Greatest of the Hogwarts Four

Chapter 2: Prophesy to Me

***

A dragon crunched its way through the forest, oblivious to everything except the scent that it was tracking. Every so often, it lowered its hideous lizard face to the ground and sniffed, dilating its pupils in exact synchronization with the widening of its nostrils. A long, slimy tongue lolled out.

The dragon looked incredibly ill and decrepit. It was shedding scales with every step as folds of its mailed skin ground together. The fire in its eyes was dull, and the secondary eyelids lapping over were filmy instead of the clear color that they should have been. The dragon stopped and made hacking noises for several minutes. A large lump of bloody mucus spewed out of its mouth, and dripped foully from the cruel spiny lips.

Inside, the dragon's organs were grinding against each other, shifting, and rebelling against their constraints. The heart beat erratically, due to the fact that the chambers kept shrinking and then growing again. Again the dragon stopped, and began to scream in pain.

The flesh of the dragon seemed to quiver, and for a moment it was still. Then, all of its bones seemed to at once lenghten and erupt out of the skin. Screaming and roaring its anger, the dragon scrabbled in the dust as its wings burst their membraneous lining, becoming two tented arrangemnents of bone hung with tattered skin. The great spines along its back heaved themselves up as tetonic plates will during a great earthquake. Thrashing its tail, the dragon's screams faded into moans.

Then, a subtle quivering again and the bones were sucked back into the flesh. But this time, too much; its body became spongy, unsupported as it was by a skeleton. Then, slowly at first, the flesh changed too. The great claws shriveled into tiny nails, and the horrible muzzle retracted itself into an increasingly smaller face. The tail collapsed upward into the spine, and within ten minutes the transformation was complete.

A very gray-skinned man lay on his back and contemplated the morning sky. His mind was flooded with endorphins as the memory of excruciating pain throbbed away from him. The man-who-had-once-been-a-dragon felt the dirt beside him and dug his nails into it, as if to assure himself it was really there. A great joy began to grow inside him, and he would have jumped and shouted if he had had the strength to get up.

It had worked, it had worked! No one had believed animal transformation possible without a compact formed with a demon. But he had done it, and had it not been for that unfortunate episode last night, he would have achieved even more. That, however, was no matter. He was on the trail of a new soul, the one that the Other Seer did not know about yet. And with his newfound senses, he was quite sure that he would get to the Fourth before she did. He had been able to See her, clear as day; she had only a half of a glimmer of who he was.

Grindelwald smiled exhaustedly but triumphantly as he lay spread-eagled in the dust.

***

"Don't. Don't come near me. Don't come near me," wailed the old man piteously. He was huddled in the corner, facing the wall. Knees drawn up to his scrawny chest, he was rocking back and forth on his heels and burying his face down into the arms locked around his chest. His skin was a sallow yellow color that was sickly in appearance, and the old man's hair, much like the rest of him, was shockingly filthy.

"It's no good. It's no good at all. No good at all," he mourned, continuing to rock back and forth.

Rowena sideways at the dirty old man, trying to figure out exactly where she was. It was a very large room of some sort, yet unlike anything she had ever seen. The walls, floor, and ceiling were completely white and stretched in all directions. It was like staring at infinity. She was only sure that the old man was in a corner because his shadow overlapped both a vertical wall and the floor.

"No good. No good at all."

Taking no more notice of the old man or his mantra, Ravenclaw turned about and looked behind her. Everywhere, the same whiteness. Then, without warning, a small green sprout shot up from between Rowena's feet. She jumped backwards in surprise, and watched in fascination as the sprout continued to grow, sending small buds of leaves out from its nexus. The faint smell of earth reached her nostrils, although she couldn't see anything on the pristine, impossibly white floor that even remotely resembled dirt.

The small plant flowered, and a new, sweet scent entered Rowena's mind: violets.

"No good! No good at all!" The old man was raising his voice now, and occasionally lifting his head up to stare in horror at Rowena and the flower, then burying his face back into his arms.

A small hand tugged on Rowena's sleeve. She turned, and saw the face of the small boy that she had seen in a previous vision, the one she had sent Slytherin to fetch. His hair fell around his face like straws of hay, and the boy himself had that horsy smell of hay, earth, and sweat. "He won't wake. He can't wake. You'll have to kill him."

Another, more insistant tug on her other sleeve. She looked and saw a perfect eight-year old version of Salazar, wearing his trademark nineteen-year-old scowl. "He's right. But you don't. I'll kill him for you. Easy." The young Salazar reached in his pocket and pulled out a wand, then hesitated. "Do you want me to?" He regarded the old man, who was still weeping and repeating the same words over and over. The expression on Salazar's face was dispassionate, as if the little boy was contemplating whether or not to crush an ant.

Then, the old man made small screaming noises, then small hacking noises. After a prolonged period of more hacking noises, the old man vomited up a snake.

"Oh, honestly," the young Slytherin hissed in impatience and frustration. "I guess I can't kill him for you, then. It's no good. It's no good at all."

***

Rowena woke up to someone shaking her by the shoulders, none too gently. Abruptly she broke away from Slytherin's grip on her and snapped at him. "What? Is there some reason you deem it necessary to roust me out of my visions and give me whiplash?" She was less angry about the rude awakening than about seeing him in one of her visions. To her, her premonitions were a private affair, and Salazar's invasion of them only solidified her belief that he was cemented to every aspect of her life. It was annoying, especially compounded by the fact that he was still embarrassed to be alone with her for more than five minutes at a stretch.

"I think you owe me an explanation!" Slytherin said, raising his voice. He bared one forearm for her to see the deep slashes that circled the flesh like bracelets. The wounds glowed slightly at the edges; the trademark of a demon-inflicted injury. "And to hell with your visions! Gabriel only just managed to save the boy and me from being gnawed to death by a very ravenous group of psychotic lion skeletons! Did you see any of that before you set us out there unprepared'?"

Instinctively, Rowena changed her tone abruptly. In his agitated state, it was unwise for her to speak sharply to him. Slytherin always did have a problem with control. As he fumed in front of her, she saw the dishes and linen on the table in the Hall beginning to rise up a few inches into the air. The harsh rattling sound of porcelain shaking grew fainter as she placated him. She took one of his large hands in her two slim ones, and wore an expression of utmost sincerity. There was honey in her voice as she replied:

"No, I never saw anything...but you know I wouldn't send you into danger intentionally. I can't tell you everything yet, because only someone with the Sight should know the future. But you know I would never allow anything to happen to you. You're like a brother to me, Salazar..."

She winced a little bit inwardly at this last declaration. Yet, this seemed to relieve Slytherin greatly. It was as if a great weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. For the first time he truly embraced her, pressing her face against the fabric of his shirt. Rowena was disgruntled, highly. She had imagined their first embrace as a passionate prelude to their love affair- not something he gave her when he thought of her as a little sister.

To make matters even worse, he kissed her on top of the head- the same way her real brothers had done when she was ten years old. Ravenclaw fumed at herself in her mind, while Slytherin was obliviously happy.

"And the boy?" She pushed herself gently away from him, feeling disgusted with herself. "No one saw you? Not the chambermaids, not the hostlers, no one?"

"Not a soul."

"Then you'd best get that wound dressed, before anyone wakes up." Ravenclaw was all business now as she smoothed out her skirts. Unconsciously, she ran her fingers through her hair. She smoothed out her skirts all over again.

Salazar's quick eyes noticed this. 'She's primping too much,' he thought. 'She's nervous.'

"I have to exorcise it first, though." He held up his mangled arm. "And I'll need your help. The only one who knows more about healing spells is the matron, and I can't explain demonic wounds to her at this time of night."

"We can go to my room, if you want...privacy." Ravenclaw's ears then turned a bit pink at the edges. "T-There won't be much blood, will there?" She asked, looking sickened by the idea.

"It's possible. Depends on how strong the prescence is, how far it's gotten into my bloodstream." Salazar smiled good-naturedly and began tearing strips off of the tablecloth to make a tourniquet.

***

"In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti."

Rowena always felt a bit foolish watching Salazar perform any kind of religious ceremony. Much of what she knew about Catholicism was second-hand from Salazar, who really didn't like to talk about it much anyways. But she found that, in times of great peril or stress, he always fell back on old habits.

"Ave maria, gratia plena..."

He thumbed the little wooden beads and she watched them drop. An irrational tide of emotion washed through her. It wasn't exactly reverence towards him, but...it was something similar. Salazar poured his magic into his old beliefs, and it gave him strength in return. Although normally he did not carry the rosary around for all to see, Rowena wondered if he kept it with him still. She did see him reach into his pocket frequently when he was angered or frustrated by the stupidity of the Council. Somehow, the primitive little ritual helped him focus his magic, especially during a difficult spell. It certainly helped for an exorcism.

His face was so beautiful, in the flickering candlelight. His attention was completely focused on studying the crucifix and the bloody wounds, dark lashes shadowing the eyes. As he moved his hand over the beads, he did not actually touch them. There was no visible transference of power, and the air remained perfectly calm. His wand lay forgotten on the table.

Darkly he glared at the blood beginning to well up out of the slashes on his forearm. It was sickly brownish in color, as if it had congealed inside his veins. The skin around the edges of the torn flesh glowed faintly and pulsed slowly. The blood continued to be drawn up, as if being sucked through an invisible straw.

A faint whispering sound came from the blood- a hoarse, strained voice that was frantic and angry. It gabbled words Rowena couldn't understand, but she could tell they were foul. With a stone face, Slytherin let the last bead drop.

"Amen."

The dark blood immediately sluiced downward off of his arm, suddenly heavy. It sank into the floor with a last curse from the hoarse voice. The edges of the wound stopped glowing and faded into normalcy.

Rowena grasped Salazar's hand very tightly, her face white, tinged with green at the edges. He very tenderly brought up a chamber pot up to her face and held her hair back as she threw up into it. When she was done, she scrubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, made a face, and spread her fingers over his wound.

"You can use my wand, you know," Slytherin offered nonchalantly.

"I've never been trained, you know that," Rowena shot back irritably. "This is the only way I can do this."

"It drains you so much. If you just had a wand-" He weakly protested.

"If I just wasn't a dell, maybe they would trust me with a wand," she said, even more sharply. Rowena grabbed his forearm, ignoring the sickening feeling in her stomach as his blood squelched up between her fingers, and recited: "Implexi."

Salazar had a brief second in which he saw the mucles and blood vessels in his arm knitting themselves together. Then the skin closed up over the wound, leaving a silvery-purple scar. "You'd better wear a bandage anyways," Rowena murmured, still holding onto his tanned forearm. "Otherwise the wound could break open again."

He made a fist, and watched the skin over his arm shift as the muscles contracted. "My thanks." Self-consciously, he broke her grip on his arm and his cheeks flared a bit with embarassment. "Skillfully mended, my lady."

Walking out the door, he left her with the small boy sleeping restlessly on the bed. Rowena had an urge to throw something at him.

***

"You wanted to see me, sir..."

Almanzoor Moselle jerked his head up. He had been napping in the large study, his feet propped up on a fluffy purple ottoman. Very slowly, he shut the heavy tome he had been reading. He motioned Elsworth in with an imperious wave of his hand.

"Laveda, take a look at this Prophecy I've just received from the Seer..."

Elsworth's thin, sweaty hands turned the thin slate tablet over and over. "It's blank, sir..." When speaking to the Patriarch, Laveda had an annoying habit of trailing off at the end of his sentences, always after addressing Moselle as 'sir'.

"Oh, right," the old wizard said wearily. "I forgot that you do not have the Sight." He reached out with his gnarled oaken staff, cut from the same ancient tree as the High Table itself, and tapped the stone three times. Etching began to form in the stone, blossoming outward from the center. Laveda's eyes widened in astonishment.

"Sir...this is most catastrophic...a veritable doomsday proclamation..." He kept blinking very fast, as if the words might change if he closed his eyes. "It means the end of our way of life forever!"

"But it is not complete." Moselle had a light in his eyes, that, had Laveda been more observant, would have been the sign of a controlled yet incredible anger. "Someone has witheld key passages from it."

"Slytherin!" Laveda said viciously, spitting out the name. "He brought this back from the Broken Tablet! He must be in traffic with...with..."

"The Gauls. Of this I am quite certain. If you will bring the charges against young Slytherin, I will see to it that he is expelled from the Council, and summarily executed. Crimes against wizardkind, traitor to king and country..."

"But sir, English wizards have no king..."

"Of course. I was speaking in dramatics. Must be reliving my times with the Muggles," Moselle said almost wistfully. "My mistake. You'd better draw up the charges against Slytherin, Elsworth. I'm sure you can have him arrested in the morning."

As Laveda left, as happy as a child with an especially wonderful Christmas present, the Patriarch reclined back in his chair. He closed his eyes and allowed his Inner Eye to open up within his mind. It was definitely not as clear as it once had been, as when he was younger, but Almanzoor had enough Sight left to have been forewarned of Rowena's treachery.

The visions had come to him in nightmares, arresting his sleep and troubling him for weeks since she had announced the oncoming revelation of the Prophecy. In them, Almanzoor had seen himself, dead in his chair at the High Table, the room stone cold and silent. The doors burst open, and Slytherin strode in. He was dressed in the ridiculous Muggle religious finery. As the hem of his flared black robes touched the floor, plants of ivy split the floor open behind where he walked.

"I've come to deliver your Last Rights, My Honored Patriarch," said Slytherin solemnly. The priest kneeled down so he was level with the corpse's face. "But I'm afraid it will be far too late for you."

The High Table cracked in two, and the sound of its breaking ricocheted throughout the cavernous Hall.

Ivy was creeping up the walls, tearing down the stone- there was sunlight streaming in. From behind Slytherin stepped Ravenclaw. She was completely naked, covered in purple flowers. Rowena twirled a long strand of her pale, unbound hair. "No, Salazar, I'm afraid it is too late for him." She sat down on the broken table and closed her eyes. "I'm making a Prophecy," she said cheerfully, and laughed like a little girl. "Do you see? Do you see?"

"Prophesy to me," Slytherin whispered, leaving the corpse in its chair and kneeling next to the flower-covered woman. "Prophesy to me." He embraced Rowena tightly, and she returned the gesture tenderly. The purple flowers extended their tendrils out over Slytherin, wrapping around the black robes and pulling the two tighter and tighter. Now, all along the length of his body, the flowers burst into bloom almost savagely, and swallowed Slytherin up. And from them came a very sweet smell.

"There is no treachery like that of a woman," Almanzoor murmured to himself. It would have been so simple just to slit her throat. But he needed Rowena; the very strength of the Council rested on the foresight of a Seer. And he was far too old to fill that need. If he executed Ravenclaw, then they would never again have advance warning of a peasant uprising or upstart Muggle king advancing on their realms. Besides, the Seer was a pillar to the people, a symbol. Whereas Slytherin was just a runtish upstart.

If Slytherin was dead, then the dream would be nothing more than a fantasy, and the parts of Prophecy Rowena had kept from him would just be empty words.

'Cut off the head of a snake, and you need not fear the teeth,' he thought to himself.

***

About two hours after Salazar had left, Rowena made up her mind and approached the small boy lying on her bed with some caution. As a child of aristocracy, she had never dealt with small children for more than the time it took for them to be introduced as the offspring of the Duke of such-and-such. She had absolutely no idea how she was to care for a child. Licking her lips in apprehension, she was about to try and pick him up but thought better of it. Walking over to the chimney, she threw a fistful of powder into the fire and yelled: "Amelie! Amelie!"

Almost instantly, the ghost of a petite young woman with large eyes entered through the door. Amelie was always very polite, never popping through walls or ceilings, considering it crass and on a level with poltergeists. "Mademoiselle Ravenclaw?" she said in a soft bell-tone of a voice. Her huge eyes stared unblinkingly from beneath a mass of curly brown hair topped by a large white mob cap.

"Can you take care of this boy, Amelie? He's not hurt, but he's been hungry for a long time, and alone. He needs a bath, some food, nurturing, and all that, and to be honest, I've got more important things to do." Rowena winced, realizing how brusque she sounded.

At that moment, however, she had a very strange urge to go back to the Hall. There was a commotion of male voices ringing in her ears. That was slightly odd, seeing as she was in the women's quarters and, traditionally, there weren't supposed to be any men in the vicinity. She could only assume that this was another vision. Something was happening very quickly that was very important. Shaking her head, Rowena tried to sort out the voices. She then sighed. After looking forward to a nice day of piece and quiet, she had to have another vision and go up to the Hall again.

About the same instant that another round of voices echoed in her mind, the fire in Rowena's room abruptly flared into life, and a dry voice issued from it: "All Councilmen are requested in the Great Hall. All Councilmen are requested in the Great Hall. Please be prompt." Rowena swore at the fire and threw the chamber pot on it, dousing the flames.

The ghost only watched, complacent and silent. Very quickly, Rowena regained her composure. "And Amelie?" Ravenclaw said again. "Make sure no one knows this boy is here. That is very important." Amelie nodded, not questioning anything.

Rowena felt another sudden sensation of urgency. 'I'm coming, I'm coming,' she thought irritably to the voices. 'Stop tearing my head apart.' She paused, trying to figure out a few last words that she could drive into Amelie's skull. Such as the notion that he must not be seen. Another rush of voices in her ears, and the edges of the images of another vision flickered on the outside of her peripheral sight. Hopping from one foot to the other, Rowena realized she wasn't going to have time to stop by her maids' rooms to freshen up.

Wondeful. The matron was going to take her ear off for not stopping to change her clothes or at least get her hair put up. She had scattered drops of Salazar's blood all along the pristine whiteness of her skirt. Sighing, Rowena hoped that whatever she was being dragged away for was pretty damn important.

As she exited the room, she heard Amelie begin to sing a French lullaby in her soft voice.

***

An angry humming greeted Rowena as she entered the Hall. Out of habit, she eavesdropped on both the conversations and thoughts of the Councilmen. There was a chaotic frenzy in the air, and all of the men were half-mad from rage. A number of eyes were fixed on a statue of the wizard Nicholas of York, whose bravery and military leadership helped to crush a particularly violent goblin rebellion in 372 AD. Nicholas was depicted brandishing a pike with a goblin's head affixed onto the point.

A gradual hush settled over the crowd, and Rowena dropped into her customary place: sitting below the dais of the Table, on the small sedan lined with purple cushions. She fingered the gold fringe of one of the pillows and smoothed her hair back, trying not to seem too nervous. There was an ominous silence for a few minutes, and was broken only when Elsworth Laveda rose imperiously with a shuffling of papers.

"His Most Honourable Holiness Almanzoor Moselle, the Grand Patriarch of the Council of Wizards, Order of Merlin First-Class, and Governor of the Magical Realms of England, would suffer to extend his utmost apologies for this hastily-called assembly.

"But this assembly is needed, my honored Councilmen, because we have discovered a traitor in our very midst!" Laveda's eyes widened dramatically, and he was beginning to breathe hard, in gulps.

"From the very first day he sat on Council, Salazar Slytherin has attempted to discredit the time-honored traditions of this Council- nay, the very way of life that we wizards hold so dear. He would remove all distinguishing titles between the noblest blooded wizard and the rudest peasant, and throw our peaceful realms into anarchy. We have been tolerant, my friends: at first we passed off Slytherin's diatribes as the simple-minded idealism of youth. I myself thought him to be bright, however misguided. Yet his radical ideals, finding no immediate root in our philosophy, have driven him to treasonous trafficking with Gallian wizards!"

An abrupt roar of outrage met this remark. A number of the old men were growing so red in the face they looked as if they might faint. The Seer, however, sat numbly on the couch. Her first, immediate thought was self-preservation. If they were indicting Salazar, there was a very, very good chance that it would be her head next. It had to be the Prophecy. Glancing up at the Patriarch, she saw him smile lazily at her and wink one eye.

A wave of coldness washed through Rowena's being. He knew. She hadn't been careful enough; he knew she had excised passages from the Prophecy. And now he had an excuse to get rid of Slytherin and her. Her mind flew to her bedroom. The boy was there. If only- if only....she fingered Salazar's wand in the pocket of her dress, left there by accident after the exorcism. Despite her lack of official training, Rowena had been coached by Salazar in Impediment Hexes and Stunning Spells, so, he always said stiffly, she could protect her honor. If she could Stun the guards who came for her, she could probably Apparate to her room in time to get the boy. The Forest was only a few hundred yards away from the women's quarters....and then...and then what? Her brain buzzed with ideas for escape, but she knew that most of them would be suicide. And Salazar...

Salazar... a sudden rush of reality hit her. He was sure to be executed. It would not be made public. He was too popular with the people for the Council to execute him publicly without a trial. 'Gabriel! Gabriel!' Rowena thought furiously. But it was no use; it was a full moon tonight, and Gabriel was already chained, along with his three brothers, in the dungeons. And the timing couldn't have been more perfectly planned. Moselle had set this up with the utmost attention to detail.

Elsworth Laveda began reading a list of crimes against wizardkind that Salazar had allegedly committed. Panic was beginning to bubble in Rowena as she watched the statue of Nicholas of York. Something important was missing...where was Slytherin? Now she remembered: the statue was a hidden entrance to one of the more warded dungeons in the castle. They would have taken him there. He couldn't have fought them off, not without his wand. But if they were reading the charges why wasn't he here?

"....which, as you can see, is clear evidence to his crimes. Salazar Slytherin has, since the very beginning of his term as Councilman, been leaking secret information to the magical realms of Gaul. We even have credible evidence that he has been also double-dealing, and trafficking with the barbarian Muggle king of that region!"

"By now he has been summarily executed, and so I would like to call your attention to the first of three candidates the Patriarch has selected as qualified to fill Slytherin's seat. The first is the renowned wizard and longtime patron of the Council..."

Rowena had half-risen, a horribly stricken expression on her face. Then she thought better of it, and sat down, hands folded in her lap and staring in awe at the floor. Almanzoor Moselle lidded his eyes and looked at her unblinkingly. She heard his dry voice in her head.

Sloppy, Ravenclaw. I expected more from one of my pupils. You didn't break the rhythm of the Prophecy, but you broke the flow. There was a blatant gap near the end. Now our young priest is dead, which is mildly annoying to me. I liked Slytherin. He was a champion for the common wizard, and as long as he sat at the Table, we had nothing to fear from the peasants: they believed they were being 'represented'. In some respects, he was even more useful than you. But you had to influence him, didn't you? A pretty thing like you...to be honest, I'm not surprised he fell to your persuasions. You got a subtle role in politics, and Slytherin...I needn't state the obvious, of course. Well, now that you have no one to try and sway the Council with, perhaps you will learn your place- which is, and will forever be, below the Table.

A shivering anger almost made Rowena reply, but she realized the wisest thing would be to say nothing and adopt a shamed, demure expression. It was clear that the Patriarch was going to let her live, something that gave her only a vague sense of relief. She had doomed Slytherin, with her ill-favored manipulating. Yet, amidst all the horrible things that had just occured, there was still one hope.

'The boy,' Rowena thought to herself. 'As long as Moselle does not know who he is and what he will do, everything is saved. But Salazar...Salazar...' She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists tightly until her nails dug in. 'Do not let him see you crying,' Rowena thought. 'From now on, you cannot show any emotion. Emotion betrays thoughts. Thoughts betray intentions.' And so, Ravenclaw swallowed her grief and presented a blank and expressionless face to the Council.

***

"Won't you at least grant me the chance to perform the Last Rites?" Slytherin asked calmly. "It's sort of important to me." He sounded reasonably well, as if he was not about to be executed and was merely keeping a bothersome appointment.

The black-hooded executioner glanced sideways at the two guards. Although Slytherin had been removed of his wand previously, he might still be dangerous. Nodding sharply, all three drew their wands and removed the Full Body-Bind from him, but kept his legs tightly locked together. They drew aside for a few moments, carefully watching Slytherin for sudden movements.

The trees in the forest seemed to bend down as one. A brief gust of wind rushed in from the west, and the sun hovered like an unblinking eye. The crows, called by their natural instincts, circled overhead, warily waiting for the fall of the axe and the unquestionable thud that meant food for scavengers.

Drawing himself up into a sitting position, Slytherin hummed tunelessly and fingered his rosary beads. Closing his eyes, he kept humming, as he knew the guards would be annoyed by it. The wood began to glow warmly under his fingers, and Slytherin stopped humming to enjoy a smile of contentment with the fact that he would definitely not be executed today.

The air still hummed with the fringes of the spell his would-be executioners had put on him. Slytherin reached for those fringes and gripped his rosary tightly.

"Resonus!"

All three men fell over instantly, paralyzed by their own spells, albeit amplified versions of them, courtesy of Salazar. The only one still conscious was the executioner, due to his considerable girth and strength. Salazar then unlocked his own legs and walked around stiffly for a few moments, trying to get the feeling back into his limbs. Then, as if considering, he squatted by the executioner and removed the axe from his belt. The man's frightened eyes darted back and forth between the double-bladed axe and the other hand, which gripped the rosary in long, delicate fingers.

Slytherin toyed with the idea of killing the man, but he didn't want to satisfy the allegations of his betrayers as to his supposed violent criminal nature. 'The Patriarch,' he thought with disdain. 'Of course. But he can't touch Rowena. At least that much I know. She's far too valuable.' Turning his attention back to the executioner, Salazar tossed the axe up into the air. It tumbled end over end, making a whistling sound as it sheared through the air. It hit, blade down, quivering, in the grass two inches from the man's nose. And Slytherin walked away into the forest, calling over his shoulder:

"Turn the other cheek, brother."

He had not gone more than ten paces when a blonde man his own age seemed to materialize out of the forest. The other man had a youthful exuberance in his face that contrasted greatly with his thin, almost frail frame. His hair fell softly to his shoulders in a very fashionable aristocratic style that had become popular in the last decade. A style which, Salazar thought disdainfully, was woefully feminine. The clothes the young man wore fitted with the image of a princely-looking wizard: though they were somewhat dulled in color (hunting wear, Salazar guessed), they were of a fit and texture that suggested a lot of gold had paid for them. The only detraction to the magnificent figure the prince cut was his nose, which was decidely much too long for his face and gave him the appearance of one of those sleek varieties of ferrets.

"That was very sporting of you," the young blonde man called cheerfully.

"I'm glad you approve," Slytherin said shortly, and walked off into the forest away from the young man. He hadn't the time to deal with young snot-noses. Most likely this trussed-up young peacock was the son of some nearby noblewizard, out on a day's light hunting trip. Sure enough, Salazar hadn't gone far when a horse's hooves came thudding along the narrow dirt road. The horse the young man was riding was pure black, and did not seem to enjoy being ridden into the forest, which was full of low-hanging, gnarled trees and no doubt stank of werewolves and gryphons. The young man did not seem to notice his mount's discomfort, and drew the stallion back to a walk beside Slytherin.

"I happened to notice that those men looked as if they wanted to kill you," the young man said, still in a cheerful voice that grated on Salazar's nerves. "But you somehow managed to subdue them without a wand. How intriguing! Of course," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I was going to spring to your aid before you so handsomely helped yourself." He produced a Muggle bow from his saddlebag and tried to string an arrow. After the third try, he dropped it.

"Never mind, then. The point is...well, the point is that I get the feeling, old boy, that you're in a bit of trouble. Outlaw, on the run from the Council of Wizards...has a nice ring to it! A very glamorous occupation, I might add. Say, old boy," he said brightly, as if the idea had just occurred to him, "you probably need a place to stay!"

Slytherin considered. On the one hand, he was disliking this fellow the more he heard him speak. On the other hand, he didn't really fancy having to deal with whatever beasts were in the forest. There was a third option: he could Stun the little fool, steal the horse and make for a port city, and his homeland across the sea. Of course, that would mean he would probably have to leave the silly twit to starve or get eaten.

Sighing, Slytherin cursed his morals, and turned to the blonde man. "If you're offering me hospitality, I'll gladly take it. But I should warn you, if the Council finds out your family is harboring me, it'll be hell to pay for you."

"Oh, Father doesn't care much for the Council. Old fuddie-duddies. Of course, we don't have to deal with them. Father's got a..what-do-you-call it, fief from the Muggle king. And he's independent, you know. The Council wouldn't dare cross Father. Say! I've forgotten my manners!" If it was possible, he seemed even brighter as he introduced himself.

"Salazar Slytherin...formerly the 52nd Councilman."

The blonde man pulled Slytherin onto the back of the horse. "Won't take us very long to get back home...not without a little, you know...help." He took a wand out from an ornate case clipped onto his belt, and Salazar feverishly hoped he was better at Apparating than he was at archery.

"And by the way, the name's Malfoy, old boy. Artemis Malfoy."

****

****

Additional Notes:

Name references (continued)

Almanzoor: a corrupt version of a Muslim name (sort of like Almanzo in Little House on the Prairie)

Amelie: French, meaning 'industrious worker'

Artemis: Greek/Roman goddess of the moon and the hunt

Elsworth: Anglo-Saxon derived, meaning 'noble one'

Moselle: Hebrew derived, meaning 'taken from the water'

Latin translations

"In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti" : "In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit"

(The actual beginning of the traditional rosary)

"Ave maria, gratia plena..." : "Hail, Mary, full of grace..." (beginning of the Hail Mary)

Implexi: lit. "intertwine". I'm pretty sure I'm using the wrong verb form, but I think it sounds better than "Implecto." Implexi is one of the many healing charms; in this case, to knit together open wounds.

Resonus: "echo". The Echo Effect is a very difficult spell that only gifted wizards like Slytherin can perform. Basically, it picks up traces of any spells that have been performed in the vicinity (the more powerful the wizard, the wider the radius of range, the older the spell that can be echoed, and the stronger the effect on the opponent). Once activated, the Echo Effect will only harm the original caster of the spell.

A Geographical/Historical Note

I have made many references to a foreign country named Gaul. For those who do not know, Gaul was a name for the expansive territory in Western Europe compromising what today would be France and portions of Germany and Italy. The borders were constantly shifting, and the people themselves were somewhat primitive, compared to the Romans in existance at the same time. The people of Gaul were partly native to the area, with Germanic tribes dating back to the Stone Age. Around 400-300 BC, the area was settled by Celtic invaders, who were called 'Gauls' or 'Gallians' by the Romans.

In the Gallic Wars of 58-51 BC, the whole province was conquered by Julius Caesar and was ruled by Rome. A feudal system sprung up, and the province prospered. In the 1st century AD, Christianity was introduced and spread.

However, as the Roman Empire declined from the 3rd century onward, Germanic tribes began invasions. Among the tribes that invaded were the Visigoths, Franks, and Burgundii. In 486, the Franks, under the king Clovis I, defeated all the other Germanic tribes and ousted the Roman governor (Rome had fallen 10 years before).

In the 6th and 7th century, Gaul was wracked by war between the descendants of the two sons of Clovis. The country fell into complete disrepair and was invaded again by the Saracens. A new dynasty, the Carolingians, ruled one of the two areas of Gaul. Charles Martel ousted the Saracens, and his son, Pepin the Short (really, that was his name!) overthrew the other dynasty, the Merovingians, and was crowned king with the Pope's blessing. Pepin's son, Charlemange, was crowned emperor of the West in 800 AD, after expanding the borders of Gaul as King of the Franks. However, his three sons fought, and divided up Charlemange's territories.

After the death of the Carolingian dynasty, Hugh Capet was chosen by the nobles as king in 987. This is the time when most historians agree France emerged as a distinct kingdom.

Greatest of the Hogwarts Four begins around 780 AD, when Charlemange was still campaigning against the Muslim rulers of Spain. He didn't conquer Barcelona, the capital, until 801, however. I'm not just spouting off- Charlemange will figure in the story! (I like history, so I feel it both necessary and entertaining to add him in, even if he is just a Muggle. And he'll be a really cool dude to have in the story.)

Why do the wizards of England refer to the territory as Gaul? Well, partially because it really hasn't become France yet; but also because I've constructed the English magical society to be a grand blending of European and Roman influences. They speak in Latin when performing magic; many of their names are Latin (Albus Dumbledore, albus=white; case in point); I figure that the English wizards would be great admirers of the Roman culture. And as is such, they are equally disdainful of Gallian Muggles and wizards. Their wizards are, admittedly, more primitive and tribal-shaman types than the kind you would normally find in the Harry Potter universe. But I feel that adds a little bit more flesh and color to the story, don't you?

Anyways, next time I'll most likely include a note on Dark Ages Britain as well.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment on the threads or E-mail me personally! I welcome comments, critiques, corrections, fanart, anything!

~Roxanne Palmer