. He wasn't strong enough to escape them, too."

And with those words the old feeling of fury rose in Godric's chest.

"Where?" he asked but Anastasius shook his head.

"Pater will kill me if I do something recless again - and bringing you along on a rescue mission counts as recless, I fear."

Godric snorted as an answer.

"I am a well-trained sorcerer. I know what I can and what I can't do!"

But the vampire just shook his head.

"Pater prohibited me to go on a rescue mission with just Gryffindors. He said something about 'if you ever dare to go somewhere dangerous solely with Godric I will use you and Godric in my next potion experiment as test subjects!'"

Godric winced.

"Maybe we should return to Haugh's Wards and ask Peverell and Rowena to come along… or Helga… better Helga. My wife would skin me alive if I suggested something like that. Maybe its because she's expecting?" he finally suggested. "Anyway, that should rescue us from becoming test subjects."

And as much as Godric wanted to free his friend - he definitely wouldn't dare to go against an order like that. He knew too well that Salazar did not just threaten with things. He would follow up with his threat if someone dared to disobey him.

Anastasius just hesitated a moment, then he nodded.

"Good idea, cousin," he said. "Very good idea."

"Ya belong ta Haugh's Wards, don't ya?" the voice that spoke to Sal was hated by him now. Ever since he had freed his son from the hands of those man and had been captured instead, they had tried to use him to their own benefit.

They had soon found out who he was - they had forced a truth serum down his throad. The truth serum was no Veritasserum, that didn't exist yet, but it was a strong enough truth serum that he had been forced to tell them he was 'Salazar Slytherin'.

Two years he had been away from Haugh's Wards now, touring the world, healing like he had done for centuries - and they still tried to use him to gain access to it.

"I'm sure ya know that castle like no one else. We're searchin' for somethin' an' I'm sure ye know where ta find it," the man in front of Salvazsahar said.

"Ya're Slytherin, aren't ya?" one of the rest of the men said. The first speaker and his men had captured Sal, bound and blinded him with a cloth after he had rescued his careless, curious son from them. Just a few days before that rescue, Sal had still worked himself nearly to death by trying to help a village against a plague. Sal had been at the village and its neighbour-villages for the last two and a half months, fighting against dragon pox. It had been draining and agonizing on his body and Sal had been happy when he had finally been able to move on - still drained because of his extended use of sterilisation runes and other magics but sure that the villages would survive.

The villages would, but thanks to Anastasius curiousity Sal had not been able to move on like he wanted. Instead he had followed the bond he shared with his curious and recless son - a bond that had told him his son was in danger and unable to rescue himself - until he had reached the fortress in which he was captured now. He had been forced to enter said fortress, his bond telling him that there was no time to ask for help, and then had searched the castle until he found his son, fed him his blood, healed him and finally forced him to leave without Sal when it had become clear that they wouldn't be both able to escape capture.

So instead of being able to wander again, he was now in the hands of those thugs.

"Hey, I talked t'ya!" the leader - or who Sal thought was the leader - said and in the next moment Sal felt his cheek sting after being slapped. Sal just hissed at the man. He was angry with himself. He knew long before he reached the fortress that he was in no condition to help his son. He had been tired and drained after treating the plague for two month. But at the same time he knew that he hadn't been able to do something different. Anastasius, is curious, stupidly recless child, would have died if he hadn't come when he had. And Sal would prefere death to the death of his own child.

The next slap Sal received made his head spin.

"If ya don't want t'feel my hand again, speak!" the man growled.

Sal spat at him, but answered anyway.

"And if I was Slytherin, what would you do?" he asked coolly.

The answer was a hearty laugh by the still invisible man - Sal cursed his luck that they had bound and blinded him. He was too exhausted to use normal magic without his wand so family magic - the only magic that could have helped him - was definitely out. Sal needed time, rest and nurishment to recover, but being in the hands of those thugs would give him none of that…

"I heard that Haugh's Wards was once Camelot," the man said and Sal could just hear the invisible evil grin. "My master want ta have the castle. It's rightfully his, ya know?"

Sal spit at him.

Regretfully he missed.

Another slap in his face was the answer - but Sal had gone through worse since his capture.

"O' course there's the graves, too, ya know? The graves o' Arthur, the traitor and o' Mordred, the Great!"

"As if I would give people like you access to my family's graves!" Sal answered with a hiss. "You and your master might think yourselves above the normal sorcerers, but you aren't! You have no right to access my home!"

The answer was a punch in his gut.

Sal spit blood at them, not caring for his injury. It wouldn't be the first time in the last two months that he nearly died in their tender care.

"I heard ya taught a lot o' children o' the Lords of the Gatherin'," the man said in that moment, trying another tactic - as if Salvazsahar would give in to something like that. "And I heard ya 'n'ya comrades're rich. I'm sure we can find a way t'share ya gold between us poor people. And I'm sure ya'll be willing t'aid us in finding a way into Haugh's Wards. Ye know, ta the grave o' Mordred, the Great!"

This time Sal spat him in the face - and he was pretty sure he didn't miss this time around because the man cursed and then slapped him again.

Sal kicked the man in the shien.

The answer was a harsh punsh in Sal's gut, followed by a gag.

"And I thought ya'd cooperate more with us, now after ya've been thrown out o' Haugh's Wards…" the man said. "Well, we've ways t'make ya cooperate."

The next weeks were again pure torture for Sal - literally, to his utter regret. They broke and shattered his bones, they burned him, they slithed his skin and nearly drowned him - some of the treatment was new, some of it he had experienced before. Sal wasn't even sure how often they nearly killed him that time around. The only thing he knew that he cursed his cursed life and his inabilty to die more than once - not that they truly noticed when they once truly killed him. He stayed dead too shortly for them to notice.

Nevertheless, Sal was sure that if he wouldn't have been stubborn by nature they would have broken him in spirit long ago. Regrettably Sal had never done what another person wanted if he saw no reason to do so. And agony was no reason.

That fact he had learned a long time ago, on the day he died the first time. The weeks while his heart healed itself were by far worse in pain than anything they could do to him - especially if they tried to 'keep him alive'.

"Well," the man said. It was their dayly ritual after another torture session. "Do ya want t'talk now?"

Sal just hissed through his gag.

"Well, maybe ya'll talk if I show ya this," the man said and the first time in three months the blinding was taken from Sal's eyes and Sal's head was turned so that he could see a young boy sitting in the corner. The boy was pale and bruised, blood was colouring one of his cheeks and his clothes red.

Sal knew the boy.

It was one of his Slytherins.

"Myrddin Wylt," his mind supplied. "The boy's name is Myrddin Wylt."

In the same moment fury rose in Sal's chest. He had never been a teacher to the boy but even with him out of Haugh's Wards he had taken care in knowing every child that entered the academia. He knew every child who was in Slytherin and he knew that the boy had been taken home by his parents shortly before Sal had been captured by those thugs. The lad's grandfather had been dying and had wished to see the lad a last time before he died and so Myrddin Wylt had left Haugh's Wards to comply with his grandfather's wishes.

"Ah, it seems ya recognize the lad," the man said triumphantly. "So, if ya don't want the lad t'suffer what ya've suffered so far, ya'll do as we want ya to!" And his hands grabbed Sal's hair and turned Sal's gaze so that Sal could look him in the eyes.

A mistake on the man's part.

A grave one.

Fury fueled Sal's magic, his green eyes showing the fire of the Phoenix.

And the fire of the Phoenix was unforgiving, unforgiving like the basilisk in Salvazsahar's blood.

And from the deathly green eyes the second, unseen lid flew open, setting free the fire within those deadly eyes.

The man had not even time to react. One moment he thought himself the winner, the next he was laying on the floor, his eyes open and broken, dead.

A basilisk gave no second chances.

And the basilisk was powerful in Salvazsahar's blood.

Sal moaned, tiredly. He had not eaten even once a week since he had been captured and he had lost a lot of blood - not good for someone who practiced blood-magic. Sorcerers using a wand were not as connected with their magic as someone who practiced blood-magic. Practicing blood-magic meant that Sal's body and magic were intervined on a far higher level than by a normal sorcerer - having lost as much blood as he had and being starved, beaten and dehydrated was definitely contraproductive for a druid's magic.

Still, when two other men entered the dungeon they had hidden Sal away in just a few seconds after Sal had killed the first, they met the same fate like their leader.

No mercy, the basilisk cried.

No mercy, the Phoenix called.

And Salvazsahar had learned long ago that even as a healer he couldn't show mercy to thugs like them.

Then Sal heated his arms with his magic.

He was panting, doing so. It was utterly draining. At least he could use magic again. He hadn't been able to do so when he had been captured - still too drained to even think about using magic after his excessive use the two month before and the feeding of his child his blood just minutes before.

Sal also knew that it wouldn't take long for him until he was again unable to use his inheritance. He was too hurt and too tired to keep it up. It was only the desperate wish to protect his student that fuelt his magic at the moment - definitely not ideal but Sal didn't care. He himself had suffered through death before, being tortured to death was not as bad as dying by a destroyed heart had been, but Myrddin Wylt was a child - and Sal would be damned if he let those thugs torture a helpless little twelve-year-old.

In that moment the bindings on his arms fell to the floor. Sal winced when his arms were freed. They were cramped and hurt - but he could not tend to himself now. He needed to get the child out of here before the other men returned.

So Sal ignored his pain and instead freed himself from the gag and stood.

"Mryddin," he hissed, his voice sounded more like a snake's than his usual voice but he had no energy to form words beyond the rhasping hiss he produced. The boy looked up at him with huge eyes. Sal stumbled over to where the boy sat and freed the child from its bindings. "Stand up! We need to go!"

"Who are you?" the lad was clearly terrified and Sal winced inwardly when he suddenly remembered that the lad had seen him kill those people.

"Salazar Slytherin," he finally settled on saying, hoping that the lad had heard positive things about him in his house and not negative ones.

The lad's huge, admiring eyes suggested that at least Slytherin still held him in high regard.

"Now, stand up lad, we have to go!"

"What about my parents, sir?" the boy asked, fear lacing his eyes.

The parents.

They also had the lad's parents.

Sal guessed that the parents were long dead by now, but he asked the lad anyway:

"Where're they?" Sal rhasped.

"I… I don't know," the boy answered. "We were separated by those… those men. I… mum… I have no idea were my parents are now…"

"You're telling me, you need me and my pregnant wife to go with you because you might have a lead concerning Salazar?" Godric cringed when Peverell looked at him sneering. It seemed as if Peverell was less than pleased with what Godric had found out.

"Well… we might help to storm the fortress he is captured in…" he hesitatingly tried to explain.

"And you need my heavily pregnant wife for that, Godric?"

"Er… well… we could take Row…"

"So instead of my heavily pregnant wife we take yours? Great idea, Godric. That's so much better!"

"Er… yes… well…"

"No," to Godric's relieve Anastasius finally had mercy on him. "We just need someone who isn't a Gryffindor - so you alone would be enough, actually."

Peverell raised his eyebrow at that declaration.

"You need someone who isn't a Gryffindor," he repeated, disbelief colouring his voice.

Anastasius nodded eagerly.

"Pater forbid me to come to his rescue if I'm solely backed up by Gryffindors."

For a moment Peverell stared at him as if Anastasius had gone insane. Then he pinched his nose and sighed.

"How sure are you that he's captured in there and that he's still…" he stopped midsentence. "Actually, forget the second part. There is no way he died."

"So you're helping us?" Godric asked eagerly, clearly ready to bounce back to where he had come from just minutes ago.

"I asked how sure you are that he's the…"

"Absolutely," Anastasius interrupted him. "He rescued me from there but wasn't able to escape himself afterwards."

Peverell frowned.

"That doesn't sound like the Salazar I know. He would never go in there if he didn't know a way to come out whole on the other side."

"Well, Pater hadn't had time to think about that or anything," Anastasius said, wincing. "I was in a little bit of trouble in there and if he hadn't come at the time he came I wouldn't be alive anymore, you know?"

Peverell just frowned at the vampire in front of him.

"And you are?"

"Anastasius Sanguini. Salvazsahar is my father."

It acutally took a moment to connect the different sounding name to Salazar, then Peverell pinched his nose again.

"No wonder Salazar was always able to keep Godric out of trouble. He had obviously a lot of practice while raising you!"

Anastasius just shrugged and looked at him a little bit guilty.

"Maybe?" he finally offered and Peverell sighed.

"I can't believe I'll go with two recless Gryffindor's to rescue a snake."

"Snake?" Anastasius asked, clearly not understanding. Peverell just shrugged.

"His character is definitely sake-like. He knows how to turn everything to his benefits and strucks you when you think of it the least."

For a moment, Anastasius thought that over, then he nodded.

"You're right. Seems to fit," he declared. "You coming?"

Peverell just sighed again, but then nodded.

It took them another hour until they cloud finally leave. Peverell after all had to tell Rowena and Helga where he was going first and then still had to pack. Both women weren't exactely happy with them but both of them understood that there was no way they would let Salazar suffer at the hands of men who were clearly enemies.

And so they started their wandering towards the fortress Salazar was caputered in - and they had to wander. Apparation, floo or port-keys weren't invented at that time, after all.

Salvazsahar maybe wouldn't have been able to rescue himself and Myrddin Wylt from the fortress they were imprisoned in, if a distraction wouldn't have occurred just seconds after Sal was able to open the door to the dungeons.

They had just reached the lived-in part of the castle and Sal had feared that they would have no chance to cross this part without being seen and being captured again. If Sal was truthful, he had long since expected to be captured again - as long as Myrddin would have time to flee, Sal was alright with dying again and again at the hands of those monsters.

But now, with the distraction, there might be a way for them to escape both - and Sal had to give it. The distraction definitive was one of the bigger scale.

The earth shook beneath their feet and power surged through the air when a second huge bold of lightning embodied itself in the middle of the fortress, roasting a lot of the sorcerers who protected the walls. The first one had hit the main tower. The roove was in flames and the walls were staggering. Just a few minutes and they would break down fully.

"By Myrddin, Peverell!" Sal heard a voice he hadn't heard for two years, exclaiming in utter disbelieve. "What did you do just now?"

Godric.

Godric was here.

For a moment, utter relieve flooded Salvazsahar's venes, then dread settled into his stomach. How would Godric react if he saw him after all this time? They hadn't parted in friendship after all and Sal was in no condition to fight against him again.

Still, those two were his way out - and if he had to die by Godric's hands to get Myrddin Wylt to safety, then he would die gladly.

"I'm the son of a thunderbird, you dolt! I might be able to perform magics like you do with a wand but as I'm half-thunderbird I'm able to use lightning if I truly want it! And now get out of my way, you useless sorcerer!"

Peverell.

A clearly unhappy Peverell.

Why, by earth and fire, were those two even here?

Myrddin Wylt, mayhap?

In that moment the next lightning stroke the fortress.

"Better keep going, Myrddin!" Sal adviced and pushed the lad along. The lad just stared at him blankly.

"What about my parents, sir?" he asked.

"We have to get you out of here, lad," Sal answered. "I promise I'll look for them if we have time and you are safe, child."

"But," the boy started to protest, but Sal just yanked him along, hoping to find Peverell and Godric before those two brought down the castle around them.

Had those two never heard something about doing a rescue mission silently?

"Stop your attack or I will kill my prisoners!"

Sal stopped running and pushed Myrddin against the stones of one of the towers so that they weren't seen. On the walls stood a man - obviously the lord of the castle - and in his hands he helt the hair of a woman who clearly had been subjected to the cruelty of his men.

"MUM!" Salvazsahar tried to hold the boy, but he clearly hadn't enough muscles anymore to stop the child. So instead of stopping Myrddin Wylt, the child escaped his grasp and stormed towards the woman and the lord.

"Myrddin!"

Sal reached out to the boy, desperate to catch him again, but his hands - hands that once had been able to catch the snitch so securely - missed the child and Sal could just watch it running out of hiding towards danger.

"So tell me, Godric, how did you plan to enter this castle?" Peverell asked when they finally reached their destination. The castle looked forbidding and dark.

Godric just shrugged.

"Knocking, maybe?" he suggested. Peverell stared at his friend as if he had never seen him before.

"Knocking?" he repeated. "Knocking! We're here to break out a prisoner and you think that the right way doing it, is by knocking on the door? Have you finally gone insane, Godric?"

Anastasius next to them sniggered.

"At least now I know why I was forbidden to go on a rescue-mission with only Gryffindors as my back-up," he said.

Peverell turned to the vampire.

"Don't tell me you also would have knocked?" he sounded absolutely horrified. Anastasius answered him with an odd look on his face.

"What else?" he said. "It's definitively the easiest way to catch their attention."

Peverell just burried his head in his hands and groaned.

"I never thought that someone as causious as Salazar would be able to raise a child like you!"

The answer was another unconcerned shrug from Anastasius.

"Pater said he was once as forward as I am now and that I will learn in time to do things differently," he tried to reassure the other man. Peverell just sighed.

"Well - if you want to knock on the door so badly, do me a favor and let me do it at least," he finally said while his mind made up a plan that should work even with two careless and reckless idiots like Godric and Anastasius as a back-up.

"And what's different if you knock on the door instead of us?" Godric asked him frowning.

"I do it with a bigger bang," Peverell answered and then knelt down on the earth. He emptied his mind like he always did before going to bed and concentrated on a hidden part of his personality. The hidden part he had inherited from his parents - a hidden part that most of the sorcerers had forgotten how to use a long time ago.

"What are you doing?" Godric asked him. "You can't knock on the door if you're sitting here in the gras, half a mile away from the fortress…"

Peverell ignored him because in that moment he found what he was searching for in his mind. His last weapon. The last thing his magic would resort to if he was ever threatened and unable to defend himself. Unlike Sal's abilities, Peverell's were never awakened and so he was unable to actually fully control them. But Peverell was the son of two purebloods - he had learned to harvest his blood-born ability even without the advantages of blood-magic and the full control over it that came with this advantage.

"Peverell?"

And that was the moment Peverell let go of the power within him. The sky darkened and then a huge lightning struck the main tower. A second lightning followed just seconds later and roasted a lot of their enemies before those even understood that Peverell, Godric and Anastasius were there.

"By Myrddin, Peverell!" Godric exclaimed with huge eyes. "What did you do just now?"

The answer was a laughter. It wasn't Peverell laughing, but Anastasius.

"Whatever it is - it is the best distraction ever!" he crawed. "I'm of, rescuing Pater!" And with that Peverell was left alone to deal with an absolutely flabbergasted Godric.

Another lightning struck the fortress, and then the lord of the castle came, in his hands a woman and on his lips a threat.

"Myrddin!"

Salazar's voice.

And Peverell suddenly knew that whatever the day would bring today, it would never be the same afterwards.

Godric stared at the other Lords of the Gathering. It had been a month after Peverell, Anastasius and he had attacked the fortress.

The last thing that Godric had heard from Salazar was a message of his son that they had been able to escape the fortress thanks to their help. Godric had written back and begged Salazar to finally return home, but the reply had been from Anastasius again, telling him that Salazar would and could not for the time being. And Godric had ripped the sheat of parchment into shreds, crying and begging for forgivness. And Peverell had stood next to him and told him that it was Salazar's decision. If the other man was still not able to forgive him, Godric had to accept it and would have to live with it.

And so Godric had decided to stand his man and to live up to his new believes of equality of beings, even if he was absolutely outnumbered in the Gathering of the Lords.

Since Salazar had vanished, the Lords had started to insist that they should have a say in the processes of the academia. Godric hated it. It was as if without Salazar the Lords thought they had the right to influence the proceedings in the academia, just because there was no lord of the land.

"The lands of the academia should be searched and every pureblood found on it should be banished before they can hurt our children," one of the Lords said coolly in that moment, ignoring Peverell who grimaced when hearing his words.

"You have no right to decide that!" Godric objected heatedly. "The lands don't belong to anyone but…"

"Wherever Slytherin is, he is gone for over two years! He gave up his ancestral home for the academia, if he's gone now we have every right to…"

"Don't you dare to finish this sentence!" Godric interrupted fuming. "Peverell and I have taken over the academia as long as Salazar is gone! It is our right to…"

"There is no guaranty, no evidence that he is still alive! He has no heirs so there is no one who can inherit! The castle is his legacy to us! It is our right to decide what happen with the academia!" Lord Gaunt said coolly.

The answer was a snarl from Godric.

Oh how he wished he had seen Salazar when they rescued him from this hounted castle! If he had he would have been able to truly declare that Salazar was alright and returning soon!

"The castle belongs to Salazar. He might have vanished two years ago, but this is no evidence that he died!" Peverell said calmly.

"There also is no evidence that he is still alive!" Lord Gaunt hissed. "I say we should assume that he died and turn over the castle into our hands!"

Godric gawked at the man. He could not believe what he was hearing! They wanted to steal Salazar's inheritance just because the man had vanished? He had known that the lords had wanted influence but he couldn't believe that they tried that now - now while Peverell and himself were still there!

"Salazar is still alive!" he said fuming. "We heard of his well-being just a month ago!"

"That's what you say!" Lord Gaunt countered. "Where's the evidence of your words? As long as he doesn't come back the castle should be given to us!"

"The castle…" Peverell began, but before he could speak further another voice interrupted him. The voice was cool, nearly icy and controlled.

"Even if I would have died, the castle would have never fallen in the hands of the Gathering," the voice said softly. As if they were one man, the Lords of the Gathering flinched and shifted to look at the entrance. There stood a man, wearing a roughed up, green tunic. Next to him stood another hooded man and a child of maybe twelve. Then the man made another step forward and the light of the candles exposed his face to the Lords of the Gathering.

Salazar.

Salazar was back.

"L-Lord Slytherin!" the stutter was heard not only on the lips of one lord. Salazar sneered at all of them.

"I cannot believe that you tried to get influence in the academia when you should know that there is no way that I would ever leave the school to the Gathering," Salazar sneered.

The answer was a frown from Lord Gaunt.

"You have no wife and no heir, so who should inherit when you die?" he asked Salazar.

It was that question that reminded Godric of the last time he had seen - well, not truly seen, but seen nonetheless - Salazar and he spoke up before Salazar could say anything.

"Salazar has a son," he said. The answer was a laugh from the stranger next to Salazar.

"Indeed, he has," the stranger said.

And Godric could see the eyes of the lords wandering to the child next to Salazar.

Salazar just put one of his hands on the shoulder of the little boy next to him - a boy that Godric had seen before, but for the love of everything holy, he couldn't place the child.

"A son?" Lord Selwyn asked hesitatingly.

"Two sons," Salazar corrected as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Godric blinked surprised.

Two?

Where, in Myrddin's name, did the second one come from?

"Myrddin Slytherin here is the younger one," Salazar added, brushing back the hood that had shielded his son's face from the gaze of the Gathering. "He is my heir. The heir of Slytherin."

And when the boy looked up, Godric finally recognized the child.

Myrddin Wylt.

The boy who had returned home to say good-bye to his dying grandfather. The boy who had never returned.

At least the child was safe.

" Myrddin Slytherin?" Lord Gaunt repeated sneering. "Did you truly think it prudent to name a child after the greatest mage in history?"

Salazar just snorted.

It was funny that over the decades, the other lords again had forgotten about Salazar Slytherin's origins and many of them had long accepted that 'Slytherin' as Sal's true last name. Sal's true name, Emrys, instead had become a legendary myth again.

Of course, Salazar had never named the child. But Myrddin's former parents had never been part of the Gathering, so no one except the children in Haugh's Wards had ever heard the lad's name before.

"He was named after his grandfather, Lord Gaunt," he said and the lad's eyes snapped up to stare at his new father in surprise. It seemed that Salazar was willing to pretend that the child had always been his to secure the child's standing in the Gathering. "Do you always criticize the names of the other lord's heirs, Lord Gaunt?"

The other man had the grace to look ashamed.

The answer was a snort from the still hooded man behind Salazar.

"It seems, my fledgeling, they have forgotten your ancestry," the man said.

Salazar just turned and frowned at the man.

"And I still don't get why you even bothered to come here with me," he countered. "Anastasius did not even argue with me half as much as you did when I said no."

"Well, Ana is your egg, my fledgeling. You are mine. I have the right to come if I think that it's too dangerous for you to walk here alone."

Salazar snorted.

"Don't lie to me, Grandfather. It was Grandmother's wish that brought you here."

Lord Selwyn who had opened his mouth to argue against the foreign man's presence, snapped it shut again when he heard Salazar addressing the man.

If the title of the other man wasn't just an honorific, the man had every right to be here because even if Sal was the current lord, the grandfather had to have been the lord long before him.

"Yes, well, maybe we should continue with the Gathering," Lord Selwyn finally stuttered instead. Salazar and his grandfather both turned to look at the first lord of the Gathering. Then the grandfather threw back his hood and looked at the lord with a federal grin and eyes golden, burning with flames.

Lord Selwyn shuddered under the red haired stranger's gaze.

Godric shuddered as well.

There was just one description that fit Salazar's grandfather perfectly.

Not human.

The man, whatever he was, was not human.

"I don't think that we should continue this… gathering… as if nothing transpired," the grandfather said smiling coolly. "My name is Fawarx and I am here to chew you out and to tell you exactly what will happen if you ever, ever think of breaking one of your laws ever again - especially if this law contains my grandson's ancestral home."

"We're dead," Godric just nodded to Peverell's optimistic point of view of the near future.

"Dead as a door nail," he confirmed.

Salvazsahar watched with hidden amusement Fawarx, his grandfather, while said individual slowly and painfully disentsected the Lords of the Gathering with his words alone.

They had it coming.

Sal had heard rumours about them trying to get control over the castle since the day he left - but for the last four months and a half their attempts had reached a new hight and Sal was not too sure if not one of the Lords of the Gathering was the reason for his imprisionment in the fortress. He had no evidence, of course, but that their attempts had picked up at that time meant that at least one of the lords had to have known of Sal's predictment.

Of course said lord had never thought of Sal surviving the experience.

But Sal had survived.

It had been critical at the moment, Myrddin had escaped his grasps and had run towards the man who held his mother prisoner - but they had survived.

The lord of the castle had seen Myrddin running out of the shadows and had killed the woman in his hands, and maybe he also would have killed Myrddin that day if Anastasius wouldn't have acted in that moment and pounced him.

It had been Ana who killed the lord of the castle, but it had been the unexpected arriving Fawarx who stopped Myrddin's run into danger.

And it had been Fawarx who had taken them all away after Anastasius had told Godric and Peverell that they were safe.

Now, after a time of healing, they finally were able to return. Sal had dreaded his return but his grandmother had talked him into confronting the others until he finally had given in just to have his peace again.

Sal had thought the Gathering would be a good place to start over. He had taken Myrddin with him and his grandfather had followed them as well. And it had been Salvazsahar who had decided to introduce the child as his son.

It wasn't true.

Myrddin had not been officially adopted in his family, but Sal knew how greedy some of the lords were and Myrddin was a powerful individual. You could feel his power radiading off of him without even trying to sense it. Sal knew that if he had stated that Myrddin was an orphan a lot of the lords in the Gathering would have tried to take in the child as a ward - and then would have married of the boy to one of their daughters. A magical powerful child like Myrddin would be a bonus to every sorcerer line.

Sal couldn't accept that the boy would have no choice - so the only way to give the boy a choice was to claim him as an heir.

"But maybe," Sal thought to himself, inwardly grimacing. "Maybe I should have talked to the child first."

The boy was looking at him with an odd look, distrust clearly visible in his eyes. So when Fawarx started to rant, Sal had bowed down to the child and whispered.

"I explain later."

The boy just looked at him for a moment, then the child gave a short nod and Sal's attention turned back to his grandfather.

The phoenix had meanwhile reduced the whole Gathering nearly to tears - or at least to the guilty look of a child with the hands still in the cookie jar.

Those lords definitely wouldn't step a toe out of line anymore - Sal was sure of that when he saw the first one of the lords reduced to guilty tears.

Ouch.

But what had he expected from an enraged phoenix?

"At least there are no flames," Sal thought wriley.

Then Lord Gaunt spluttered and stated that it had been their right as the Lords of the Gathering, to rule the school after 'Salazar Slytherin's' death.

"At least for now," Sal corrected, eyeing warily the soft glowing fingertips of his grandfather's right hand.

In the end, Godric concluded, they had survived the rage of Salazar's grandfather.

Barley, but they had.

The Gathering had stopped early after the lords had been criticized sharply for their actions against the academia of Haugh's Wards, Salazar himself and pure-bloods in general. And the only thing Godric could say after that, was that Salazar's grandfather definitely had to be a venomous snake.

Something deadly.

Like a cobra.

Or a basilisk.

So when Godric slowly dared to come near Salazar after the Gathering had dissolved, he kept a close eye on the other man.

Sal just raised an eyebrow when he saw Godric's actions.

"Still prejudiced against Firbolgs?" he asked coolly, when Godric was finally near enough to not be overheard by other lords of the Gathering.

Godric blinked.

Why would Salazar think that…?

It was in that moment that he remembered Salazar's words about the blood-status of his grandparents.

Purebloods.

They were purebloods.

"Acutally I'm more afraid that your grandfather will bite me if I dare to come near you," Godric corrected nervously. "He took apart the Gathering of the Lords for less than I did, after all."

The answer was again a raised eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

"Er… yes," Godric said, still eyeing the pureblood who was now lowly talking with the child that Salazar brought with him. Salazar's son.

"What is he? A basilisk?" Godric finally dared to ask.

Salazar snorted.

"A phoenix," he corrected and Godric spluttered.

"You're… you're joking, aren't you?" he exclaimed and his eyes finally turned to look at the other man. "There's no way he's a phoenix! Phoenixi are light creatures - they shouldn't threaten to rip out the throat of a man if said man doesn't abide their rules!"

This time a small smile played over his once-friend's face.

"Is that so?" Salazar asked. "And I thought I grew up with a phoenix around, and not you."

"Er…" this time Godric definitely didn't know what to say. But it seems that Salazar knew exactely what he wanted to hear from Godric's lips.

"And maybe now, that I have endulced in your curiosity, you might think about telling me why you suddenly decided to be civil to me again. After all, as far as I know, I am still a monster in your eyes."

Godric gulped and his eyes searched those of his one-time-friend - just to find those emeralds looking back with a gaze like death.

Godric gulped again.

"I… I… I… ," he stopped. His brows slowly wettened with sweat and his breathing quickened. He knew that if he didn't explain himself now, Salazar would never look at him ever again. This was his last chance.

"I… ," his lips were dry and the eyes of the other still as unforgiving as the endless sea. "I'm sorry."

He stopped again. He didn't know what to say. When he had talked to Anastasius it had been so easy, but standing in front of Salazar now, all his explanations, all his reasoning had vanished into thin air.

"I was a prejudiced dunderhead with nothing in his mind but the past and the idiotic idea that if I denied the truth it would keep you and the others safe."

"Safe from what?" the unforgiving eyes asked.

"Safe from… safe from… safe from everyone, alright? I know how people can start to hate others if they have free reign and I was a coward and took the coward's way out! I should have stood up for us and shouldn't have tried to deny who I am!"

And with that the other man's eyes softened.

"Who you are?" he asked and Godric suddenly felt the hope for forgivness again.

"Yes," he said, reddening. "I might have tried to deny it, but I am a pureblood just like you and I should have never tried to act as if I'm different. I'm sorry, Salazar, truly sorry for the grieve I caused you and I know that you might not be able to forgive me but please, come back to Haugh's Wards! Come back home!"

For a moment those green, green eyes - mirrors of Godric's own - stared at him in icy judgement, then finally Sal inclined his head.

"I will return," he said and Godric deflated in relieve. "But I won't come alone. It seems that my family is determinded to make sure that you have changed before even thinking about leaving me alone with you again."

This time Godric shuddered inwardly.

He definitely didn't look forward to a basilisk-like phoenix joining them at Haugh's Wards. Anastasius, he could handle, but Fawarx?

"Er… is your grandmother coming as well?" he finally dared to ask.

The answer was a snort.

"Of course she is," Salazar said and then turned to his grandfather, leaving Godric to explain their adition at Haugh's Wards to Perverell. "And don't worry about her. She is just a basilisk."

Just a basilisk.

No wonder Salazar and Fawarx could be so venomous. It seemed that Basilisk genes did indeed always win out - even when someone originally didn't have them. It seems you could inherit them just by being near a Basilisk after all…

And return, Salvazsahar did - just in time to help Rowena giving birth to Godric's heir and his beloved baby girl.

It was not something that Sal had expected to do when he returned to Haugh's Wards.

From Peverell he had heard that Rowena and Helga both weren't at the Gathering because they were in their last two month of pregnancy, but he had thought that there still would be some time until the first of those two woman gave birth.

Unluckily there wasn't and so, instead of returning to his quarters to move back in, Sal was ushered to Rowena's rooms for childbirth.

It wasn't the first child he brought to the world but it definitely was something different if the woman giving birth was a close friend.

And it definitely was something different if it turns out that the child would be a twin.

"You know, Rowena, that I originally planed to move back in before looking after you," Sal said conversionally when he was ushered into the woman's bedroom.

The answer was a snort.

"I thought you needed some practice before starting here at Haugh's Wards again," Rowena countered, but her complexion was pale and her forehead sweaty.

Sal just chuckled.

"Aye, as if I'll help to give birth very often here at the academia," he commented mildly amused while he checked her over. Her pulse was a little bit too fast and she was a little bit too pale, but she seemed to be right enough.

Then he checked over her womb and his eyebrows twitched.

"Twins?" he said and Rowena smiled weakly.

"It seems you are indeed a healer if you can establish that," she said mockingly.

The answer was a snort while Sal's hands checked if the baby was in the right position for birth.

"It seems its all in order," he told her. "You have to push soon."

The labour was a long process. The twins were Rowena's first children and in the end it nearly took her twenty hours until even the first was born.

It was a boy.

After Sal had checked him over he cleaned him, wrapped him into a blanket and then brought him over to Godric who was standing anxiously next to his wife.

"Your son," he told him and Godric stared at the baby in horror. When he tried to give him over, Godric stepped back two steps.

Sal raised his eyebrow, a clear question in his eyes and Godric cracked.

"I can't take him!" he exclaimed with horror in his voice. "What if I break him? What if I drop him? What if…"

Sal snorted and then grabbed Godric with his free hand and before the man could object again, he placed the baby into Godric's arms.

"You won't break him," he said with a snort. "You wouldn't dare. Your wife would kill you if you did."

Godric gulped and his face ashened.

"Not funny, Salazar!" he exclaimed but his face softened when he looked down at the child in his arms.

"Does he have a name, yet?" Sal asked while he checked Rowena and the second child still in her womb. It seemed that this one would still take a little bit before it was born.

"No," Godric answered. "Well, yes, from my side but it's Rowena's right to give him his first name so I have no idea what he will be called in the end."

Sal just nodded.

"What is your name-choice for him?" he asked.

"Arthur," Godric answered. "I will call him Arthur after my ancestor."

"Arthur?" Sal just send a short look over his shoulder. Peverell, Helga and Anastasius had entered the room. It seemed as if they had heard the first screams of the baby.

"You'll name your boy Arthur, really?" Anastasius exclaimed. "Isn't that a huge name to grow into? I mean with him being Arthur Pendragon's heir and all that…"

Sal just pressed his lips together, not correcting his son about the fact that it was Sal and not the baby who was Arthur Pendragon's heir.

"Arthur'll be his second name," Godric corrected. "It's Rena's choice how he will be called, and knowing her it will be something outlandish."

The woman in the bed smiled at that.

"I haven't decided, yet," she said. "But I was thinking about Gaius or Sophokles."

Anastasius grimaced.

"Really?" he asked. "If you want to use Latin or Greek names, can't you choose better ones than those?"

Rowena turned her exhaused face to face Anastasius.

"If you don't like them, what would you choose?"

Anastasius just shrugged.

"Maybe something like Lucius, Theodore or Nicholaos - not some names that come from British wanna-be conquerers or Greek know-it-alls."

Sal just sighed when he heard this exclamation.

This was definitely typical Anastasius. If there was a way to put his foot in his mouth, he always found it.

To his surprise Rowena just looked at Anastasius thoughtfully.

"Nicholaos - what does it mean?" she asked.

Anastasius just shrugged.

"Something along the line of 'victor of the people'," he answered. "I heard it when I travelled to Athene."

"Do you also know some girl's names or other boy's names?" Rowena asked interested.

The time between the first and the second birth was soon filled with Anastasius telling Rowena names he had heard on his travels.

Sal himself had heard a lot of those names as well but he let his son do the explaining and instead took the time to relax a little bit before he would have to help in the second birth again.

The second birth luckily did not even take half as long as the first one.

This time around it was a girl.

"Helena," Rowena decided. She had liked the name when Anastasius had mentioned it - not that she hadn't heard it before in Greek myths. She just hadn't thought of it until Anastasius mentioned it. "Nicholaos and Helena."

"Nicholaos Arthur and Helena Morgana," Godric said.

Then both parents looked expectantly at Salvazsahar.

"What?" he asked.

"You're the godfather. You have the right to choose their last first name," Rowena said. She was still pale and obviously tired but it was clear that she wanted to wait with sleep until her children were named.

Sal's eyes widened when he heard that.

"Er… I never named anyone," he said nervously.

Godric just shrugged.

"It's easy," he said. "Just choose a name."

"Er…"

"Maybe you could use a name of some loved one you have lost," Helga added when she saw Sal fridgeting.

Sal stared at her, then back at the babies.

Names.

He had to give them names.

And there was no one who could do it for him. It was his decision. His alone.

He gulped.

What should he name them?

The two names he would have thought of, Godric had used them already. So what else could he name them?

How had his own parents decided on his name?

It was that last thought that brought back the memories of not only Myrddin Emrys but also Lily and James Potter.

He had not thought of those two in centuries, and still…

"Nicholaos Arthur Myrddin," he said softly. "And Helena Morgana Lily."

"So, Nicky and Helily, hu?" Anastasius said grinning and then turned to the babies in their parents arms. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm your cousin Ana."

To Rowena's displeasure her children would be stuck with the nicknames Anastasius had choosen on their birthday.

Two and a half weeks later, Antioch Ignotus James, Peverell's son would join them.

"Why are you sitting out here?" a voice asked and the young boy turned around just to see his Head of House sitting down beside him, his eyes following the boy's gaze to the lake.

It was nearly a year after Salazar Slytherin had returned to the castle and had taken over his old classes again - including potions. The other founders were insistend that he should take it up again and brought their old potion's… amateur… to the gates themselves. They might have not have listened when Salazar spoke up against him but after two years of light accidents and nearly fatal accidents they clearly saw where he was coming from and had insited to remedy this problem themselves.

"Professor Slytherin" the boy said in greeting, turning to look at the lake again.

"Myrddin Wylt," the professor answered. "What troubles you, my child?"

Myrddin sighed and looked at the professor beside him. He liked the man. The professor had been kind to him when he had been laughed at by his classmates. Myrddin often was ridiculed because he did not understand as fast as the others. He had to repeat and to ask often to fully understand a topic and he was horrible with his wand.

"It's nothing, sir" he answered finally.

"I don't believe you, Myrddin Wylt" the professor answered.

Myrddin just sighed and looked at the lake.

"I am an oddball" he finally answered his teacher. "I do not remember very fast, I am not good with magic and finally I do not belong anywhere anymore…"

"You are talking about your parents," Professor Slytherin stated.

Myrddin nodded.

"I know you rescued me… and I know you couldn't do anything for my parents. Those men had killed them before we could do anything - but still… what do I do now? I have been here for the winter and have learned magic like the rest of them. But soon is summer and the rest will return to their parents - what will I do?"

"You stay," the professor answered softly. "This is your home, Myrddin Wylt. No one will ever make you leave, I promise."

Myrddin snorted.

"This is an academia," he answered bitter. "This is not a home. When it would be a home I would have parents who would help me - who I could turn to. Instead I am sitting here - alone… I can tell no one about my problems!"

"You can tell me," the professor answered. "You did it before - why not do it again?"

"Because I am not your son!" Myrddin answered screaming. "You might have told the Gathering of the Lords that I am to protect me - but it was a simple lie so that they would not force me into another family as the fiancé of their daughter! It was a farce! You know it, the other professors know it and the rest of the school does know it, too! So stop treating me as if I were your true son, professor! I know you feel guilty that you did not rescue my parents before they were killed - but you don't have to! Don't treat me like that just out of pity!"

Myrddin expected the professor to leave. Instead the professor just snorted.

"I am too old to feel guilty for something that was not my fault," Professor Slytherin said. "Don't try to interpret my motives, boy."

Myrddin stared at his professor. The man looked younger then Professor Gryffindor - and Myrddin knew for a fact that Gryffindor blamed himself for things he could not have changed… so why someone younger than him shouldn't do the same?

"I don't believe you," he finally said. "Professor Gryffindor still feels guilty about the death of the young witch in Wales he could not rescue…"

Slytherin just shrugged.

"He is still young. Someday he will understand that blaming himself about something like that will get him nowhere," he answered Myrddin.

Myrddin stared at his professor.

"You are younger than Professor Gryffindor," he finally stated.

Slytherin grinned.

"That's what you think," he answered. "You and the rest of the school… but no. I am the older one."

"Then you are not much older," Myrddin snorted, looking pointedly at the black hair of his professor and his wrinkle-less face.

The professor laughed.

"Oh child," he said and ruffled Myrddins hair. "So young, so innocent!"

Myrddin snorted but he did not pull away.

"I am not a child anymore," he said frowning.

"You are thirteen, Myrddin Wylt. You are a child."

"And how old are you… professor?" Myrddin stared coolly at his professor. He had guessed the ages of all his professors. Slytherin he guessed was something between twenty and thirty winters - not very old for a sorcerer.

The professor laughed again.

"Old," he answered. "But I am sure you do not believe me, do you?"

Myrddin snorted.

"Hardly. I know how sorcerers age," he answered.

"Yes. But Godric, Helga, Rowena, Peverell and I are not the typical sorcerers," the professor said. "Think about it: I met Godric when he was twenty - that was nearly a hundred years ago."

Myrddin blinked.

"A hundred years ago?" he asked flabbergasted thinking about the sorcerer who looked to be between forty and fifty winters old. "Professor Gryffindor is bloody one hundred twenty years old?"

"Something like that," Slytherin smiled.

"And you are older than him?!"

"Yes."

"How much older?" Myrddin wanted to know staring at his professor beside him.

The other one shrugged.

"I'm not sure," he answered.

"What do you mean - you are not sure?!"

"I never counted the years," Slytherin answered shrugging and staring at the lake. "But it has been a long time ago when my father died - and it will be a long time until I die myself…"

"By Myrddin! You are kidding me, professor - aren't you?! I mean, how can't you know how old you are?"

The professor laughed again.

"I do not wish to know," He answered. "It is hard to remember and I have seen too much to wish to remember exactly."

Myrddin stayed silence after that. He stared at the lake again.

"Now Myrddin Wylt - what problems do you have?" Slytherin finally said.

"I told you, you are not my father," Myrddin answered bitterly.

"So if I would blood-adopt you I would be allowed to know?" Slytherin asked interested.

"As if you would really want to do so," Myrddin snorted. "I am a terrible sorcerer - why should someone like you want me?!"

"Once I was not different than you," Slytherin answered shrugging. "Once, when I was a child I was terrible at brewing and everything else to do with a wand. To be truthful: the first wand since I lost the one I had as a child I got from the others shortly after we met."

Myrddin stared at him.

"You never used magic before you met the others?"

"Oh, I did use magic" Slytherin answered laughing. "But I was and still am a druid. I never learned to be a proper sorcerer."

"But… but you are teaching us!"

"Yes, Potions, Runes and Occlumency" the other one replied. "These are the basics for druids - not just sorcerers."

"But you are using your wand!"

"Yes. But I had to train before I was able to," Slytherin answered shrugging. "You will be the same. Some day, I am sure, you will be brilliant - and I would be proud to call you son that day."

"Don't joke, professor."

"I don't," Slytherin replied. "I talked to the other professors. They don't have a problem if I want you as a son…"

"Stop!" Myrddin held up one of his hands to stop his professor to keep on. "What do you mean with 'You talked to the other professors'?! I thought that you just asked me because I said… because… because…"

"No," Slytherin answered. "I came here to ask you to be my son. I just noticed that you had another problem and wished to first help you with it before asking…"

"But… but…"

"Myrddin," Slytherin sighed. "I watched over you since you are ten. You might not have known me until last autumn and you might have never seen me before that day we met in the dungeons but I still watched you from afar, like I watched all my Slytherin-children. You lost your parents last autumn - believe me, I had time enough to think if I really want to offer you a new family…"

"So… so you offer me to be my father ?!"

"Yes," Slytherin answered casually. "I am sorry I can't give you a mother. And don't worry - I would not force you to call me father. You can, of course, but I understand if you don't. Just… think about my offer - will you?"

"I… I…" Myrddin could not believe his ears. He had longed to have a family again and he had often thought that Slytherin was acting like a father. He had wished Slytherin would be his father - he had wished it sometimes even before he had lost his parents.

His father had been outright cool to him since the day Myrddin had started to do magic. Myrddin's mother had told him that his father blamed sorcerers for being thrown out of his family - just because he had no magic himself - and other things that happened to him before Myrddin was born. His father had never looked at Myrddin the same after his son had displayed magic.

Slytherin instead…

And now Slytherin was asking him to be his son - him, magically hindered Myrddin Wylt!

"Y… Yes… I will think about it," he finally managed to promise.

Slytherin nodded and stood up again.

"Tell me when you know - or when you want to speak about your problems…" he said and started to walk away.

"Wait, sir!" Myrddin stopped him.

"Yes?"

"What's with your family, sir?!" Myrddin asked. "They might not be happy if you adopt me…"

Slytherin smiled and returned to ruffle Myrddin's hair again.

"Do not worry. My son - your big brother, if you decide so - won't object. He's adopted himself. And my grandparents would never object to aid a child," Slytherin answered softly. "Believe me, there is no one who would even think about objecting. And even if they would. It is only I who is named Slytherin. I am the Lord of the House. I have the right to add whoever I want to the house and no one will be able to object."

"But… but surely you cannot be the last of Slytherin! I mean… your son… your grandparents…" Myrddin answered horrified. His teacher could not be so alone - could he? Myrddin had seen his teacher's son and his grandparents. So how could he say that they wouldn't be able to object even if they wanted to? Even Myrddin had still family - even if they did not want him…

His teacher laughed.

"My son is a 'Sanguini', my grandparents don't have a last name. Add to that that I was not born Slytherin and you will be able to understand how there's no one who can object me," he answered still laughing before he suddenly turned serious. "But yes. Slytherin might not be the family name I grew up with, but now that it exists, I am the last of my line."

"But… but how?!"

"My son is a vampire, my grandparents are a basilisk and a phoenix. My father was a Firbolg-born," Slytherin answered shrugging. "By the law of the Gathering my son and my grandparents don't count because they are no sorcerers but Firbolg… pureblood, that is. I still have some family from my mother's side - but they don't know anymore that I have been family once."

Myrddin blinked.

"How can someone forget you are family?" he asked astonished and horrified.

Slytherin smiled sadly.

"I am old, Myrddin Wylt," he answered sincerely. "Very, very old. The last persons that knew I was family, died a long time ago."

"How old?" Myrddin whispered, staring at his teacher.

Slytherin hesitated, his gaze sweeping over the lake, searching for something far, far away.

"Sir?"

Slytherin sighed.

"Maybe I should tell you. You should know a little bit about the family you will enter before you do enter…" he said.

Again silence filled the air. But when Myrddin finally thought his teacher had forgotten him, Slytherin finally spoke.

"I was born as Salvazsahar Emrys, son of Myrddin Emrys," he said. "I grew up far away from here. I was taught by King Arthur how to fight and by Lancelot how to ride. Mother… Morgana LeFay, that is… finally taught me how to heal. I am still a healer first, not a warrior. When finally Medrawed killed Arthur and Arthur Medrawed… I… you could say I lost the last of my close family-members that time…"

Myrddin stared at his professor.

"You are The Myrddin Emrys son?" he asked flabbergasted. "But… but why do we all call you 'Slytherin'?!"

"Simple," the Professor answered. "I changed my name."

Not true, but close enough.

"But… but…"

"I hope you know that you cannot tell anyone what I told you right now," Slytherin said. "I gave up my identity a long time ago - I do not wish to return to it."

"But… but… but you are Myrddin Emrys' son! How can you not…"

"Exactly. I am Myrddin Emrys' son, Myrddin Wylt. I do not want to be compared to my father. I am my own man - and I did my own legacy without being helped by the name my father gave me."

"So… so no one knows?!"

"The other professors do know that I am related to Myrddin Emrys. The other… founders… even suspect that I am his son. But no. No one knows my age - and no one knows truly who my father is. And you will not tell."

A white lie, but the child couldn't and shouldn't know that there was someone who knew the truth exept of him. It was less likely of him being overheard if he had no one to talk to about the truth, after all.

Myrddin shook his head.

"I won't" he answered. "I definitely won't, Professor!"

"Good," Slytherin stood up again.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Just one question."

"Yes?"

"Would I be Emrys or Slytherin when you adopt me?"

"Slytherin," the professor answered. "The Emrys-family is long gone. It shall not return."

The Gathering had forgotten it again, and Sal would do everything in his power to keep it like that. Slytherin would be a noble family from now on. Emrys would just be one thing: a legend.

This time Myrddin smiled.

"I will think about it, Professor." He said.

"That's all I ever asked."

And with that the professor left.

Myrddin again looked at the lake.

Being Slytherin… having a father again…

When he finally had decided to say yes he had not once thought about the fact that he would be the grandson of Myrddin Emrys when he accepted.

Of course, he was 'just' the blood adopted grandson, meaning that he inherited some of the family traits like Parseltongue without being ever able to use the full account of the Emrys' Family Magic.

A blood-adoption was after all just a potion that changed some of the DNA - but the main part of the Emrys' inheritance was the Firbolg soul, and that was something Myrddin Wylt could never inherit.

This was also the true reason why Sal had told Myrddin he would be adopted in the Slytherin family and not in the Emrys' family. To adopt into Emrys was just possible if the child was a Firbolg-born and if Sal shared his own soul with the child - and that again was just possible with an undeveloped soul. Like a toddler's soul. Like Sal's once had been thanks to the Horcrux.

Not that Myrddin Wylt Slytherin ever knew. Sal had decided against telling his son because he didn't want to explain to him why he could have never been Emrys. So when Myrddin Wylt remembered that he was the grandson of Myrddin Emrys, Sal just smiled and said nothing.

Funnily Myrddin Wylt finally remembered this little detail about his grandfather the day he held his first-born and his wife decided to call him 'Emrys' after Myrddin Emrys and like that also after Myrddin Wylt Slytherin in a way.

After hearing her choice at that day Myrddin collapsed laughing but unable to tell his wife what he thought to be so funny. He could never tell her. But he told his father. He told his father that he never registered that he normally should call himself 'Emrys' and that his son now was originally an 'Emrys Emrys'. His father had just smiled and then asked him to never tell his children.

And he did.

The years passed. His father had long ago left the family and everyone thought him dead. His father had left the family after the last of the other Founders had died, leaving Salazar Slytherin alone in the world - alone except of Myrddin Wylt Slytherin who was a father himself and had not needed him anymore.

The other Founders had died of old age, with the only exception of Rowena. She had been old when she died, but it was an illness that brought her down. Sal was a good healer, but even he couldn't rescue her that time.

He also couldn't rescue Helily.

He had loved the girl like his own daughter and she was the only one he ever shared with that his mother was originally from the future. He never told her that he was the one who travelled in time, he just told her of his mother.

"I named you after my mother," he told her one day when she was little and asked for the origin of her name. "Lily Evans. She's not even born yet, but in my memory she's long since dead."

And he refused to tell her more, except for the fact that it would still be centuries until his mother would be born. When Helily died, it felt as if his heart had been ripped out and even when her ghost returned together with the ghost of her murderer - a student of Sal's own house - it was not enough. And for decades he refused to even look at the man who had dared to kill his baby girl.

At the same time the Founder's grew old and died, Myrddin Wylt's children grew up and 'Slytherin' turned into a respectable name. Myrddin Wylt had finally seen his children's children. He had seen decades. He had seen over a century and every child his wife birthed had been able to speak Parseltongue - inherited from the adoption ceremony, a simple potion with the blood of the new parents in it.

Finally Myrddin Wylt Slytherin died and his legacy mixed over time with the legacy of his grandfather, binding them together until no one knew that there had been two of them. Myrddin Wylt was the sorcerer who invented a lot of new potions and spells - and Myrddin Emrys was the one who taught Arthur.

A thousand years later there was not Myrddin Wylt and there was no Myrddin Emrys. There was just a Merlin - and he did both.

Also a thousand years later Helily's ghost would meet a little, lost Gryffindor first year with flaming red hair and killing curse green eyes. The same eye color that once Helily's brother Nicholaos had had. The same eye color that Sal had had.

And when Helily would asked for the girl's name and hear the words "Lily Evans" she would smile at the young child and tell her: "My name's Lily, too. I was once named after you." Not that the girl would believe her exclamation - at least not for another seven years.

But that is history.

History and a grave for each that was all that was left. And it was a lonely figure with death-green eyes who returned to the graves of Myrddin Wylt and Helena 'Ravenclaw' to lay down lilies.

Sometimes some family members of Slytherin would see this figure in front of the grave, wondering who was at the grave of their ancestor but never connecting the silent weeping Salvazsahar Emrys with the strong and proud Salazar Slytherin - the one ancestor of them that had never had a grave himself…