The Best Minds of My Generation

The earliest memory Salazar had was that of being taught the Psalms. Brother Eadwig would sit Salazar on his lap and sing the stories, and Salazar would repeat them. He had been about three, and Brother Eadwig was very old, even then. It had been Brother Eadwig who had saved Salazar from the knights that had been sent to put down a revolt in his area; Brother Eadwig had just scooped him up, small child that he had been, and waited in the forest until the knights were gone.

Salazar's parents had died that night, so Brother Eadwig had carried him on his back all the way to Ramsey, where a new Abbey had been created. Not knowing the boy's real name, he had named him Salazar, after a fellow monk from Spain.

And so Salazar grew from a small child to a boy, to a young man within the confines of the monastery. He learned his Psalms and his scriptures and he learned to read and write Latin, both the Gallican and Roman script. He took vows when he was about fourteen, and he planned to spend his entire life within the walls of a monastery. He wanted to become the Archbishop of Canterbury, or York, or perhaps even Pope. All the older brothers remarked on Salazar's ambition, and they would have frowned upon it except for two things: Brother Eadwig was by now the Abbott, and everyone knew he favoured Salazar; and Salazar happened to be the brightest light, the cleverest novice, and he certainly had the potential to be a great monk.

It was a pity about his dream, though. No foundling would ever become a bishop, let alone archbishop. And certainly not a foundling who could speak to snakes; the other novices, jealous of his talent and his special place in Father Eadwig's heart, took to calling Salazar 'Slytherin'. Unfortunately for them, Salazar did not bother to be creative in his names for them, and they quickly became known as 'Alric the Petulant', 'Cudbert the Weak', and 'Wuffa the Enormous'. The older brothers, in an attempt to teach all the novices humility, used the names.

But monastic life was not as perfect as it seemed. It was hard work being a Benedictine monk, and harder still to be a novice. Moreover, the monastery was always under pressure to return to the Roman ways of Christendom. Father Eadwig resisted for as long as he could, but he had been old for all of Salazar's life, and very old men have a habit of dying.

Not all of the brothers had agreed with Father Eadwig, and they decided to send to France for a new Abbott, one who would bring them back to the Roman Church. And so Father Hugh had come. He came and told them to say goodbye to their sister Nuns, because women were evil and could not be around the monks, lest they tempt the monks to break their solemn vows. And he would no longer allow the novices to speak at all, unless they were speaking to practice their Latin. And so Salazar, who had known his Latin since he had sat on Brother Eadwig's lap, was not allowed to speak.

And it all would have been fine if the snakes weren't allowed to speak, either. Because snakes don't understand, how a friend one day would not speak to you the next. And they followed Salazar in the fields when he worked, and they spoke to him, asking why he no longer wished to speak with them like he had in the past. But Salazar just shook his head and followed Father Hugh's order.

It was when the snakes began following him back to the monastery that he would stop and finally speak with them. 'Please don't follow me. I can't speak with you anymore.'

'But, why?'

'Because Father Hugh has said so.'

But everyday, the snakes would follow him further and further towards the monastery, until one day, Father Hugh overheard Salazar begging the snakes not to follow. Of course, Father Hugh didn't know what Salazar was saying, but talking to snakes was simply not allowed in a monastery.

In fact, Father Hugh wanted to kill Salazar outright.

The other monks convinced Father Hugh that Salazar had meant no harm, that he would never do anything bad. They insisted that Salazar was the most pious, the most humble, and the cleverest of all the novices. To which Father Hugh asked:

'Has no one considered the story of Adam's fall from Grace? Serpents are the Devil's representatives on earth! And young Salazar is able to command them!'

And so Salazar was forced from the monastery. Brother Theobald begged Salazar to go to Winchester and become a scribe for the court, but Salazar would not.

'I will go to my home, to the Fens, and become a hermit. No Norman shall take me away from God!'

And so he went to the Fens, and he freely told people his name: Salazar Slytherin. And no one wished to kill him among these gentle farming people. The fens, as wild and awesome as they were, were proof of God's dominion. And there he was able to speak to snakes with no one commenting on it. Until...

'Parselmouth, hey?' a hoarse voice came from behind. An old man stepped out from the trees; he was grizzled and hunched, his clothing tattered. He carried a walking stick that he leaned on in a manner that suggested he might fall over without it.

'I'm sorry?' Salazar said, surprised by the man's sudden appearance. 'A what?'

'Parselmouth,' the man repeated. 'You can talk to snakes.' He came forward slowly, shifting his weight carefully. 'A rare talent, boy, but a useful one if you want it to be.'

'There are others who can speak to snakes?' Salazar asked, having never met another soul who could. 'Are you a Parselmouth as well?'

'No, no. I just know of the talent. Never met a wizard who could speak Parseltongue.'

'I'm not a wizard,' Salazar said, a bit amused.

'Only a wizard could speak to snakes, boy. That makes you a wizard.' The old man sat down on a stump. 'Never knew a wizard who didn't know they were a wizard, though.'

'Well, I'm not. I'm a hermit, you see.'

'Ah, I see. So sorry, boy. Could you pass me my bag?' he asked, indicating a leather bag that was as old as he was. Salazar retrieved it and the old man pulled out a stick. 'Hold this, would you, boy?'

Salazar took the stick and jumped back in horror as sparks flew from the tip.

'There you have it, boy. You're a wizard,' the man said, leaning close. 'So am I.'

The old man's name was Hereric and he taught Salazar about magic. Just as the monks had all agreed that Salazar had great potential, so, too, did Hereric.

'You'll be the finest wizard of the age, my boy,' he said one evening as they sat in a clearing, discussing the portents of the stars. 'Indeed, young man, you shall be the greatest wizard, if you work at it.'

And so Salazar did work at it, day and night, pausing only to eat, sleep and say his daily devotions and prayers. Sometimes Hereric would laugh at him as he tried to adapt spells into Latin so that he could remember them easier. At night, by candlelight, Salazar wrote the spells onto parchment with a quick description of each. Soon, he had an entire book.

'What will you do with that?' Hereric asked.

'I shall keep it, and memorise it, and teach it to other wizards,' Salazar explained.

'That's a good idea. You could go north, to the Picts and Scots. There is a village up there, all of them wizards. They call themselves the Keepers, and they'll take wizards in and teach them. That's how I learned it, when I was your age.'

'No. I don't think I'll ever leave the Fens. I was born here, and I wish to live here forever.'

'Well, you say this now, but there are many different choices for a wizard,' Hereric said. 'Many wonderful or terrible paths. Remember that, young Salazar.'

As it began to turn to winter, Hereric welcomed Salazar into his home. Much to Salazar's surprise, and joy, the walls of the house were filled with books. 'So many!' Salazar exclaimed. 'You must have been a very rich man, Hereric.'

'I was, yes. Until I went down a terrible path and I lost everything I had ever cared for, I was a very rich man,' he said gravely. 'Do not go down that path, Salazar.'

And so Salazar spent the winter reading the books in Latin and learning the script and language of Runes. It was very hard, but Salazar had always been known for his cleverness, and with Hereric's help, soon Salazar was very good at reading the Runes.

But a chill took Hereric to his bed, and he steadily worsened. Try as he might, Salazar could not nurse him back to health. For three months, through the darkest winter, Hereric lingered, instructing Salazar from his bed.

One night, both men knew the struggle between life and death was at an end. Salazar sat on the side of Hereric's bed and begged him to confess his sins, so that he might enter heaven.

'No. No,' Hereric rasped. 'Not to you, young Slytherin.'

'Your soul will not rest...'

'Then I shall haunt this world.'

'Hereric, please. Confess to me your sins. I am not a priest, but I will hear it, and God shall know you deserve entrance into Heaven.'

'But I don't, Slytherin. I... I don't.'

'How could a man as great as you, as caring and as kind as you, not deserve to live in eternal bliss?' Salazar questioned softly.

Hereric laughed in a way that gave Salazar pause. 'I went down a dark path, Slytherin. A very dark path. I was weak and wished for more gold and more power and more prestige,' he said. 'I became the pawn of the king, a man without magic, but I served him. And I served him well.'

'And what did you do for the king?' Salazar asked, hoping that God would accept this as confession.

'I destroyed his opponents; I created terrible spells that would stop the rain from falling or the sun from shining; people died,' Hereric whispered. A coughing spell took over him, and Salazar sat, stunned at the disclosure. 'And when crops failed year and year again, and then suddenly stopped failing, I knew there was a wizard out there who was more powerful than I.

'Fearful of losing my place in the king's favour, I sought out that wizard. I searched every nook and cranny of the kingdom until I finally found him. Him, and his wife, both of them magical.' Hereric paused and turned his eyes to Salazar. 'I told the king that the peasants in their village were planning a revolt, and I accompanied the knights when they went to raze the village. In the commotion, I killed them both, so scared that they would steal my glory in the eyes of the king. I could not forgive myself for it, though, and I never returned to the king. I could not believe that I had lowered myself to killing such good people for the favour of a man without magic!'

Salazar couldn't look away from Hereric's eyes, which held his and pierced them as if his soul were in agony. 'God will forgive you if you ask, Hereric! God's mercy is complete.'

'Yes, your god will forgive me, Slytherin, but will you?'

'Of course I forgive you. The soul of man is weak and constantly under attack from the Devil. I do not judge you!'

'No?' Hereric asked before falling quiet. For a very long time there was no sound but that of the wind, thrashing snow against the house in angry bursts. The candles dipped and swayed as they burned closer and closer to their end. When, with a final sputter the last candle went dim, Hereric whispered, 'These two wizards... they had a son.'

Hereric was dead by morning, and Salazar mourned him and said prayers over his body and buried him in the frozen ground. When the snow of winter began to melt, Salazar packed all the books into trunks and shrank those trunks to fit into one bag. He left the house in the Fens, walking westward.

Everywhere he went, every village he entered, he asked if the people knew of any wizards living in the area. For three years he travelled, stopping to learn from every witch or wizard who would teach him anything. Soon, he found fewer and fewer people able to teach him anything. Every so often, he would find a true master of one or two magical arts, but the vast majority of magical folk were unlearned.

The ignorance only furthered Salazar's determination to teach magic to those who could learn.

One day in the beginning of winter, a terrible storm brewing in the skies, Salazar was forced to take shelter at a monastery by the coast. He had avoided monasteries since he had left Ramsey, but these monks were kind, and pleased to have him join them for the duration of the winter. The Abbott, Cweno, had known Father Eadwig from his days as a novice at Glastonbury. His monastery was still resisting the Vatican's demands of reform, refusing to give up their old ways.

Here, Salazar was welcomed, allowed to read his books and practice magic in the dimly lit cell they afforded him. He prayed with the monks and felt nostalgic, longing to be a monk again, to have the comfort of his brothers. Father Cweno offered Salazar a place at the monastery, but Salazar refused.

'Long ago, I would have been a priest. But now I have a new path in life, Father,' Salazar said. 'I do not wish to know any more confessions.'

Father Cweno nodded and patted Salazar's shoulder with his meaty palm. 'I understand, young Slytherin. Often I think perhaps confession does not absolve sin, but merely transfer it to the listener.'

But Salazar happily stayed at the monastery into the spring and even into the summer. He spent much of his time writing what he had learned onto the heavy parchment that the monks provided him with, and the remainder of his time writing scriptures in the cathedrals scriptorium.

The monastery and Cathedral sat in the very northeast of England, in Northumbria. On one side of the monastery were the cliffs that led down to the North Sea, violently working away at the cliffs as if the sea itself hated being confined, as if it wanted to be free. Salazar spent many hours watching the sea, wishing he could be free, too. But he knew he was not; no, Hereric had cursed him as surely as he had cursed his parents and Salazar would not rest until he had learned all he could, and he had passed it on to all he could.

It was there on the cliffs that Salazar saw the ships. Fifty, sixty, seventy of them, bearing to the south of the monastery. Toward York. Running, Salazar informed Father Cweno who immediately set off for York to warn the Earl and Archbishop, and to hopefully evacuate the people.

The monks stood by the cliffs watching deafly as the long ships passed the monastery. They watched in horror as one ship broke off from the army and set course for the cathedral. They ran, terrified for the books, for the novices, for the tapestries and for the gold that were within the monastery and cathedral. The bells of the cathedral rang loudly, warning the peasants to run for safety.

While the monks and priests ran to protect their lives' work, Salazar did the same, hiding his books and locking his door so that not even flame could enter the cell. Then he ran back to the cliffs just as the Vikings landed. There were nearly fifty of them in all, and Salazar shouted at them to leave, to let these monks live in peace.

But they still came, up the cliffs and toward him. Without thinking, Salazar drew his wand and sent a powerful bolt of energy at the pillagers. Some slipped off the cliff paths from the force of the reverberations. The others, enraged, let out war cries that made Salazar quail. And yet, with strength from God, he stood his ground and continued to send curses at the men from the North. And soon they retreated, running back down the slippery trails along the cliffs, back to their boat. They left behind three dead men, all of who had terrible marks on their bodies; the marks left by curses marred the skin of the pale warriors.

The attack, and his response, had also marked Salazar in such a horrible way that he had nightmares for weeks. When Father Cweno returned from York with news of the brutal sacking of the town, he had been sent immediately to Salazar's cell, where he knelt and prayed with him for hour after hour.

'Brother Salazar, you must forgive yourself for the death of those men. They were evil men, bent on destroying the peace and work of our brothers.'

'It's a dark road, Father, a dark road,' Salazar would reply, swaying back and forth as the old man tried to comfort him. 'I do not wish to be a murderer.'

'These are dangerous times, my son. The return of the North men is a sign of terrible upheaval to come,' Father Cweno told him. 'You must choose the path that you will take, and Salazar, there is only one path to righteousness.'

Salazar nodded. 'I know, Father. But one day even this monastery will be forced to accept the ways of the Roman Church, and then I will no longer be welcome. I do not wish to go continually to monasteries further and further away from civilization. No, Father,' Salazar said, standing with purpose. 'I am a wizard, and therefore I cannot be a monk or a priest or even a simple man. No.'

And so Salazar left the monastery, giving up his dream of being righteous. Replacing the dream of righteousness with that of being the greatest wizard in all of England, Salazar went south towards London, where he heard of the greatest wizard in all the land, Hengist, made his home. It took until winter began to make itself felt before London came into view, dirty and confusing and unnaturally large as it was. It was only through his determination that Salazar could face such disorder.