Comes a Slytherin

1. The Gathering

Hogsmeade was for once blissfully quiet after the last minute rush by students to pick up trinkets for their friends. It was the only reason Snape had finally "volunteered" to take Harry Potter out to the village to renew his supplies. Or, to be fair, the only reason he hadn't protested as vigorously as he might of. Of course, he recognized that Potter should be allowed to go—it wasn't the boys fault that his relatives had decided that winter holidays were the perfect time to take a cruise to the Bahamas, or that Death Eater activity had meant it a little too risky in Dumbledore's eyes to let the boy go without the supervision of a fully trained wizard. Snape just didn't see why he had to be the one to do it, when Minerva was perfectly capable of the task herself. Dumbledore naturally hadn't agreed, and so here they were.

"What is it that you so desperately need, Mr. Potter?" he asked in the sarcastic tones reserved especially for him and his dull-witted classmates.

Harry looked at his list, "I need some more parchment since Binns insists on having us write meter-long essays every other week, a new quill since Hedwig snatched my secondary one, refill some supplies for your class as Neville's accidents seemed to have consumed a rather alarming portion of both of our stocks, and some polish for my Firebolt."

Snape scowled. "Next time I ask you that question, just give me the list as I don’t care a wit about why you need any of it."

"Very well sir, do you particularly care as to how we go about it?" He had a feeling that Snape wouldn't take well to his normal meandering path through the village.

"Quidditch, the apothecary, and the stationary store. That will allow us to make a neat loop of the village, and end with us at the Three Broomsticks. Merlin knows I'll need something to drink by afternoons end."

Harry made a face. "Really, professor, I'm not that bad of company."

"You may not be, but Merlin knows that I will take an opportunity to have a drink when a situation allows for it."

"Yes sir. Shall we begin then?"

Snape nodded briskly. "I wish to be back to the castle within an hour's time. This is normally my day off, and I'd prefer not to waste it anymore than strictly necessary.

Harry sighed, "Yes, sir," and with Snape following behind, headed off to get his polish.

* * *

Methos examined the busy street, his eyes finally coming upon a sign that read "The Three Broomsticks." Not bothering to check if Duncan was still following him, he headed in, and grabbed a bench closest to the fire. Duncan straggled in a few seconds later, his arms laden down with packages.

Well, the packages weren't the burden so much as the many strange sights that Duncan had taken in. When Methos had agreed to tour Scotland, he'd agreed to do so only if Duncan allowed Methos to take him to a few places that he'd wanted to see—and that they got to go to Egypt next year. Duncan had accepted, perfectly happy to get Methos to agree to go somewhere rainy. Of course, had he known that Methos was going to take him to this odd little town that seemed like it belonged in the 1800s as opposed to the late twentieth century, he might have reconsidered his easy acceptance.

"Do you think next time you could help me carry bags? Considering that most of this stuff is yours, Methos." Duncan indicated the large stack of books rather wearily. "Those things are heavier than they look!"

Methos promptly ignored him, choosing instead to order a glass of beer for himself and a shot of Firewhiskey for Duncan. When the barmaid had taken his order, he turned to Duncan. "You know you carry stuff because you love me. And besides," he nodded as the woman immediately returned with their order, "that is the best tasting whiskey you will ever drink."

Duncan did his best too look doubtful, but picked up the shot glass and quickly downed the liquid, eyes wide at the burning sensation in his chest.

"Whoa. That is good."

Methos smirked, "What did I tell you? The perfect thing to warm you up on a chilly Scottish day."

Duncan was about to launch into a story of how they warmed up on chilly Scottish days when he was kid, when the sense that one of their kind was near proved to be enough of a distraction that he dropped the story entirely, in favor of glancing behind them.

By the door stood two men: rather, one full grown, the other on the cusp of adulthood. The adult with longish dark hair looked agitated, the boy just looked bewildered.

"The boy?" Methos queried his partner.

Duncan nodded slightly. "Do you think he knows?"

Methos pursed his lips. "By that look on his face, I would guess not. Either that, or he's not used to it…I would imagine the two of us would make quite an impression one that seemingly young."

The boy leaned over to his guardian, and pointed in the general direction of the two men. The older person looked at them speculatively, especially Methos. There was something in that look that Methos didn't like; it was almost a look of recognition. With a quick order to his charge, he headed over to the table, then to both Methos and Duncan's surprise, bowed.

"Forgive my interrupting, Lord Slytherin…but my student seemed to get yet another headache and he is rather insistent that it is somehow your fault."

"Slytherin?" Duncan asked, eyeing wearily both this gentlemen and Methos. He had a feeling it was getting time to learn another disturbing truth about Methos' past.

Methos had looked shocked, but only briefly, his game face back on within milliseconds. "I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about."

Snape's lips curled up, and in crisp Latin muttered the phrase, "There is no black nor white. Neither good nor evil. There is only gray."

Methos looked up warily at that. "And that proves that I am this person how?"

"The phrase has been bastardized as it has been passed down…the modern form bears no resemblance. Not to mention, my Lord, your portrait hangs in my office."

"Professor Snape?" The boy had moved up behind his professor. "Why does he look familiar?"

"He should. Considering how much detention you've served this year, I would be more worried if he didn't."

Methos sighed. "If we are going to talk about me, can we at least do it in private?"

"Methos!" There went Duncan, getting all irritated because he always seemed to be the last person to know about Methos' past identities.

"MacLeod, you'll find out soon enough, I'm sure. Unless we want a crowd to gather around us, I do suggest we get out of here."

"Why don't you return to Hogwarts with us, my lord? The term is out, and not many students stayed with us. You would be undisturbed."

"That sounds like it would work…what is your name, boy?"

"Harry Potter, sir."

Only millennia of practice allowed Methos to hide his surprise at learning that the one of the newest Immortals was a legend in his own right. "We have some things to discuss. Perhaps while I'm talking to…I'm sorry, what was your first name?"

"Severus, sir."

"Perhaps while I'm talking to Severus, my partner can tell you some of what you need to know."

"Methos! What is going on?"

Methos turned away from Harry and hissed, "Listen to me Duncan, you have no idea what’s really going on here. For both our sakes, I want you to listen to me. We are going to go back to a nearby boarding school. While I talk with this man, you will talk to Harry about being an Immortal. Just the facts. Do not preach to him. Do not scare him. If what I've heard about the boy is true, then the last thing he needs is to be even more overwhelmed. We'll be safe there; the school was built on holy ground."

The cold determination in Methos' eyes was enough to send a shiver down Duncan's spine and to make him obey. Whatever this secret was, it was obvious to MacLeod that it couldn't be let out into the open. If it was anywhere on the magnitude of Methos' past as a Horsemen, Duncan could understand why Methos didn’t want anyone to know who he was. He shut his mouth and nodded curtly. Methos' secrets tended to be dangerous ones, and for strangers to be more knowledgeable of his friend then he himself was made Duncan upset, especially because he couldn't do anything about it.

Snape looked amused as the dark haired man had been put in his place. Harry just looked fascinated by the whole thing.

"We rode in on horses. We can meet you there."

Snape bowed slightly. "If you wish. I'll be sure to inform our groundskeeper to make sure he has proper accommodation for your animals."

Methos nodded slightly. "Which road do we take? It's been a while, I'm afraid."

"If you go to the north side of town, you'll find a path. Take that and it'll lead you to the school. It’s about ten minutes walking distance, so on horses you should be there in significantly less time."

Methos nodded. "We'll get going then. It'll take us a few minutes to attach our purchases to the horses."

"Don't worry about it, my lord. I can have them owled to the school. The local owl post has some eagle owls that are used to carrying heavier loads, especially if the goods are magically lightened first."

"That works too. And look, Duncan, you don't even have to carry them."

Duncan shot Methos a murderous glare, and Harry snickered. He liked this person, if only Harry could remember who he was. The one thing that was obvious to Harry was that this person must be powerful; Snape never gave such respect easily, let alone reverence if the wizard was ordinary.

Methos stood, and set a few Sickles on the table. "We'll see you in a few."

As soon as they'd left the room, Snape turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, grab Slytherin's things. As soon as we get these delivered to the Owlery, we can Apparate back." Harry had only gotten permission to Apparate recently because Voldemort's threat had grown so much that it seemed foolish for Harry to not be allowed to simply because he was too young.

"Yes, sir." Harry stood still as he realized what had been said to him. His mind tried to wrap around the fact that this Muggle-looking wizard was Salazar Slytherin, the man whom people had thought Harry was his heir. Had it not been for Snape's churlish order to stop gawking at the rapidly disappearing figures of Slytherin and his companion, Harry might have stared for the rest of the day. Harry turned around, gathered his thoughts and his things and prepared to leave.

Several minutes later they found themselves at the base of Hogwarts, just at the edge of the anti-Apparition wards. Even with the extra walk up to the school, they still beat their visitors by several minutes.

* * *
As Snape had promised, Hagrid met the visitors in the courtyard, ready to rub down the horses and water them, but he was hardly the only person there. Snape and Harry were there, as were two other elderly wizards. Methos was sure that others lurked about the courtyard, either not willing or too afraid to show their face.

"Lord Slytherin," Snape began as Methos dismounted, "allow me to introduce Professors Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts."

"A pleasure," Methos said distractedly. "Could you do me a favor and not call me Slytherin? It's been almost a thousand years since I went by that name. Call me Adam Pierson."

Snape gave him a quizzical look, wondering about the name change, and looked decidedly uncomfortable by that request. "I shall try, my lo…Adam."

He nodded slightly. "Thank you. This is my partner, Duncan MacLeod." Methos' eyes took a quick sweep of the castle.

"Is it my imagination, or has the place gotten bigger since I taught here?"

"Your eyes don't deceive you. Wings have been added on several times in the past few centuries. If you would like, I'm sure Mr. Potter would be delighted to give you a tour of the grounds, as he is quite familiar with them." Dumbledore replied politely.

Methos nodded. "That would be appreciated—so long as Mr. Potter is willing to give the tour. I would hate to impose."

Dumbledore gave him a steady look, implying that Harry had best say yes.

Harry sighed. "It wouldn't be a problem, really, sir. I'm far enough ahead that my paper can wait a few more hours." Harry's mind churned. Did Dumbledore really expect him to jump for joy at the thought of giving the man that had directly and indirectly caused so many of the problems in his life a tour of the castle?

"Shall we go inside then? It's not exactly all that inviting out here." Indeed, flakes of snow had begun to fall. There were various nods of assent, although it was clear that Dumbledore had many questions he wanted to ask Adam, and if Slytherin—if that is who it really was—decided that Dumbledore would have to wait to ask him, he would wait.

Dinner was taken in the staff room for the six of them; Dumbledore left the other children under the charge of Professors Vector and Flitwick. Duncan had kept pestering Methos about what was going on, but he kept getting rebuffed with promises that he'd explain it "later." Finally giving up, he chose to spend the time before the meal contemplating some of the portraits that were gossiping as he passed.

The meal was delicious and both Duncan and Methos had engaged in idle chitchat. After dessert, Methos was finally ready. He leaned back in his chair, a glass of wine in hand. He swirled it in his hand, taking a deep sip of it. "I am an Immortal. As is Duncan," he nodded at his partner, and looked briefly at Harry, "and is young Mr. Potter."

Duncan's eyes went wide with surprise that Methos said it straight out, but Harry and everyone else simply looked confused.

"A what?" Harry asked.

"Simply put, Harry, it means you've died."

"That's impossible. I mean, I haven't! I think I would have known if I’d died!"

"Well, have you been in anything resembling a coma recently?"

Harry bit his lip and slowly nodding, remembering being told that he'd been knocked cold for several hours the last time he'd met up with Voldemort, after a still unknown Dark Curse had been flung at him. Ron had later told him that they'd thought him dead until he'd opened his eyes again. Harry looked frantically at the headmaster for an answer, one that he didn't have.

Methos set his goblet down. "Immortals are a special kind of humans, much like vampires or giants or even veela. We are always adopted—no one knows where exactly we come from, and no one knows if you have the potential to become an Immortal except for another Immortal."

"But, I know who my parents were! Everyone does: James and Lily. They have pictures with me! And everyone says that I look just like my father! How could I look like him if I wasn't his son?" Harry wanted to hear the answer, but didn't. A part of him knew that it didn't matter—his mother had sacrificed herself to save him, but if he were adopted, it would cast the faintest shadow on his idolized parents.

Methos shrugged, "I wouldn’t know how you came to your parents, except that it is impossible for you to have been born to them. Our very nature prevents it. As for why you look like James, I'm not so sure. When they adopted you, they could have bound you to them by blood. There are certain charms that when done on a newborn imprint the characteristics of the bloodline onto the child, one of the results being a similarity in appearance." Methos frowned. "If he did though, that's rather surprising. That kind of magic is powerful stuff, not commonly known, let alone used. Back in my day it was used by pureblood families when someone had a bastard child and needed the child to look like proper parent." Methos didn't bother to waste more time pondering what he considered to be something of little consequence, and pressed forward. "When you die, there is no guarantee that you will come back, unless your death is violent. The first time you are reborn can take any amount of time from minutes to hours, depending on the person.

"Immortals are inherently magical—that is why Duncan, who is otherwise a Muggle, can see Hogsmeade and Hogwarts—but they aren't necessarily wizards. Most Immortals will never be as powerful as a Squib. If, however, you live long enough, and take enough heads it's possible that you will eventually be able to manipulate magic. Of course, there are people like me: born both Wizard and Immortal."

"Er…take enough heads?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"There is only one way for an Immortal to die—and that is through decapitation. When one of us is killed, the inherent energy stored within us is transferred to the victor, along with all their memories and power they've acquired, in an event called the Quickening. Rather like getting hit by blue lightening, except you don't get burned. Oh yes, and if you get injured you'll heal rather rapidly." To demonstrate the point, he picked up his knife, and casually sliced his hand. By the time a few drops had fallen to the table, the wound was no more, silencing the table.

Dumbledore finally broke the silence. "How is it that we've never heard of your kind before?"

Methos leaned forward. "For one thing, most Immortals have no knowledge of Wizards at all. Secondly, the ones that do are smart enough to not say anything. After all, who is to stop an ambitious wizard from trying to cultivate our power for himself? I've never heard of a wizard stealing a Quickening, but that wouldn't stop some from trying…
It's all about self-preservation. Live to fight another day. That's something I've tried to instill into my Slytherins. How successful I was remains to be seen."

"So you do claim to be Salazar Slytherin, then?" Dumbledore asked.

Methos raised his eyebrow, sounding insulted by the question. "Why would I go to the trouble of pretending to be someone thought to be 900 years dead if I weren't who I said I was? Talking portraits don't lie." He amended, "Well, at least not about the identity of a person."

Dryly, Duncan added, "Adam doesn't do any more then he absolutely to."

Methos turned to Duncan. "I resent that remark, thank you. I've lived long enough to have the right to not do much of anything."

Snape cleared his throat. "And how long has that been, my lord?"

"Severus. Don't call me that. And let's just say that I've been around longer then Ollivander's has."

The four wizards looked sufficiently impressed; even with the sorcerer's stone to aid him, Nicholas Flammel had only lived a few centuries

"So you would be willing to prove the veracity of your claim by taking Veritaserum, then?" Dumbledore asked.

Methos rolled his eyes. "Look, I already told you. I wouldn't pretend to be someone I'm not. As surely as Duncan is an overly noble Boy Scout, I'm Salazar Slytherin, and I refuse to take a truth serum. It's not safe, for you, but mostly for me. If you're really that obsessive about the whole thing, then have a House Elf go and retrieve the portrait from Severus' office and we'll see this thing once and for all."

Dumbledore looked at McGonagall who was listening to something Snape was whispering. She turned to the Headmaster. "I have to agree with Severus, Albus. We don't want to push this matter if we don't have to. Let Dobby get the painting, and then drop it."

Dumbledore seemed reluctant, but he clapped his hands to summon Dobby. Given his orders, the squat house elf returned moments later, the precious cargo in his hand.

Methos in the portrait immediately greeted his living form. "Hey! It's been a while since I've seen you. Come for a visit?"

"Something like that." He turned to Dumbledore. "Are you convinced yet? And hey, look at my nose. You really can't miss that."

McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged a glance and Snape looked rather gratified about the whole affair.

Harry wasn't really paying much attention, still trying to digest everything Methos had said, pushing a bit of left over spaghetti here and there, twirling it with his fork until the entire plate was an even shade of red-orange. Duncan was looking at him with concern. He turned to Methos. "Is Harry safe here?"

Immediate replies came from both Dumbledore and McGonagall about how this was the safest place for Harry to be.

"It's holy ground, remember Duncan? I made sure of it when we first built the castle."

"Oh, yeah," Duncan acknowledged, remember that Methos had told him that not that long ago while still in Hogsmeade. He chided himself for not remembering, but then relaxed given how much more information he'd had to process in the past few hours.

Methos looked quite pleased with himself. "Do you really think I would have set up a permanent home if it wasn't going to be safe?"

"Holy ground?" Harry queried. "What's that? I mean I know what it is, but what is it for?"

"It's exactly what the name implies. Sanctuary," Duncan offered. "There can be no duels on holy ground. It is the one rule of combat amongst us that isn't broken. We all recognize the need to have a place to withdraw from the Game."

"The Game?"

"The rules that Immortals play by. In theory, at the Gathering there will be the final battles. The last Immortal alive will win the Prize, something so powerful that it would enable them to rule the world. Whether there can ever be one last Immortal remains to be seen." Methos supplied. He's expression softened to something nearer a smile. "Don't worry yourself with the details of the Game right now. You've enough to process for one evening."

McGonagall agreed. "Why don't you retire for the evening, Mr. Potter? I'm sure your housemates will wonder where you've been this evening."

Harry nodded slowly, and started to walk out of the room, still visibly troubled by the revelations of the evening. "Good night, then."

"Mr. Potter, before you go…" Methos waited until Harry faced him once again. "We all have secrets that need to be kept. Do not tell anyone that I am Slytherin."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Harry left, and Dumbledore dismissed Dobby to return the portrait to Snape's office, satisfied at least for the moment, that Methos was who he claimed to be.

"Well, Mr. Pierson…there is still much that I would discuss with you, but I do think that young Harry isn't the only one who has something to think about." Dumbledore bowed slightly. "I'll see you in the morning, at your convenience." He left, followed by McGonagall moments after she made her excuses.

"My Lord…I mean, Methos…Adam, Mr. MacLeod, would you care to retire to my room for some wine? I know you are wondering where I know you from, and I'm sure your friend has as many questions about the Wizarding world as we have questions about you."

Methos looked at Duncan, who nodded. "That would be nice, thank you."

"Follow me, then."

Snape led the two men down the labyrinthine corridors that lead to the Slytherin dungeons. Methos relaxed as he remembered the old passages. They passed a few of the Slytherins who had stayed over the holidays. If they thought it odd that their teacher walked with strangers in Muggle clothing, they decided to wait to express those opinions until well after Snape could no longer hear them.

* * *

Methos looked over Snape's quarters with some satisfaction, these had been his quarters nearly millennia ago, and it was nice to see that they were not only still in use, but well maintained. As Duncan settled himself and Snape saw to the wine, Methos walked over to the southern wall, which was conspicuously bare of any decoration.

"I would be careful over there. That wall has always seemed rather temperamental when it comes to decoration,” Snape said.

Methos smirked. "Of course it would." He quickly touched a series of seemingly random stones, ultimately revealing a door. "This used to be a pathway down to the Chamber of Secrets. When my basilisk was small he would come up this way on occasion. So many rats died right around here that the wall seemed to get a little skittish."

"That's…that's the entrance? What about the faucet in the bathroom?" Snape asked, dumbfounded. So many years spent searching for the entrance and it was under the noses of the Heads of Slytherin House the entire time? It was almost inconceivable.

"Oh that? That's just the long way around. It was put in once the basilisk needed bigger meals then a few rats. The Parseltongue was just to ensure that it kept those that didn't belong out."

Duncan had a feeling he'd be lost most of the rest of the night and Snape didn't look much better. "You do know what your basilisk was doing, don't you?" Snape asked, sounding curious.

Methos sighed. "I'd heard about that. I was rather disappointed. I never meant him to kill Muggle-borns. I found them to be annoying, yes, but worthy of death? Not at all. I suppose after such a long time away from his master, he'd be happy to see anyone. I mean, he's a giant snake, of course he'll do what he's told."

"Mudblood? Methos, would you please tell me all this jargon that you're spouting?"

Methos hissed softly and the Chamber entrance shut itself. At Snape's questioning look, he replied, "It's quicker…we can talk more about that later. I'm sure that Harry has some questions about it."

Snape found himself nodding. "Dumbledore as well.” Snape paused. "Might I ask, what would you really rather have me call you, my lord? Methos or Adam?"

Methos made no comment on that. Instead, he set up his feet on the small table in front of the couch. "To answer your question, first, Severus, if no one else aside from Duncan or Harry is around, calling me Methos is fine. I prefer to use ‘Adam Pierson’ in public because it's safer that way. Much as Slytherin is a legend of sorts, Methos is even more of one. It would be bad enough if people discovered that I am Slytherin. If word got out that Methos was here…you'd have some rather dangerous Immortals come out of the woodwork, all seeking to take my head, both Muggle and magical." That settled, he lazily looked over at Snape, who'd settled into a black leather armchair. “Perhaps Severus can be so kind as to explain what you need to know about the Wizarding world."

Snape assumed that if Methos ever found good cause to tell him why "Methos" was such a legend, that he would do so when he was ready and didn't press the issue. "As you wish, Methos." He nodded his head slightly, looking at Duncan, before continuing. "A Mudblood is a person with so called 'dirty blood,' a person who's born of two non-magical parents. Muggle-born is the more polite term. A 'halfblood' is someone born of one magical, one Muggle parent. A 'Squib' is a non-magical person born to any family where both parents are magical, and a pureblood is someone who descends from a long line of full wizards on both sides with no Muggle blood in the heritage. Or at least, none that anyone can prove of. 'Muggles' are non-magical people. Harry Potter would be considered halfblooded because although his adoptive mother was a witch, she herself was Muggle-born. Slytherin House by tradition contains a greater percentage of purebloods then the other houses, although it is not intentional. If you are still here when the session resumes, you'll meet many heirs to several powerful Wizarding families. Just realize that lineage doesn't affect power—some are quite powerful in their own right—no matter that many purebloods would have you believe otherwise."

Methos nodded. "Parseltongue is the ability to speak to snakes and to have them understand you. I was rather known for that ability. It's rather rare, at least today. When I was first learning magic I knew quite a few who could do that."

"So rare, in fact, when does come across it, people are likely to brand you an Heir of Slytherin." Snape added sourly.

"Which is impossible, Immortals can’t have any children,” Duncan replied.

"Ah, but we're talking magical inheritance, something completely different. I'm still not sure how it works, to be honest." Methos leaned forward a little, looking towards Duncan.

"If it's any comfort, we're not any more sure of it today. All we know is that this generation there have been two Heirs presumptive."

"Are there now?" Methos looked unconcerned.

"Yes. One has set your basilisk loose on Muggle-borns twice, once when he was a student here, and again fifty years later. The other killed your basilisk after the most recent string of attacks."

"Voldemort and Harry Potter then?"

Snape nodded slightly.

"One who would rather die than be associated with me, and the other who would rather die than not be associated with me. Ironic, isn't it?" Methos started to mull something over after this statement, so Duncan decided to seize his chance.

"Who is this Voldemort person everyone keeps mentioning?" Duncan turned to Snape "And earlier, you said something to Methos that he recognized, proving that you knew him. What was that you were talking about?"

"Why don't you answer this one, Severus, you might be able to explain him better then I could."

Snape smiled wryly. "Perhaps you're right, Methos." He took a sip of his wine and began, "Voldemort—more commonly named 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'—is a Dark Lord…a master of the Darkest magics that the Wizarding world knows. " Snape paused, trying to find a simple explanation for a man that needed no explanation to Wizards. "He is a man that wants to take over the world. He believes that purity of the blood is more important than anything else, even though he himself is only a halfblood. Because of his extraordinary power, and the gift of Parseltongue, Voldemort is recognized as Slytherin's Heir. People are afraid of him, Mr. MacLeod, and rightfully so. The man is powerful, and his sanity questionable. He also seems to be impossible to kill, and not for a lack of trying. He found the most remarkable methods to bring himself back, but the price for such Dark Arts means he barely looks human anymore. We can only hope that he is brought down for good sooner, rather then later. Hopefully, with a little luck, some skill, and Mr. Potter, we will get him before too many more die."

Snape leaned back in his own chair, idly rubbing the Dark Mark that lay hidden beneath his robes. He still wasn't enamored of the thought of sending Harry to fight Voldemort, since the boy was not even half-trained, but between being outvoted, and desperately seeking a way to be free of the Mark forever, he kept his opinion to himself and did what he could to make sure Harry lived long enough to finally kill Voldemort.

"Severus?" Methos gently prodded.

Snape hadn't realized that he was drifting off in thought. Perhaps the wine was hitting him faster then normal this night. "Right. Forgive my inattention. You were wondering how Methos—how Slytherin recognized that I knew who he was, yes?"

Duncan nodded.

"You see Duncan, each House has its own motto…its own guiding principles. Your friend Slytherin...Methos, favored the traits of slyness, cunning and ambition. Since that day, all those who have taken over as the Head of Slytherin House try to instill those attributes in their students. Tell me, sir, do you remember the day a student mysteriously appeared in your Dark Arts class?"

Methos took a longer look at Snape, some measure of recollection in his eyes, but not enough to fully recall Snape's involvement in his past.

"It was about two weeks into my first year as a student at Hogwarts. In addition to my rather extensive collection of curses, I had already begun to experiment with new potions.
On this day, I had been in charms and had the great misfortune of being paired with our year's near-Squib. We'd been practicing some kind of simple charm—a jelly legs hex, I think? I can't quite recall, because his miscast spell reacted with a new potion whose effects I was still testing out…the next thing I knew I was laying on the stone floor, only almost one thousand years prior….

* * *
Approximately 993 CE, Hogwarts

A boot nudged his side, and Severus moaned. He was going to kill that Ravenclaw freak. Well, after he went and saw the Head of Slytherin House to get permission.

"Boy.” The boot nudged him again. "Are you with us?"

Severus grabbed his head, struggling with not only the aftereffects of the spell, but with his rusty Latin. Latin? He wondered what that was about, but managed to reply, "Yes, Professor Flitwick."

"Flitwick? Who is that?" The man motioned to two other students who helped Severus sit up straight. The man noticed the semi-familiar crest on his robes. "You are a student at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, sir." Severus looked at the teacher. The man was intimidating and radiated power.

"What is your name?"

"Severus Snape, sir."

"And what is the date?"

"September 7, 1972, sir."

The teacher gave Severus a funny look. "I see. I think we need to talk. Everyone else, I want you to practice what we've done in class today. I will be testing you tomorrow."

Severus' eyes warily followed the teacher as he was quietly studied.

"Do you know who I am, boy?"

Severus tilted his head, the portrait coming into sharp focus in his head. "You are Salazar Slytherin, one of the four Founders." Snape's eyes widened as he realized what had happened. "Merlin, I must have come back in time almost a thousand years."

Slytherin looked intrigued. "What happened? What brought you here?" Slytherin leaned back on his desk. The posture was more casual then Severus would have expected, yet it did nothing to diminish the sense of power that Slytherin gave off.

Severus struggled for the words. His father had gotten him a Latin tutor when he was seven, but conversational Latin hadn’t been focused upon. "It was a Charms accident. A Squib's spell…" he scrambled for the right word, "mixed with a potion I had been working on."

"Your Latin needs work. Can you read it?"

He nodded. "Yes, sir. Better then I can speak it."

"Well, then, I’m sure it'll improve while you stay with us as we try to figure out how to get you back to your own time. You will be taking lessons and doing a portion of the chores while you stay. I refuse to let anyone stay in the castle without working for it."

Severus had to stop himself from repeating "Chores?" aloud like an idiot. He knew what they were; having to do them was another thing entirely. Apparently though, his expression spoke loud enough.

"Yes, chores. So many of the purebloods are so spoiled that it's a good way of teaching humility. You will survive. Just like they do. Tell me, Severus, what House were you in?"

"Slytherin, sir."

"Well enough. I'll keep you there unless you show that you don't belong. Do try your best to behave. There are no older students to keep you in line, as I'm sure there were in your time."

"Sir?"

"This is the first season the school's been open, of course. We've been in session about for a little over a moon now. You'll need to get notes from one of your classmates. You can conjure parchment and quills?" Seeing Severus' nod he continued, "You will attend classes and chores with your classmates during the day, and after supper you will join me in here while we figure out what happened earlier today so we can send you back as soon as possible. Although Latin is in the curriculum; if you find yourself having undue difficulties let me know and I'll do my best to assist you with it."

"I'll find you a spare set of robes to wear and you may keep the crest that is on your robe. It may not be from now, but you'd have to be an idiot to not figure out whose house it represented. After you leave here, I'll have someone show you to your dorms before the next lessons.

"While you are here it is imperative that you do not talk about what the future is like, no matter how hard someone begs of it. Though nothing may happen, there is an equally likely chance that you'll influence the future, and naturally we wish to avoid that if possible. Understand?"

The speed of Slytherin's language and how quickly his situation had been dealt meant there were a few seconds before everything had sunk in and Severus was able to nod his head in agreement.

"Come along."

Severus quickly followed Slytherin, out of the room. The other man immediately latched onto a kid who was quickly moving in the opposite direction.

"Ah, Julian Tiber. Since you've been foolish enough to let me catch you at eavesdropping, you will first show your housemate to his room, and the schedule of classes and chores. After dinner you will report to Mistress Cassia and attend to the dishes without magic. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir."

It wasn't until Slytherin was out of sight that Julian made a face. "I still can't believe he makes us do chores like Mudbloods. That's why we have house elves! Oh, and I'm Julian. Nice to meet you."

"Severus. Is Professor Slytherin that bad?"

Julian shook his head. "No, actually, he's pretty good. He's just strict. He thinks we're quote 'a bunch of spoiled purebloods who wouldn't know a hard day's work if it bit us on the ass.' Or at least that's what I overheard him telling Professor Gryffindor." He frowned. "Of course, given the fact that he seems to know when I'm eavesdropping, maybe he said that for me to hear. He's good like that. Not much escapes his notice. School hasn’t even been in for much more then a moon and some people have been serving detention almost all that time!"

"I'll have to be careful then."

The other boy nodded. "Might not be a bad idea. Slytherin doesn't mind it so much if you bend the rules, he just doesn't want you to get caught."

Severus could appreciate that. Lucius had told him that much about their own Head of House.

They stopped in front of the portrait that covered the entrance to the dungeon. It wasn't anyone that Severus recognized.

"Parseltongue." The portrait bowed and swung out revealing a Common Room that hadn't really changed much in the past thousand years; Severus figured that they must have had preservation spells on the room. Only the portraits seemed to change.

"This way. Although we're the only class here this year, Slytherin won't let us have our own rooms. Some have tried sneaking off, but he's already caught on to it." He led Severus to the same room he had been staying in before the accident. The only difference was that there was one less bed. Rather nice, actually. Sitting on the chair near his bed was an extra robe and a current Slytherin scarf.

Julian pointed to a piece of parchment on the wall. "That's our schedule, both for classes and chores. It's self-updating so just look at it every morning and it'll tell you where you need to go. I'll have one of the others show you around after Transfiguration."

"I suppose that could come in handy. I have enough trouble getting around Hogwarts in my own time."

Julian smiled. "And just tell me if I’m talking too fast. I know that Latin isn't your native tongue."

"Yet I wouldn't recognize your form of English either if you tried it."

"You should try teaching me yours. I bet we could use it to outwit Slytherin, make some kind of plan to sneak out or something."

Severus' eyes lit up. A challenge. "Done. Shouldn't we get going?" He eyed a clock in the corner that said "Almost late."

Julian yelped. "You're right. C'mon. If we hurry we'll make it..."

* * *

Hogsmeade was for once blissfully quiet after the last minute rush by students to pick up trinkets for their friends. It was the only reason Snape had finally "volunteered" to take Harry Potter out to the village to renew his supplies. Or, to be fair, the only reason he hadn't protested as vigorously as he might of. Of course, he recognized that Potter should be allowed to go—it wasn't the boys fault that his relatives had decided that winter holidays were the perfect time to take a cruise to the Bahamas, or that Death Eater activity had meant it a little too risky in Dumbledore's eyes to let the boy go without the supervision of a fully trained wizard. Snape just didn't see why he had to be the one to do it, when Minerva was perfectly capable of the task herself. Dumbledore naturally hadn't agreed, and so here they were.

"What is it that you so desperately need, Mr. Potter?" he asked in the sarcastic tones reserved especially for him and his dull-witted classmates.

Harry looked at his list, "I need some more parchment since Binns insists on having us write meter-long essays every other week, a new quill since Hedwig snatched my secondary one, refill some supplies for your class as Neville's accidents seemed to have consumed a rather alarming portion of both of our stocks, and some polish for my Firebolt."

Snape scowled. "Next time I ask you that question, just give me the list as I don’t care a wit about why you need any of it."

"Very well sir, do you particularly care as to how we go about it?" He had a feeling that Snape wouldn't take well to his normal meandering path through the village.

"Quidditch, the apothecary, and the stationary store. That will allow us to make a neat loop of the village, and end with us at the Three Broomsticks. Merlin knows I'll need something to drink by afternoons end."

Harry made a face. "Really, professor, I'm not that bad of company."

"You may not be, but Merlin knows that I will take an opportunity to have a drink when a situation allows for it."

"Yes sir. Shall we begin then?"

Snape nodded briskly. "I wish to be back to the castle within an hour's time. This is normally my day off, and I'd prefer not to waste it anymore than strictly necessary.

Harry sighed, "Yes, sir," and with Snape following behind, headed off to get his polish.

* * *

Methos examined the busy street, his eyes finally coming upon a sign that read "The Three Broomsticks." Not bothering to check if Duncan was still following him, he headed in, and grabbed a bench closest to the fire. Duncan straggled in a few seconds later, his arms laden down with packages.

Well, the packages weren't the burden so much as the many strange sights that Duncan had taken in. When Methos had agreed to tour Scotland, he'd agreed to do so only if Duncan allowed Methos to take him to a few places that he'd wanted to see—and that they got to go to Egypt next year. Duncan had accepted, perfectly happy to get Methos to agree to go somewhere rainy. Of course, had he known that Methos was going to take him to this odd little town that seemed like it belonged in the 1800s as opposed to the late twentieth century, he might have reconsidered his easy acceptance.

"Do you think next time you could help me carry bags? Considering that most of this stuff is yours, Methos." Duncan indicated the large stack of books rather wearily. "Those things are heavier than they look!"

Methos promptly ignored him, choosing instead to order a glass of beer for himself and a shot of Firewhiskey for Duncan. When the barmaid had taken his order, he turned to Duncan. "You know you carry stuff because you love me. And besides," he nodded as the woman immediately returned with their order, "that is the best tasting whiskey you will ever drink."

Duncan did his best too look doubtful, but picked up the shot glass and quickly downed the liquid, eyes wide at the burning sensation in his chest.

"Whoa. That is good."

Methos smirked, "What did I tell you? The perfect thing to warm you up on a chilly Scottish day."

Duncan was about to launch into a story of how they warmed up on chilly Scottish days when he was kid, when the sense that one of their kind was near proved to be enough of a distraction that he dropped the story entirely, in favor of glancing behind them.

By the door stood two men: rather, one full grown, the other on the cusp of adulthood. The adult with longish dark hair looked agitated, the boy just looked bewildered.

"The boy?" Methos queried his partner.

Duncan nodded slightly. "Do you think he knows?"

Methos pursed his lips. "By that look on his face, I would guess not. Either that, or he's not used to it…I would imagine the two of us would make quite an impression one that seemingly young."

The boy leaned over to his guardian, and pointed in the general direction of the two men. The older person looked at them speculatively, especially Methos. There was something in that look that Methos didn't like; it was almost a look of recognition. With a quick order to his charge, he headed over to the table, then to both Methos and Duncan's surprise, bowed.

"Forgive my interrupting, Lord Slytherin…but my student seemed to get yet another headache and he is rather insistent that it is somehow your fault."

"Slytherin?" Duncan asked, eyeing wearily both this gentlemen and Methos. He had a feeling it was getting time to learn another disturbing truth about Methos' past.

Methos had looked shocked, but only briefly, his game face back on within milliseconds. "I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about."

Snape's lips curled up, and in crisp Latin muttered the phrase, "There is no black nor white. Neither good nor evil. There is only gray."

Methos looked up warily at that. "And that proves that I am this person how?"

"The phrase has been bastardized as it has been passed down…the modern form bears no resemblance. Not to mention, my Lord, your portrait hangs in my office."

"Professor Snape?" The boy had moved up behind his professor. "Why does he look familiar?"

"He should. Considering how much detention you've served this year, I would be more worried if he didn't."

Methos sighed. "If we are going to talk about me, can we at least do it in private?"

"Methos!" There went Duncan, getting all irritated because he always seemed to be the last person to know about Methos' past identities.

"MacLeod, you'll find out soon enough, I'm sure. Unless we want a crowd to gather around us, I do suggest we get out of here."

"Why don't you return to Hogwarts with us, my lord? The term is out, and not many students stayed with us. You would be undisturbed."

"That sounds like it would work…what is your name, boy?"

"Harry Potter, sir."

Only millennia of practice allowed Methos to hide his surprise at learning that the one of the newest Immortals was a legend in his own right. "We have some things to discuss. Perhaps while I'm talking to…I'm sorry, what was your first name?"

"Severus, sir."

"Perhaps while I'm talking to Severus, my partner can tell you some of what you need to know."

"Methos! What is going on?"

Methos turned away from Harry and hissed, "Listen to me Duncan, you have no idea what’s really going on here. For both our sakes, I want you to listen to me. We are going to go back to a nearby boarding school. While I talk with this man, you will talk to Harry about being an Immortal. Just the facts. Do not preach to him. Do not scare him. If what I've heard about the boy is true, then the last thing he needs is to be even more overwhelmed. We'll be safe there; the school was built on holy ground."

The cold determination in Methos' eyes was enough to send a shiver down Duncan's spine and to make him obey. Whatever this secret was, it was obvious to MacLeod that it couldn't be let out into the open. If it was anywhere on the magnitude of Methos' past as a Horsemen, Duncan could understand why Methos didn’t want anyone to know who he was. He shut his mouth and nodded curtly. Methos' secrets tended to be dangerous ones, and for strangers to be more knowledgeable of his friend then he himself was made Duncan upset, especially because he couldn't do anything about it.

Snape looked amused as the dark haired man had been put in his place. Harry just looked fascinated by the whole thing.

"We rode in on horses. We can meet you there."

Snape bowed slightly. "If you wish. I'll be sure to inform our groundskeeper to make sure he has proper accommodation for your animals."

Methos nodded slightly. "Which road do we take? It's been a while, I'm afraid."

"If you go to the north side of town, you'll find a path. Take that and it'll lead you to the school. It’s about ten minutes walking distance, so on horses you should be there in significantly less time."

Methos nodded. "We'll get going then. It'll take us a few minutes to attach our purchases to the horses."

"Don't worry about it, my lord. I can have them owled to the school. The local owl post has some eagle owls that are used to carrying heavier loads, especially if the goods are magically lightened first."

"That works too. And look, Duncan, you don't even have to carry them."

Duncan shot Methos a murderous glare, and Harry snickered. He liked this person, if only Harry could remember who he was. The one thing that was obvious to Harry was that this person must be powerful; Snape never gave such respect easily, let alone reverence if the wizard was ordinary.

Methos stood, and set a few Sickles on the table. "We'll see you in a few."

As soon as they'd left the room, Snape turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, grab Slytherin's things. As soon as we get these delivered to the Owlery, we can Apparate back." Harry had only gotten permission to Apparate recently because Voldemort's threat had grown so much that it seemed foolish for Harry to not be allowed to simply because he was too young.

"Yes, sir." Harry stood still as he realized what had been said to him. His mind tried to wrap around the fact that this Muggle-looking wizard was Salazar Slytherin, the man whom people had thought Harry was his heir. Had it not been for Snape's churlish order to stop gawking at the rapidly disappearing figures of Slytherin and his companion, Harry might have stared for the rest of the day. Harry turned around, gathered his thoughts and his things and prepared to leave.

Several minutes later they found themselves at the base of Hogwarts, just at the edge of the anti-Apparition wards. Even with the extra walk up to the school, they still beat their visitors by several minutes.

* * *
As Snape had promised, Hagrid met the visitors in the courtyard, ready to rub down the horses and water them, but he was hardly the only person there. Snape and Harry were there, as were two other elderly wizards. Methos was sure that others lurked about the courtyard, either not willing or too afraid to show their face.

"Lord Slytherin," Snape began as Methos dismounted, "allow me to introduce Professors Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts."

"A pleasure," Methos said distractedly. "Could you do me a favor and not call me Slytherin? It's been almost a thousand years since I went by that name. Call me Adam Pierson."

Snape gave him a quizzical look, wondering about the name change, and looked decidedly uncomfortable by that request. "I shall try, my lo…Adam."

He nodded slightly. "Thank you. This is my partner, Duncan MacLeod." Methos' eyes took a quick sweep of the castle.

"Is it my imagination, or has the place gotten bigger since I taught here?"

"Your eyes don't deceive you. Wings have been added on several times in the past few centuries. If you would like, I'm sure Mr. Potter would be delighted to give you a tour of the grounds, as he is quite familiar with them." Dumbledore replied politely.

Methos nodded. "That would be appreciated—so long as Mr. Potter is willing to give the tour. I would hate to impose."

Dumbledore gave him a steady look, implying that Harry had best say yes.

Harry sighed. "It wouldn't be a problem, really, sir. I'm far enough ahead that my paper can wait a few more hours." Harry's mind churned. Did Dumbledore really expect him to jump for joy at the thought of giving the man that had directly and indirectly caused so many of the problems in his life a tour of the castle?

"Shall we go inside then? It's not exactly all that inviting out here." Indeed, flakes of snow had begun to fall. There were various nods of assent, although it was clear that Dumbledore had many questions he wanted to ask Adam, and if Slytherin—if that is who it really was—decided that Dumbledore would have to wait to ask him, he would wait.

Dinner was taken in the staff room for the six of them; Dumbledore left the other children under the charge of Professors Vector and Flitwick. Duncan had kept pestering Methos about what was going on, but he kept getting rebuffed with promises that he'd explain it "later." Finally giving up, he chose to spend the time before the meal contemplating some of the portraits that were gossiping as he passed.

The meal was delicious and both Duncan and Methos had engaged in idle chitchat. After dessert, Methos was finally ready. He leaned back in his chair, a glass of wine in hand. He swirled it in his hand, taking a deep sip of it. "I am an Immortal. As is Duncan," he nodded at his partner, and looked briefly at Harry, "and is young Mr. Potter."

Duncan's eyes went wide with surprise that Methos said it straight out, but Harry and everyone else simply looked confused.

"A what?" Harry asked.

"Simply put, Harry, it means you've died."

"That's impossible. I mean, I haven't! I think I would have known if I’d died!"

"Well, have you been in anything resembling a coma recently?"

Harry bit his lip and slowly nodding, remembering being told that he'd been knocked cold for several hours the last time he'd met up with Voldemort, after a still unknown Dark Curse had been flung at him. Ron had later told him that they'd thought him dead until he'd opened his eyes again. Harry looked frantically at the headmaster for an answer, one that he didn't have.

Methos set his goblet down. "Immortals are a special kind of humans, much like vampires or giants or even veela. We are always adopted—no one knows where exactly we come from, and no one knows if you have the potential to become an Immortal except for another Immortal."

"But, I know who my parents were! Everyone does: James and Lily. They have pictures with me! And everyone says that I look just like my father! How could I look like him if I wasn't his son?" Harry wanted to hear the answer, but didn't. A part of him knew that it didn't matter—his mother had sacrificed herself to save him, but if he were adopted, it would cast the faintest shadow on his idolized parents.

Methos shrugged, "I wouldn’t know how you came to your parents, except that it is impossible for you to have been born to them. Our very nature prevents it. As for why you look like James, I'm not so sure. When they adopted you, they could have bound you to them by blood. There are certain charms that when done on a newborn imprint the characteristics of the bloodline onto the child, one of the results being a similarity in appearance." Methos frowned. "If he did though, that's rather surprising. That kind of magic is powerful stuff, not commonly known, let alone used. Back in my day it was used by pureblood families when someone had a bastard child and needed the child to look like proper parent." Methos didn't bother to waste more time pondering what he considered to be something of little consequence, and pressed forward. "When you die, there is no guarantee that you will come back, unless your death is violent. The first time you are reborn can take any amount of time from minutes to hours, depending on the person.

"Immortals are inherently magical—that is why Duncan, who is otherwise a Muggle, can see Hogsmeade and Hogwarts—but they aren't necessarily wizards. Most Immortals will never be as powerful as a Squib. If, however, you live long enough, and take enough heads it's possible that you will eventually be able to manipulate magic. Of course, there are people like me: born both Wizard and Immortal."

"Er…take enough heads?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"There is only one way for an Immortal to die—and that is through decapitation. When one of us is killed, the inherent energy stored within us is transferred to the victor, along with all their memories and power they've acquired, in an event called the Quickening. Rather like getting hit by blue lightening, except you don't get burned. Oh yes, and if you get injured you'll heal rather rapidly." To demonstrate the point, he picked up his knife, and casually sliced his hand. By the time a few drops had fallen to the table, the wound was no more, silencing the table.

Dumbledore finally broke the silence. "How is it that we've never heard of your kind before?"

Methos leaned forward. "For one thing, most Immortals have no knowledge of Wizards at all. Secondly, the ones that do are smart enough to not say anything. After all, who is to stop an ambitious wizard from trying to cultivate our power for himself? I've never heard of a wizard stealing a Quickening, but that wouldn't stop some from trying…
It's all about self-preservation. Live to fight another day. That's something I've tried to instill into my Slytherins. How successful I was remains to be seen."

"So you do claim to be Salazar Slytherin, then?" Dumbledore asked.

Methos raised his eyebrow, sounding insulted by the question. "Why would I go to the trouble of pretending to be someone thought to be 900 years dead if I weren't who I said I was? Talking portraits don't lie." He amended, "Well, at least not about the identity of a person."

Dryly, Duncan added, "Adam doesn't do any more then he absolutely to."

Methos turned to Duncan. "I resent that remark, thank you. I've lived long enough to have the right to not do much of anything."

Snape cleared his throat. "And how long has that been, my lord?"

"Severus. Don't call me that. And let's just say that I've been around longer then Ollivander's has."

The four wizards looked sufficiently impressed; even with the sorcerer's stone to aid him, Nicholas Flammel had only lived a few centuries

"So you would be willing to prove the veracity of your claim by taking Veritaserum, then?" Dumbledore asked.

Methos rolled his eyes. "Look, I already told you. I wouldn't pretend to be someone I'm not. As surely as Duncan is an overly noble Boy Scout, I'm Salazar Slytherin, and I refuse to take a truth serum. It's not safe, for you, but mostly for me. If you're really that obsessive about the whole thing, then have a House Elf go and retrieve the portrait from Severus' office and we'll see this thing once and for all."

Dumbledore looked at McGonagall who was listening to something Snape was whispering. She turned to the Headmaster. "I have to agree with Severus, Albus. We don't want to push this matter if we don't have to. Let Dobby get the painting, and then drop it."

Dumbledore seemed reluctant, but he clapped his hands to summon Dobby. Given his orders, the squat house elf returned moments later, the precious cargo in his hand.

Methos in the portrait immediately greeted his living form. "Hey! It's been a while since I've seen you. Come for a visit?"

"Something like that." He turned to Dumbledore. "Are you convinced yet? And hey, look at my nose. You really can't miss that."

McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged a glance and Snape looked rather gratified about the whole affair.

Harry wasn't really paying much attention, still trying to digest everything Methos had said, pushing a bit of left over spaghetti here and there, twirling it with his fork until the entire plate was an even shade of red-orange. Duncan was looking at him with concern. He turned to Methos. "Is Harry safe here?"

Immediate replies came from both Dumbledore and McGonagall about how this was the safest place for Harry to be.

"It's holy ground, remember Duncan? I made sure of it when we first built the castle."

"Oh, yeah," Duncan acknowledged, remember that Methos had told him that not that long ago while still in Hogsmeade. He chided himself for not remembering, but then relaxed given how much more information he'd had to process in the past few hours.

Methos looked quite pleased with himself. "Do you really think I would have set up a permanent home if it wasn't going to be safe?"

"Holy ground?" Harry queried. "What's that? I mean I know what it is, but what is it for?"

"It's exactly what the name implies. Sanctuary," Duncan offered. "There can be no duels on holy ground. It is the one rule of combat amongst us that isn't broken. We all recognize the need to have a place to withdraw from the Game."

"The Game?"

"The rules that Immortals play by. In theory, at the Gathering there will be the final battles. The last Immortal alive will win the Prize, something so powerful that it would enable them to rule the world. Whether there can ever be one last Immortal remains to be seen." Methos supplied. He's expression softened to something nearer a smile. "Don't worry yourself with the details of the Game right now. You've enough to process for one evening."

McGonagall agreed. "Why don't you retire for the evening, Mr. Potter? I'm sure your housemates will wonder where you've been this evening."

Harry nodded slowly, and started to walk out of the room, still visibly troubled by the revelations of the evening. "Good night, then."

"Mr. Potter, before you go…" Methos waited until Harry faced him once again. "We all have secrets that need to be kept. Do not tell anyone that I am Slytherin."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Harry left, and Dumbledore dismissed Dobby to return the portrait to Snape's office, satisfied at least for the moment, that Methos was who he claimed to be.

"Well, Mr. Pierson…there is still much that I would discuss with you, but I do think that young Harry isn't the only one who has something to think about." Dumbledore bowed slightly. "I'll see you in the morning, at your convenience." He left, followed by McGonagall moments after she made her excuses.

"My Lord…I mean, Methos…Adam, Mr. MacLeod, would you care to retire to my room for some wine? I know you are wondering where I know you from, and I'm sure your friend has as many questions about the Wizarding world as we have questions about you."

Methos looked at Duncan, who nodded. "That would be nice, thank you."

"Follow me, then."

Snape led the two men down the labyrinthine corridors that lead to the Slytherin dungeons. Methos relaxed as he remembered the old passages. They passed a few of the Slytherins who had stayed over the holidays. If they thought it odd that their teacher walked with strangers in Muggle clothing, they decided to wait to express those opinions until well after Snape could no longer hear them.

* * *

Methos looked over Snape's quarters with some satisfaction, these had been his quarters nearly millennia ago, and it was nice to see that they were not only still in use, but well maintained. As Duncan settled himself and Snape saw to the wine, Methos walked over to the southern wall, which was conspicuously bare of any decoration.

"I would be careful over there. That wall has always seemed rather temperamental when it comes to decoration,” Snape said.

Methos smirked. "Of course it would." He quickly touched a series of seemingly random stones, ultimately revealing a door. "This used to be a pathway down to the Chamber of Secrets. When my basilisk was small he would come up this way on occasion. So many rats died right around here that the wall seemed to get a little skittish."

"That's…that's the entrance? What about the faucet in the bathroom?" Snape asked, dumbfounded. So many years spent searching for the entrance and it was under the noses of the Heads of Slytherin House the entire time? It was almost inconceivable.

"Oh that? That's just the long way around. It was put in once the basilisk needed bigger meals then a few rats. The Parseltongue was just to ensure that it kept those that didn't belong out."

Duncan had a feeling he'd be lost most of the rest of the night and Snape didn't look much better. "You do know what your basilisk was doing, don't you?" Snape asked, sounding curious.

Methos sighed. "I'd heard about that. I was rather disappointed. I never meant him to kill Muggle-borns. I found them to be annoying, yes, but worthy of death? Not at all. I suppose after such a long time away from his master, he'd be happy to see anyone. I mean, he's a giant snake, of course he'll do what he's told."

"Mudblood? Methos, would you please tell me all this jargon that you're spouting?"

Methos hissed softly and the Chamber entrance shut itself. At Snape's questioning look, he replied, "It's quicker…we can talk more about that later. I'm sure that Harry has some questions about it."

Snape found himself nodding. "Dumbledore as well.” Snape paused. "Might I ask, what would you really rather have me call you, my lord? Methos or Adam?"

Methos made no comment on that. Instead, he set up his feet on the small table in front of the couch. "To answer your question, first, Severus, if no one else aside from Duncan or Harry is around, calling me Methos is fine. I prefer to use ‘Adam Pierson’ in public because it's safer that way. Much as Slytherin is a legend of sorts, Methos is even more of one. It would be bad enough if people discovered that I am Slytherin. If word got out that Methos was here…you'd have some rather dangerous Immortals come out of the woodwork, all seeking to take my head, both Muggle and magical." That settled, he lazily looked over at Snape, who'd settled into a black leather armchair. “Perhaps Severus can be so kind as to explain what you need to know about the Wizarding world."

Snape assumed that if Methos ever found good cause to tell him why "Methos" was such a legend, that he would do so when he was ready and didn't press the issue. "As you wish, Methos." He nodded his head slightly, looking at Duncan, before continuing. "A Mudblood is a person with so called 'dirty blood,' a person who's born of two non-magical parents. Muggle-born is the more polite term. A 'halfblood' is someone born of one magical, one Muggle parent. A 'Squib' is a non-magical person born to any family where both parents are magical, and a pureblood is someone who descends from a long line of full wizards on both sides with no Muggle blood in the heritage. Or at least, none that anyone can prove of. 'Muggles' are non-magical people. Harry Potter would be considered halfblooded because although his adoptive mother was a witch, she herself was Muggle-born. Slytherin House by tradition contains a greater percentage of purebloods then the other houses, although it is not intentional. If you are still here when the session resumes, you'll meet many heirs to several powerful Wizarding families. Just realize that lineage doesn't affect power—some are quite powerful in their own right—no matter that many purebloods would have you believe otherwise."

Methos nodded. "Parseltongue is the ability to speak to snakes and to have them understand you. I was rather known for that ability. It's rather rare, at least today. When I was first learning magic I knew quite a few who could do that."

"So rare, in fact, when does come across it, people are likely to brand you an Heir of Slytherin." Snape added sourly.

"Which is impossible, Immortals can’t have any children,” Duncan replied.

"Ah, but we're talking magical inheritance, something completely different. I'm still not sure how it works, to be honest." Methos leaned forward a little, looking towards Duncan.

"If it's any comfort, we're not any more sure of it today. All we know is that this generation there have been two Heirs presumptive."

"Are there now?" Methos looked unconcerned.

"Yes. One has set your basilisk loose on Muggle-borns twice, once when he was a student here, and again fifty years later. The other killed your basilisk after the most recent string of attacks."

"Voldemort and Harry Potter then?"

Snape nodded slightly.

"One who would rather die than be associated with me, and the other who would rather die than not be associated with me. Ironic, isn't it?" Methos started to mull something over after this statement, so Duncan decided to seize his chance.

"Who is this Voldemort person everyone keeps mentioning?" Duncan turned to Snape "And earlier, you said something to Methos that he recognized, proving that you knew him. What was that you were talking about?"

"Why don't you answer this one, Severus, you might be able to explain him better then I could."

Snape smiled wryly. "Perhaps you're right, Methos." He took a sip of his wine and began, "Voldemort—more commonly named 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'—is a Dark Lord…a master of the Darkest magics that the Wizarding world knows. " Snape paused, trying to find a simple explanation for a man that needed no explanation to Wizards. "He is a man that wants to take over the world. He believes that purity of the blood is more important than anything else, even though he himself is only a halfblood. Because of his extraordinary power, and the gift of Parseltongue, Voldemort is recognized as Slytherin's Heir. People are afraid of him, Mr. MacLeod, and rightfully so. The man is powerful, and his sanity questionable. He also seems to be impossible to kill, and not for a lack of trying. He found the most remarkable methods to bring himself back, but the price for such Dark Arts means he barely looks human anymore. We can only hope that he is brought down for good sooner, rather then later. Hopefully, with a little luck, some skill, and Mr. Potter, we will get him before too many more die."

Snape leaned back in his own chair, idly rubbing the Dark Mark that lay hidden beneath his robes. He still wasn't enamored of the thought of sending Harry to fight Voldemort, since the boy was not even half-trained, but between being outvoted, and desperately seeking a way to be free of the Mark forever, he kept his opinion to himself and did what he could to make sure Harry lived long enough to finally kill Voldemort.

"Severus?" Methos gently prodded.

Snape hadn't realized that he was drifting off in thought. Perhaps the wine was hitting him faster then normal this night. "Right. Forgive my inattention. You were wondering how Methos—how Slytherin recognized that I knew who he was, yes?"

Duncan nodded.

"You see Duncan, each House has its own motto…its own guiding principles. Your friend Slytherin...Methos, favored the traits of slyness, cunning and ambition. Since that day, all those who have taken over as the Head of Slytherin House try to instill those attributes in their students. Tell me, sir, do you remember the day a student mysteriously appeared in your Dark Arts class?"

Methos took a longer look at Snape, some measure of recollection in his eyes, but not enough to fully recall Snape's involvement in his past.

"It was about two weeks into my first year as a student at Hogwarts. In addition to my rather extensive collection of curses, I had already begun to experiment with new potions.
On this day, I had been in charms and had the great misfortune of being paired with our year's near-Squib. We'd been practicing some kind of simple charm—a jelly legs hex, I think? I can't quite recall, because his miscast spell reacted with a new potion whose effects I was still testing out…the next thing I knew I was laying on the stone floor, only almost one thousand years prior….

* * *
Approximately 993 CE, Hogwarts

A boot nudged his side, and Severus moaned. He was going to kill that Ravenclaw freak. Well, after he went and saw the Head of Slytherin House to get permission.

"Boy.” The boot nudged him again. "Are you with us?"

Severus grabbed his head, struggling with not only the aftereffects of the spell, but with his rusty Latin. Latin? He wondered what that was about, but managed to reply, "Yes, Professor Flitwick."

"Flitwick? Who is that?" The man motioned to two other students who helped Severus sit up straight. The man noticed the semi-familiar crest on his robes. "You are a student at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, sir." Severus looked at the teacher. The man was intimidating and radiated power.

"What is your name?"

"Severus Snape, sir."

"And what is the date?"

"September 7, 1972, sir."

The teacher gave Severus a funny look. "I see. I think we need to talk. Everyone else, I want you to practice what we've done in class today. I will be testing you tomorrow."

Severus' eyes warily followed the teacher as he was quietly studied.

"Do you know who I am, boy?"

Severus tilted his head, the portrait coming into sharp focus in his head. "You are Salazar Slytherin, one of the four Founders." Snape's eyes widened as he realized what had happened. "Merlin, I must have come back in time almost a thousand years."

Slytherin looked intrigued. "What happened? What brought you here?" Slytherin leaned back on his desk. The posture was more casual then Severus would have expected, yet it did nothing to diminish the sense of power that Slytherin gave off.

Severus struggled for the words. His father had gotten him a Latin tutor when he was seven, but conversational Latin hadn’t been focused upon. "It was a Charms accident. A Squib's spell…" he scrambled for the right word, "mixed with a potion I had been working on."

"Your Latin needs work. Can you read it?"

He nodded. "Yes, sir. Better then I can speak it."

"Well, then, I’m sure it'll improve while you stay with us as we try to figure out how to get you back to your own time. You will be taking lessons and doing a portion of the chores while you stay. I refuse to let anyone stay in the castle without working for it."

Severus had to stop himself from repeating "Chores?" aloud like an idiot. He knew what they were; having to do them was another thing entirely. Apparently though, his expression spoke loud enough.

"Yes, chores. So many of the purebloods are so spoiled that it's a good way of teaching humility. You will survive. Just like they do. Tell me, Severus, what House were you in?"

"Slytherin, sir."

"Well enough. I'll keep you there unless you show that you don't belong. Do try your best to behave. There are no older students to keep you in line, as I'm sure there were in your time."

"Sir?"

"This is the first season the school's been open, of course. We've been in session about for a little over a moon now. You'll need to get notes from one of your classmates. You can conjure parchment and quills?" Seeing Severus' nod he continued, "You will attend classes and chores with your classmates during the day, and after supper you will join me in here while we figure out what happened earlier today so we can send you back as soon as possible. Although Latin is in the curriculum; if you find yourself having undue difficulties let me know and I'll do my best to assist you with it."

"I'll find you a spare set of robes to wear and you may keep the crest that is on your robe. It may not be from now, but you'd have to be an idiot to not figure out whose house it represented. After you leave here, I'll have someone show you to your dorms before the next lessons.

"While you are here it is imperative that you do not talk about what the future is like, no matter how hard someone begs of it. Though nothing may happen, there is an equally likely chance that you'll influence the future, and naturally we wish to avoid that if possible. Understand?"

The speed of Slytherin's language and how quickly his situation had been dealt meant there were a few seconds before everything had sunk in and Severus was able to nod his head in agreement.

"Come along."

Severus quickly followed Slytherin, out of the room. The other man immediately latched onto a kid who was quickly moving in the opposite direction.

"Ah, Julian Tiber. Since you've been foolish enough to let me catch you at eavesdropping, you will first show your housemate to his room, and the schedule of classes and chores. After dinner you will report to Mistress Cassia and attend to the dishes without magic. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir."

It wasn't until Slytherin was out of sight that Julian made a face. "I still can't believe he makes us do chores like Mudbloods. That's why we have house elves! Oh, and I'm Julian. Nice to meet you."

"Severus. Is Professor Slytherin that bad?"

Julian shook his head. "No, actually, he's pretty good. He's just strict. He thinks we're quote 'a bunch of spoiled purebloods who wouldn't know a hard day's work if it bit us on the ass.' Or at least that's what I overheard him telling Professor Gryffindor." He frowned. "Of course, given the fact that he seems to know when I'm eavesdropping, maybe he said that for me to hear. He's good like that. Not much escapes his notice. School hasn’t even been in for much more then a moon and some people have been serving detention almost all that time!"

"I'll have to be careful then."

The other boy nodded. "Might not be a bad idea. Slytherin doesn't mind it so much if you bend the rules, he just doesn't want you to get caught."

Severus could appreciate that. Lucius had told him that much about their own Head of House.

They stopped in front of the portrait that covered the entrance to the dungeon. It wasn't anyone that Severus recognized.

"Parseltongue." The portrait bowed and swung out revealing a Common Room that hadn't really changed much in the past thousand years; Severus figured that they must have had preservation spells on the room. Only the portraits seemed to change.

"This way. Although we're the only class here this year, Slytherin won't let us have our own rooms. Some have tried sneaking off, but he's already caught on to it." He led Severus to the same room he had been staying in before the accident. The only difference was that there was one less bed. Rather nice, actually. Sitting on the chair near his bed was an extra robe and a current Slytherin scarf.

Julian pointed to a piece of parchment on the wall. "That's our schedule, both for classes and chores. It's self-updating so just look at it every morning and it'll tell you where you need to go. I'll have one of the others show you around after Transfiguration."

"I suppose that could come in handy. I have enough trouble getting around Hogwarts in my own time."

Julian smiled. "And just tell me if I’m talking too fast. I know that Latin isn't your native tongue."

"Yet I wouldn't recognize your form of English either if you tried it."

"You should try teaching me yours. I bet we could use it to outwit Slytherin, make some kind of plan to sneak out or something."

Severus' eyes lit up. A challenge. "Done. Shouldn't we get going?" He eyed a clock in the corner that said "Almost late."

Julian yelped. "You're right. C'mon. If we hurry we'll make it..."