The Best Minds of My Generation

Once in London, Salazar asked people where he might find Hengist the Great, but no one knew. They had all heard of the wizard, heard of his great work, heard of his power, but no one knew where he lived.

Distraught that he might never find Hengist, Salazar found lodging in the city and continued his quest. He made his keep by working as a scribe and by teaching some Latin to the young sons of the town's merchants. The rest of the time he spent walking the streets, asking anyone if they knew where he might find Hengist the Great.

One day, an old woman pulled him into an alley streaming with human waste and whispered into his ear that if he wanted to find Hengist, he should first find Ollivander, the wand maker.

'And how do I find Ollivander?'

'Ask for him at the Leaky Cauldron,' the old woman answered. 'The Cauldron is owned by a wizard.'

'Thank-you, mother,' Salazar said, pressing a coin to her palm. With a spring in his step, he walked quickly toward the public house on the other side of the city.

'Ollivander?' the host asked. 'Need a new wand, do you?' he asked, looking at Salazar beadily.

'Yes,' Salazar said, not worrying about his lie. In truth, he knew that the wand he and Hereric had made was not very good, containing only a bit of unicorn hair.

'All right,' the host said. 'Go out my back door, round the corner on your left, and Ollivander's house is the third on the left. Good luck.'

So, gingerly, Salazar knocked on the door the host had indicated. It opened creakily, and a middle-aged man with dark-blond hair peered out at him.

'What?' he demanded.

'Are you Ollivander the Wandmaker?' Salazar asked.

'Yes. What do you want?' the man demanded again.

'I've come for a new wand, you see. My wand is...' With that, he pulled out the elm stick Hereric had crafted.

Ollivander laughed. 'Come in, boy. Come in.' He opened the door to his small hovel and stepping in, Salazar couldn't believe his eyes. What looked small and run-down from the outside was large, warm and bright on the inside. Children played in the corner while a woman--Ollivander's wife, Salazar supposed--was preparing something over a cauldron at the hearth.

'This is my wife, Merewenne,' Ollivander said, nodding at his cheerful-looking wife. 'And these are our children, Wigan, Augustus, Gredlan, Isolda and Godiva,' he continued, pointing to three boys and two girls in turn. Godiva, the smallest daughter, smiled happily.

Ollivander ushered him into a backroom that appeared to be a workroom. 'So, young man, who are you?'

'Salazar. They call me Salazar Slytherin,' he said.

'Yes? Well, Salazar Slytherin, you need a proper wand. How in the world have you managed with that mangy thing?' the man asked with another laugh.

'No one ever commented on it before,' Salazar said, put out at the hilarity Hereric's efforts seemed to meet.

'You must have lived in the wilderness, then, boy.'

'Well, yes. I have been travelling in the north.'

'All right. I'll make you a proper wand,' Ollivander said, taking a measuring look at Salazar. 'How old are you, boy?'

'I am about two and twenty years,' Salazar said. 'I'm not entirely sure, though.'

'Two and twenty... yes, that sounds about right,' he muttered. 'Can you perform some basic magic, please?' Salazar did so, allowing water to pour from the tip of his wand; before it hit the ground, the water turned to steam. 'Well, Salazar! It looks as if your wand hasn't been holding you back too much. Wonderful, wonderful!'

With that, Ollivander turned toward his workbench and began pulling different types of wood out. 'So, Salazar, you're dressed like a monk. Are you?'

'I was,' Salazar answered. 'I'm not any longer.'

'I see. Hmm, teak, I think...' Ollivander reached out and grabbed Salazar's hand, measuring the length of his forearm against the wood he held. He cut the wood down to size and began to whittle, quickly shaving the wood into wand form. 'See, using a stick isn't the best way to make a wand. No, you want to have a good piece of wood to work with.'

As Salazar sat by the small hearth in the room, Ollivander completed his task and used pumice to smooth the wood so that it was perfectly round and tapered into a tip.

'Now for the hard part, Salazar,' he said. 'Finding what to use as a core.'

'My old wand had unicorn hair for a core.'

'Yes, well. Unicorn might not be best for you,' he continued, staring into Salazar's eyes so that Salazar wanted to look away, but couldn't. 'No, I don't think it's best at all. I think phoenix feather is better,' he said, breaking eye contact abruptly.

'Oh.'

'Unfortunately, young man, placing the core into the wand uses a trade secret that I can't allow you to know. If everyone could make their own wands, then my children would starve. Come back tomorrow,' Ollivander said, handing him back his old wand.

'Of course,' Salazar replied. 'I wonder, though, if you could tell me how I could find Hengist the Great.'

Ollivander's eyes returned to Salazar's, and he began to feel extremely uncomfortable. 'Why do you want to know, boy?'

'I- I wish to apprentice to him,' Salazar stuttered, highly alarmed at the dangerous look in the wand maker's eyes.

'Come back tomorrow, Slytherin. If Hengist wishes for you to know him, he'll let you know.' With that, he ushered Salazar from the room, and his wife, Merewenne, ushered Salazar from the home, pushing a loaf of bread into his arms as he left.

And so Salazar returned to his room and copied more spells from book to book. He was diligently creating small books with all the basic spells and potions he had learned, creating the magical equivalent to a psalter. With a tiny script, every evening he managed to copy almost one page into the five different books he had planned. He left many pages at the end for the spells he had yet to learn.

When his candle sputtered to an end, Salazar bent over the lumpy mattress that the hostess had provided him. While reciting his devotion, there was a knock on the door. Not having another candle, Salazar opened the door blind, only to be pushed aside by a giant of a man.

'What is the meaning of this!' Salazar shouted, drawing his wand and lighting the room. His mouth opened and closed. There in front of him was the largest, fiercest looking man he had ever seen.

'Are you Salazar Slytherin?' the man asked. He was barely a man at that, Salazar noted, his beard--like Salazar's own--barely more than stubble.

'Yes. Who are you?'

'A messenger from Hengist the Great, who wishes to meet you, in two days' time.'

'Yes? Where?' Salazar asked.

'Await me here,' the man said, and then, turning on his heel, he disappeared into thin air.

Salazar stood, astounded. He had never seen such magic! To just disappear... 'My God!'

The next day Salazar returned to Ollivander's home, where Merewenne greeted him. 'Werricus has gone to attend to some business. Why don't you visit with us?' she asked, inviting him in and fetching a pot of tea. 'Blackberries and liquorice root. Very good for the winter months, you know,' she said.

'No. I hadn't known that,' Salazar replied, and he and Merewenne spoke about the different uses of herbs until all the tea was gone.

'It is wonderful to be among such learned people,' Salazar said. 'In the north, it is very uncommon to meet many witches or wizards who have more than a rudimentary understanding of their powers.'

'Well, my mother taught me all that I know. I often worry that I've forgotten half that she knew, and I won't be able to pass it on to my children.'

'You should let me write it. That way your children will be able to reference all your knowledge, even after you've passed on.'

Merewenne laughed. 'Oh, no. What I know isn't important enough to waste such money! Besides, the children can't read Latin.'

'Well, I shall teach them, then, so that they will be able to read all that you know.'

'No! Werricus told me that Hengist the Great may take you on as an apprentice! You won't wish to keep company with us after such an honour.' She spoke with an embarrassed flush, but Salazar could see the hopeful look in her eyes.

'Yes, I will. Besides, the reason I wish to apprentice with Hengist is so that I will be a better teacher.'

'Well... if you would like to...'

'If he would like to do what, Mama?' the older boy, Wigan, asked.

'Salazar might teach you some Latin.'

'Really?' the boy asked, though he didn't look nearly as excited as his mother. 'Does that mean I'll have to sit and read all day like Miles?'

'Yes. Just like Miles. But Godric knows Latin, too, and you admire Godric very much, Wigan,' his mother reminded him.

'Yes, but because he has that big sword, not because he knows Latin!'

'What's this about Latin?' Ollivander asked as he stepped into the house. 'Ah! Hello, young Slytherin. I'm told you had a visitor last night?'

'Yes, thank-you very much,' Salazar said.

'Papa! Mama says that Salazar will teach us Latin! Tell her that I don't need to learn it, that I'm going to be a great wizard, not a scribe!' Wigan cried, pulling on his father's robe.

'Latin?' Ollivander said. 'The children speak Latin. Well, of a fashion, at least.'

'Salazar can teach them to write and read Latin, Werricus,' his wife said.

'Is that really necessary, wife?' Ollivander asked.

'Yes,' she replied. They shared a look and then she turned back to Salazar. 'Let us know when you're able to start, and we'll figure a way to pay you.'

'Oh. Well, I hadn't thought of making money by teaching. That wasn't what I meant at all,' Salazar said.

'We would pay you, Slytherin. Of course we would,' Ollivander said. Merewenne was blushing. 'We couldn't exactly pay you much in coin, but we would pay you.'

'I really hadn't meant to receive wages for it,' Salazar repeated. No one had been paid for any knowledge he had learned. It didn't seem right to receive payment for passing the knowledge along, at least not from those who couldn't afford to pay for the knowledge.

'I know what we could do, Papa,' the oldest daughter, Isolda, said. 'Salazar could have Aeva's room. He could stay here while teaching us. That's fair, isn't it?' she asked. Her father nodded happily.

'A very good idea, Isolda.'

'Who is Aeva?' Salazar asked.

'Our oldest daughter. She married just this summer, and she travelled with her husband to Mercia,' Ollivander said. 'Wigan has been using the room ever since. It's very small, but if you'd be willing to accept the room while you teach the children, we'd be very happy to have you.'

Wigan grumbled something about murdering Salazar in his sleep and was slapped upside the head by his sister.

'I'd like that very much,' Salazar said. 'I've paid my host until the end of the week-'

'Then you'll come on Sunday,' Merewenne said happily. 'Now, go give the man his wand, Werricus.'

Ollivander gestured for Salazar to follow him and went to his workroom. 'Now, I hope this is the right wand for you,' he said. 'Teak and phoenix feather. They're both very powerful elements, but it seems to be the right choice.' He handed Salazar a wand that was perfectly formed and polished; it even had a grooved handle.

Hesitating only slightly, Salazar swished it, just as he had the day before with his old wand, and said the same incantation. Suddenly, water gushed from his wand straight toward the hearth, becoming a jet of steam before it hit the wall.

'Arg!' Ollivander shouted and he and Salazar jumped back. 'Merlin's Beard, man, that's almost too powerful!' he said, looking at Salazar in amazement.

'It won't always be like that, will it?' Salazar asked tentatively, imagining all the food he would burn to a crisp.

'Er- shouldn't be... no. Just, uh, concentrate, huh?' Ollivander replied faintly, scratching his head. 'If it keeps acting up like that, bring it back to me and I'll tune it down a bit.'

'Alright. How much is the charge?'

'Three shillings,' Ollivander said, blushing just a bit.

Salazar chewed his lip in hesitation. He did have three shillings, just barely, and he produced them. 'Thank-you very much,' he said as he took his leave.

'Slytherin! A word of caution about Hengist?'

'Yes?'

'He's a great wizard, but he's human. Whatever you do, do not cross him.'

Salazar nodded shortly and made his way out onto the street, back to his rooms. There, he took his psalter out and fingered the worn leather binding. Father Eadwig had left it to Salazar when he had died. It had been the only thing the man had bequeathed to anyone, and it was special to Salazar. It had a few coloured illustrations, both Roman and Gallican script, and the English words glossed on the side of the margins.

It would fetch at least ten shillings. It was the last real connection he had to the monastery he had lived in until he was seventeen, when he'd been forced out. He was a wizard now, not a monk.

Salazar hesitated until his stomach growled and demanded food. Walking gloomily through the streets of London, he made his way to the cathedral. Cathedrals always needed more psalters, more books.

'This is rather old,' the priest said, giving the psalter a jaundiced appraisal. 'Who had it before you?'

'Father Eadwig of Ramsey Abbey. He left it to me,' Salazar said, still gloomy.

'Why are you selling it?'

'I'm not a monk anymore, and I can do my devotion without it,' Salazar explained.

'Twelve shillings,' the priest said. 'And if you want it back, it'll be thirteen.'

Horrified, Salazar spluttered. 'Usury! From a man of God?'

'Fifteen, then!' the priest said, counting out twelve shillings with a glaring eye.

'No. I don't think I'll sell it after all,' Salazar said, and when the priest turned his back, Salazar withdrew his wand and lifted the priest's coin purse. Levitating it towards himself, he lifted five shillings out and placed them into his pocket. Once he hit the street outside, Father Eadwig's psalter still in his hand, he passed the remaining shillings out to the beggars asking for alms.

'Very sneaky,' a voice boomed from behind him. Spinning on his heel, Salazar saw the messenger from the night before.

'What? I...'

'Don't worry yourself,' the man said. 'You won't be found out for getting the better of that bastard of the cloth.'

Salazar almost objected to hearing a priest referred to in such a way until he remembered that he no longer had to show respect for priests. Moreover, the man certainly was a... bastard.

'I'm Godric, by the way,' the messenger said. 'I'm an apprentice to Hengist.'

'Oh, yes. Salazar,' he replied.

'Right. Care to join me at the Cauldron? Have a mug of ale, perhaps?' Godric asked. When Salazar hesitated, the big man laughed. 'You can even pay,' he said, clasping Salazar on the shoulder and almost pushing him in the direction of the public house. 'So, you used to be a monk?'

'Yes. I was raised in a monastery after my parents were killed.'

'That's unfortunate,' Godric said. 'Of course, some of us are cursed to have our parents linger in this world.'

'What?' Salazar asked, aghast.

'Only joking,' Godric said, laughing a bit. 'I don't really want my father dead. Quite.'

'I see,' Salazar replied, taking another look at his companion. He was huge, with light red hair and bright brown eyes. His face was open and warm, and his mouth had a look to it that Salazar just couldn't place. A clinking sound as Godric moved drew Salazar's eyes down to a huge sword strapped to his side.

Salazar stopped.

'What's this? You alright?' Godric asked.

'You're- you're a Viking, aren't you?' Memories of long ships and dead men, men who looked much like Godric, now that Salazar thought about it, played through his mind.

'Me? Nah. Well, not quite,' Godric said. 'I'm from the Danelaw. And my grandfather was a Viking, but my father is just a Thegn.'

'Oh.' Nobility. Viking nobility. That meant... Salazar felt faint. Only the really brutal ones became nobles. He cleared his throat. 'So, you're from the Danelaw? How interesting.'

'Meh,' Godric said, holding open the door to the public house. 'Spent most of my time with my mother's people in Normandy.'

A brutal Viking and a Frenchman. Salazar felt part of his body tense as he sat down. There, sitting across from Salazar, was everything he had ever hated. He was French and Dane, and big and handsome, just like the novice who had been the cruellest to Salazar.

And yet, even before the ale found its way to their table, Salazar realised he couldn't dislike Godric. The man had a way about him that was as open as his face.

'Why were you following me?' Salazar asked.

'Ah, just wanted a better look at you, like. It seems as if Hengist has his mind made up to take you on- don't tell him I told you, though. He likes to be generous, yeah,' Godric said with a wink. 'So, I just thought I'd get a better idea of you. Trust me, I was worried you'd be too pious and righteous to be worth much more than spit, but you went and proved me wrong.'

Salazar laughed at that. When the barmaid brought their ale over, Godric introduced her as Tova. 'Prettiest girl in all London, isn't she, Salazar?' he asked, while smiling at the girl.

'Uh- Yes, quite,' Salazar replied, trying not to blush. Was it proper to say things like that? The girl was pretty though... Salazar closed his eyes and pinched the inside of his thigh to keep from watching her walk away. When he opened them again, Godric was laughing at him.

'Did you just leave the monastery yesterday?'

'No, of course not. I left five years ago,' he said, a bit insulted.

'Uh-huh,' Godric said. 'I suppose you've never...' he waggled his eyebrows a bit at this point.

'What?' Salazar asked, perplexed. When Godric kept waggling his brows, Salazar realised what he meant. 'My God. No! I may have left the monastery, but I didn't leave my wits there!'

'Uh-huh. Your wits,' Godric said with a smile.

And Salazar laughed again.