Chapter One

oooP1ooo

Nothing was the same. The world had changed beyond his imagining. Even the night sky was different. Everything was so foreign.

Non-magicals had made leaps and bounds of progress since he had last lived. He wondered how far the magical community had gotten since he had died. He could not feel the avenues of magic flowing under his feet anymore. The air held no magic. It was as if magic had fled this place.

There had to be magic somewhere. The world could not exist without a little magic. It was its lifeblood, the essence that helped birth the thousands of variations in flowers and birds, snakes and trees, beasts and reptiles, fish and bugs, unicorns and dragons, and sentient beings. If magic had not existed and the world had still found ways to bring life, it would have been a much duller world then this.

His gaze swept over the neatly trimmed grass, the bushes full of red roses, the small squirrel sitting on a tree limb, a wooden fence with its planks nailed in a tight row, and the glass walls of his relatives conservatory. There was no magic visible to the eye nor easily detected. The vroom of the distant motorway and the rumble of closer cars, the grinding of some machine and the roar of a mower washed away nature's sounds. With it any verbal hint of magical nature was swallowed up.

The world had changed beyond his reckoning. It may have been better if he had stayed dead. If there was no magic left, this would be a truly disappointing second life.

But there had to still be magic, for what else could explain his return?

He had died. The pleas of his brother to stay awake echoed in his mind. Those last moments stuck with him more than any of the rest of his memories. A tiny hand pressed to his side where phantom pain spiked and spread across his chest.

" You cannot die! Stay with me! "

The echoed cry, filled with such agony rocked through his mind. He mentally, forcefully pushed it away and focused once more on the present moment. The reincarnated wizard lifted the tiny hand to his eyes.

His hand, he corrected internally. This tiny, pale hand with no scars or calluses was his hand. The forearm was just as pale and unmarked by freckle or scar or ritual tattoo. His other hand unwittingly rose and traced the unmarked skin.

He was a child, a toddler really. He sat there and stared at the hands and forearms. He traced them with each other, felt them, moved them. His gaze traced the lines of each hand, memorized the color and indents. All the while, he tried to bury unsavory thoughts and painful last moments into the depths of his mind.

A toddler had no reason to be weighed down by such experiences. He did not want to confront them now either. His gaze rose to stare over his relatives back garden once more. It was years, centuries likely, since he had died. He had lived in a different time, with different expectations, customs, languages, with an entirely different world.

What had mattered, likely no longer did.

He needed to focus on understanding the present. Later, when it was safe and he knew no threat was near, he would accept what had happened and mourn what it meant. He needed answers, though he did not know where to find them.

Had his brother survived the war? Who else had died when they came after him? Had the Normandy wizards won with their non-magical king claiming the entirety of the Isles? Did Hogwarts fall? What had happened to Helga, Rowena, Godric, and the others? What of the children? (None of it mattered now. Time had made it meaningless to this second life but his consciousness needed to know all the same.)

" Boy !"

Salazar turned his gaze inside. Childish memories whispered of his relatives. His aunt scowled out at him.

"What are you doing out there?" she snapped as she pulled the door open, "It's barely six!"

He stared up at her, taking in her lime bleached(1) hair—hair bleaching had gone a long way since his time—and large pale eyes. Annoyance and a hint of worry flickered across the long face before annoyance won out. His aunt stomped over to him in her fluffy slippers and yanked him up by his arm.

"Never go outside without permission ever again!" She screeched as she dragged him across the doorway. The woman continued to rant at him as she pulled him through the sitting room and into the hall. Finally she yanked him out in front of her, and let go.

His eyebrows rose during the entire spat, bemused by the situation. He couldn't recall the last time someone had dared to drag him across anywhere—well...there had been that time with Godric. He shook his head and pushed the memory away, not wanting to consider the past yet. Instead he searched out for something more recent and latched onto it.

Vague memories of his aunt's dislike filter to his consciousness. But with it were the hints and whispers of a conflicted woman. Part of her cared for him. Most of her did not.

"–Do you understand?" she snapped out.

Salazar decided to stay quiet and obedient as he accumulated to his situation. He simply nodded in response.

She pointed to the small door under the stairs. "Go to your room! There is no breakfast for disobedient boys."

He obliged, though no memory came forward to confirm he had disobeyed past orders. That didn't mean he hadn't, though. A child's memory was a finicky thing. Many times the sounds were not as important as the texture, color, or the motion the child was experiencing. Their minds developed in numerous directions every day and it caused skewed memories or echoes of memories even. Long strings of words kepted in a logical fashion was far less important than the warmth of a hug or the fluff of a bunny's tail. An order to not go outside would take time to stick in a child's inquisitive mind.

He reached out to his room's door and paused as his hand grasped the brass handle. A spark, a zip, a skip of active magic danced across his hand. With it memories of escaping a nameless monster came to him. They grew more solid as he stepped into the small, dark space. The reincarnated wizard frowned into the dark as he contemplated those new memories.

His aunt slammed the door shut and with it a burst of light danced across his eyes. Green light flashed as an echo of the odd lamp light of his aunt's home and the whisper of screams followed it. It left as quickly as it had come. His frown deepened, that was a memory engraved in his mind from a very long time ago, respective to his new life's age.

Eyes wandered over the darkened room. The thinnest line of golden light outlined the bottom of the door. Everything else was shadows within shadows. Memory led him to the left by a step and down onto his bedding. He reached out and brushed a finger over wood. Thin layers of magic sparked under hand, illuminating the room and whispering of comfort and care.—It was accidental, protective magic made from a child's terror. He could taste pine and grass, and smell some floral scent that brought to mind a blurry face with red hair.—This was a safe place, somewhere the old memory could not reach. The magic would keep the specific nightmare away.

He had chosen this small, hidden place to hide from something. Salazar brushed his fingers over wood, pulling the sparkles up again and again as he considered what it might have been. He didn't think to deeply though, content instead to watch the physical manifestation of magic under his hand. There would be time later to investigate his new past, and accept the end of his old one.

Magic was still within the world. He was still magical. It just seemed to be hidden away. Perhaps it was out there in other places, hidden in plain sight.

oooP2ooo

By the time he was allowed out of his room, Salazar had recollected what amounted to his toddler memories. Most of it were vague sounds and colors and creatures he had seen and used to gain a fundamental, though simplistic, understanding of the world. For bunnies were soft. Dogs were vicious. Green lights were bad. Mommies and daddies screamed. Nap time in his hidden room was wanted. There were few distinct memories.

He had a cousin about the same age. They had shared a room but he kept waking everyone up because of nightmares and the need for a mother and father not there. His relatives did not fight him when he crawled into the room under the stairs and finally slept. When he woke his relatives up the next night, his uncle took him to the hidden room and sat him down in a nest of blankets. Uncle had sat in the doorway until Salazar had fallen asleep. He slept through the night and it became his room from there on out.

Uncle's sister came with a dog. It tried to bite him. It destroyed his diaper. Salazar fled to his room. The dog couldn't follow, even though the door was open.—Accidental magic on the door kept out everyone but him and kept them from realizing that fact too.

The last was of a large man with a huge beard carrying him as they sailed through the night sky on the back of a motorcycle. The man had used magic, unless non-magicals had figured out how to fly with more than planes. So magic existed beyond him and his hidden room under the stairs.

Salazar had no memory of his parents. When he tried to recall them, only the screams and green light came to mind. Or the few memories of his first parents pushed their way forward, which was uncomfortable. Salazar had not thought of them in years. Both sets have long been dead. Salazar only wanted an idea of what his new dead parents looked like. If he could recall enough, there might be some hint at them possessing magic also. But, alas, there were no memories to recall. He had been too young.

"Upstairs," ordered his aunt as he stepped out of his room. "Now."

Stairs were ridiculously tall. Salazar had a new appreciation for what goblins must deal with when visiting wizarding property. It was exhausting climbing stairs when so short. Remembering being far taller did not help.

Impatient sounds escaped his aunt but she never once offered to help him. Instead, she climbed up and down a few times, going past him as she carried various things about. As he reached the top, she returned with her son in her arms.

"Come on," came the sharp order as she swept past.

Salazar stared after, more than a little disgruntled. She led them to the bathroom. Realization dawned, his eyes grew wide and the reincarnated man turned to run. The door slammed shut.

"Clothes off. You're overdue for a bath." She sniffed as she knelt down and helped her own son with his clothes. "Ickle Dudleykins gets to have his bath first." She rubbed her nose to her son's. Her voice softened as she focused on the boy. "Isn't that right my Popkin?"

She turned back to him and her expression soured. "What did I tell you?"

Salazar pulled at his shirt and she turned away with another sniff. His gaze moved from his aunt and found a mirror. Mortification was written across the face of a tiny, pale toddler with a wild nest of curly, wavy black hair. The greenest eyes he had ever seen stared back at him, round with horror.

He yanked his shirt off and dropped it into the pile of his cousin's clothing. His hair fluffed up at the action. An angry scar almost glowed off his forehead. Salazar's gaze sharpened and he took a step closer to the reflection. It was a sōwilō rune. He stared at it in fascination, all the possibilities running through his mind.

Sōwilō, the sunna rune, representative of the sun and illumination, the life giver and light bringer, vanisher of dark and shadows. It's three lines were sharp and angry red, a perfect elder futhark. He could not have drawn it across his brow, being a toddler now, but one of his parents could have.

Of course, why was the true question. It might be the remains of a ritual or he had been set within a protective circle. Some runic spell might have been done, utilizing the rune as a focal. There were so many possibilities, he couldn't help entertain all that came to mind.

His pants were yanked off. Salazar couldn't stop the squawk of embarrassment even as his aunt finally picked him up. She nearly dropped him into the lewk warm water and then almost drowned him as she washed his hair and face. All thoughts about runes and the possible magic involved vanished as he attempted to claim the soap and tried to take control of his own washing—he didn't succeed.

oooP3ooo

Salazar stood at the entrance to the kitchen; he had long known better than to enter a kitchen. It was Helga's domain and only a fool would interrupt her at her work. He preferred eating her food over utilizing the various tools for some experiment or other.

This was similar but, at the same time, entirely different from Helga's kitchen. He couldn't see a single fire and yet his aunt was successfully cooking some type of meat in a pan. At least, it smelled like she was successfully cooking.

She turned and dumped a pile of sizzling meat onto a plate at the kitchen table. Then her gaze fell on to him. Her expression darkened but she paused at some thought and she waved her spatula at him.

"Come here."

Salazar narrowed his eyes at her but slowly stepped into the kitchen. His aunt set the pan and spatula down, dragged a chair from the table to the sink, and pointed at it.

"Get up. If you're going to stand there, you'll be useful." Once he pulled himself onto the chair, she flicked a metal handle and steaming water burst out. His aunt picked up a scrubber and covered it with a green substance before she rubbed it against a dish."Clean the dishes like this." She handed him the scrubber and left with a short parting warning. "Break anything and you'll not have breakfast."

He stared at the scrubber and then over at his aunt as she finished plating food. His uncle and cousin were called in and the food began to vanish. If he didn't finish this up quickly enough, he would not receive any food. He had been given very little the day before since he had been "disobedient".

Salazar turned the scrubber about. The handle was wooden. It would do well enough. He closed his eyes and concentrated. A tiny thread of magic answered. Salazar pulled on it and opened his eyes. Brows furrowed, lips pressed in a thin line as he concentrated on holding onto the thread of magic. It was slippery. He was far too young to have a large pool or much control but Salazar wasn't a child, he knew how to handle magic.

Slowly, he traced a line of runes across the handle of the scrubber. Magic glowed, etching the runes into the wood. Once he was done, he let go and the scrubber rose to get to work. Dishes were lifted by the active magic so the scrubber could reach everything. The water bubbled as the magic pushed it to boiling to make certain it was clean.

A hand grabbed him and lifted him from the chair even as someone started screaming. Salazar blinked owlishly as he found himself pushed into his room and the door slammed into his face. He could make out his relatives shouting and his cousin crying in shock.

He grimaced at the realization that his relatives didn't like what he had done. The fear was tangible in their argument as they tried to stop the scrubber. Eventually their panic subsided and he could hear them settled back in the kitchen. He pressed his ear to the door to hear them better.

"Vernon, what are we going to do?" cried his aunt, "He's just like her !"

Vernon, his uncle, didn't respond immediately but when he did it was in a tone implying no argument. He had made the decision and everyone would follow it. "We swore we'd raise him up normal. We will make certain he is! Even if we have to beat the freakishness out of him, Petunia."

Salazar frowned.

"The letter said–"

"I don't care a wit what some dingbat of a freak wrote us! He left the boy on our doorstep, Pet! It was November and he left a toddler out there overnight...They're all freaks. We can't take their word seriously! Your sister and her freak husband might have been murdered but you saw how he acted when we had them over for dinner—a bloody, egotistical fool unable to take anything seriously. They were probably asking for it!" A scraping noise and the sound of stomping feet indicated that his uncle had started to pace the kitchen. "I bet they got themselves killed because their freakishness removed any wick of common sense! It's their fault they got killed anyway. You remember the letter, they were fighting in a war even though they had a baby to worry over! What sensible parent would do that?"

Vernon slammed something before he continued to rant. "And the whole idea that our nephew is responsible for defeating a-a-a-"

"A dark lord." Petunia offered up with a pitch to her voice.

Salazar's eyebrows rose at that. He had defeated a dark lord. What in the Great Mother's name was a dark lord? Was it some member of the Wizards council that decided to delve into forbidden magicks? How did a toddler defeat someone like that?

A disgusted snort indicated what his uncle thought of the title also. "Absolute rubbish! That boy has been traumatized from watching his parents killed but hadn't shown any lick of freakishness till today. We'll raise him as we said, keep him busy so he never has a chance to do anything of the like again."

Salazar pressed his ear more firmly against the door but heard nothing. There was a good few minutes where neither said anything. It vaguely sounded like one of them had started to put away breakfast. Whoever was cleaning up finished or paused.

"I can start giving him chores." Petunia finally said, "It'll do him good to learn how to handle himself either way. Goodness knows what freakish things they do to keep a house to rights."

"Right you are Pet. Let's make certain he knows the meaning of decent, hard work. And the more exhausted he is, the less mischief he'll get into." Vernon agreed, "If the freaks are keeping an eye on us, then they'll just see us teaching the boy how to take care of himself proper. Just see, he'll not receive any freak letter from that freak school when he's eleven! He'll be normal."

Salazar sat back and stared thoughtfully at his door. His relatives knew about magic but feared it—and perhaps for good reason if they had lost relatives in a magical war.—His parents were magical. There had been a war between magicals. He had survived against something his parents had not. Salazar would bet a good twenty pennies(2) that his runic scar was the remains of whatever he had survived.

oooP4ooo

Chores were turning out to be interesting, the three year old reincarnated wizard thought. Salazar watched the vacuum as Aunt Petunia showed him how to push and pull it about. The dirt Dudley had brought in was sucked up into it. His gaze traveled from the vacuum down its rope to the wall it was attached to. How did it work without magic?

"It's simple," his aunt concluded before she held it out to him. "Now finish the room."

Salazar took the handle, it's entire top half folded down so he could hold it without rising onto his tip toes. It vibrated in his hands. A push moved it easily enough.

"I'll be in the kitchen. Turn it off here–" She pointed at a little glowing red glass piece on the vacuum. "–and come get me when you're done."

He watched her leave, waited all of a minute, and then investigated the vibrating device. There was a bag to collect the material sucked up. There were wheels and a hinge. The rest he wasn't entirely sure of. Most of it was made out of a substance he had never come across in his past life. It was strangely smooth, like metal but not.

Salazar pushed a tiny amount of magic through his fingers onto the surface of the vibrating object. It stopped and an instant after some sound, almost a click, revibrated out of the wall. The torches also ceased lighting the room.

A curse escaped down the stairs. Uncle Vernon shouted a moment later, "Pet I need a torch!"

"Shh! Dudley's napping!"

"I'm on the bleeding loo–You check the breaker then!"

Salazar turned his gaze from the ceiling to his aunt as she stomped from the kitchen with a scowl. A moment later the torches relit and the vacuum rumbled to life. Salazar pushed the vacuum till it hit the couch and then pulled it back but nothing terribly interesting happened. So he pushed his magic into the device this time, instead of just across the outside.

The smooth material began to melt under his hand. Another click resound once more as the torches and vacuum stopped working. This time, though, a little fire sparked to life where the vacuum was attached to the wall.

"Huh," Salazar muttered.

Curses filled the house as Uncle Vernon stumbled out of the loo and headed for the breaker, whatever that was. Aunt Petunia stepped back out of the kitchen with a scolding about Dudley sleeping.

"Aunt Petunia?" Salazar called, deciding it was finally time to say something as the tiny fire grew. Both adults turned at his call. Looks of horror flooded their scowling faces. An instant later, Salazar found himself in his aunt's arms while a bucket of water was being dumped against the wall. And a moment later he was sharing her arms with his cousin. Then they were out the door.

oooP5ooo

Salazar's first month in his second life was surprisingly educational. There was electricity which seemed to be lightning bottled somewhere, somehow, for the non-magicals to use in similar but more restrictive ways as magic. Adults no longer liked children to leave the house before sunrise—Uncle Vernon had eventually secured his bedroom door with a lock to keep him from doing so. Dudley didn't have the same type of lock but he was in a cage of some odd form so Salazar saw no issue with his relatives decisions. It wasn't like the lock could actually keep him inside if he wanted to enjoy the predawn before the strange non-magical world woke for the day.—If he didn't do anything particularly magical or "disobedient", he received an obsessive three meals a day(3) (which was apparently the norm in this day and age).

After the tiny fire, Aunt Petunia had Salazar help dust and pick up the house instead of vacuum. The new vacuum was much too nice and fancy for a toddler to be trusted with. That did not stop Salazar from investigating and learning about electricity.

His second revelation around electricity (the first being it's capacity to cause fires) involved the torches being lit by glass balls with thin metal inside. The torches, called lamps unless they were the marvelously small hand-held lights, were also connected to the wall to use electricity. They did not trip the breakers but the bulb did stop working when he pushed magic into them. Unlike the expensive vacuum, the glass bulbs were relatively cheap and they had a whole box on hand to replace broken bulbs.

These lamps were everywhere in the house. They were even affixed to the ceilings of some rooms. By the end of his first investigations, he determined that the important part of these lamps was the bulb, the socket, and the connection to the walls or ceiling. (When the electrician came to fix the vacuum-fire outlet, Salazar learned that there was even more rope inside the walls. The rope was metal wrapped in some type of protective covering and wasn't rope at all but wire. It was absolutely fascinating and also another sign of how restrictive electricity actually was.)

The second phase of his electrical investigation started when he found the socket on his room ceiling. None of the bulbs worked in it though. His attempt to have one work, borrowing a fair few of the extra bulbs, led to another revelation. Active magic and electricity did not mix. And his room had the protective barrier always active meaning the light bulb would never work in his room.

Salazar caused his second fire when he attempted to combine the two energies with a final lightbulb. It involved a simple runic matrix to guide magic and this electricity in a pattern to slowly combine the two energies together, and into his room's light socket. Uncle wasn't home for this fire and Aunt Petunia had invited an old lady over for some type of interview. The two adults fled with Dudley and Salazar. Firemen came to Dudley's excitement. It was the talk of the neighborhood and everyone had their homes checked over by electricians over the weeks after—All the houses had been built by the same builder, around the same time. Everyone was worried some subpar material had been used.

Even though the neighborhood had reached such conclusions, Salazar was fairly certain Aunt Petunia had realized the truth. He glanced from the smoldering house to his glaring aunt, his final experiment had likely confirmed her suspicions. Firemen exited the house for their third fire.

Magic and electricity could not be combined. Nor should anyone attempt to combine the energies least they wanted a fire. Salazar frowned at the house as he considered these facts.

The runic matrix on the refrigerator had caused the largest fire yet. He had assumed that the cooling attributes of the refrigerator, and the water residing in it, would have prevented a fire. Now he was glad he chose the refrigerator instead of the telly to run this test on.—Who knows how large the fire would have been without the water and cooling quality of the refrigerator.

It seemed electric devices worked very differently from enchanted objects. Salazar had never come across a cooling closet that could catch fire. It was all very strange. Fascinating and absolutely worth investigating but odd when considering all he knew. He had learned an important lesson. Electricity was clearly not magic, so he should not think it worked the same way. Further investigations would have to wait until his aunt had lost interest with the cause of the fires, though.

oooP6ooo

Aunt Petunia seemed to think his magic was causing the fires on a subconscious level. He was officially expected to do the pick up, dusting, and laundry in the house now. When he wasn't doing any of those, he was ordered out into the back garden to water the plants. If he completed all that, he was locked in his room for a nap. (Said room no longer had any electrical wiring in or near it. He had a torch, one of the hand-held lights, if he required light.)

Salazar never fussed over having naps. He was physically three, he required the sleep. That he continued to use his magic in small ways made the naps even more necessary.

When he was not completing chores (or adding runic matrixes to the bottom of the wooden furniture to stave off dust, or to the little decorative wooden picket fence around the gardens to help collect dew), he was sent to his new babysitter. His first meeting with her was enlightening in its own way.

Salazar finally had a chance to see the outside world beyond the gardens and the view of Privet Drive. They had to ride in the car to reach the babysitter because Aunt Petunia didn't have time to walk all the way there and back. Two streets of identical houses later and they were before a house just like the one he had left. Its front garden was different and there was no car in the gravel square but it was visually very similar.

The inside smelled of cat, cat urine, and an old lady. Said old lady greeted them all cheerfully enough. She had a hairnet, a pink dressing gown similar to what Aunt Petunia wore when she wasn't expecting visitors, and slippers on. He was told to call her Mrs. Figg, though his aunt called her Arabella. Aunt Petunia fled with Dudley as soon as the pleasantries were done.

Salazar silently cursed her when he was directed to a couch covered in some type of stiff protective cover. Cat hair exploded into the air around him as he climbed up. Then a tiny black kitten with a lion like tail claimed his lap. Big orange eyes stared up at him and Salazar couldn't help but smile.

It was a kneazle.

He gaze swept the room. Cats peeked out from their various hidey holes and sun-warmed spots. Some flicked tails of varying lion like fluff. They were the only immediate signs of magic.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Figg said in concern as she walked in. She picked up the little kneazle as she rambled at Salazar, "This little sweetheart is due for a new home. She's not supposed to be out and about."

Salazar could imagine the concern. Kneazle often imprinted on people unexpectedly, especially when young and especially to other magicals. Mrs. Figg likely kept the kittens hidden away so they didn't accidentally do such a thing. It wouldn't do to attempt to sell a kneazle that had imprinted on someone else.

"I'll be right back, dear."

Once she turned the corner, Salazar hopped off the couch and wandered the room with fingers heated with a little magic. He could hear her climb stairs as he searched. The fireplace and a tin full of some type of dust like substance responded to his magic with a whisper of their own. The tin had no rune marker to explain, so he set that aside and poked his head into the fireplace.

Again, he found no runes but he pressed a hand onto the ash covered hearth. His eyes fluttered closed as the magic whispered its secrets to him. Enchantments twisted up his arms as his senses were claimed by the magic: Warmth and the smell of smoke, the flicker of firelight and the whisper of conversations, the taste of burning wood and fire consuming forms, and spinning, spinning off to elsewhere.

The sound of Mrs. Figg climbing back down her stairs pulled Salazar from the magic. He reluctantly rose and rubbed the ash off his hands as he returned to the couch. The fireplace had communication and traveling enchantments entwined with fire and some magical substance to trigger and stabilize its use while words were needed to direct where the spinning took the traveler. The tin's dust was the likely substance. He wondered what words were needed. The enchantments didn't hint at a specific phrase.

Salazar stared hard at the fireplace, silently demanding answers to his hundred questions. This was a teasing hint towards a larger magical community. It did his heart good to know there was a magical society out in the world but he wanted more than the taste of it.

Mrs. Figg entered with a book and a cup of water. "Here you go dear." She handed him the cup and settled besides him. "Now," she flipped the book open, "I have to show you these, they just came in this morning! Doesn't Mr. Tibbles look dashing in this top hat and bow?"

Eyes unfocused in horror as the old lady went through the entire photo book of her cats. Salazar made non-commental noises as she gushed over the strange outfits she forced her poor cats and part-kneazles into. All the while, he couldn't help but wonder at playing the toddler.—The list of why play through his mind on repeat during the cat filled torture: he was physically three, no one would let him live on his own, he knew very little about the world in it's present state, there was only so much magic he could use before becoming exhausted, he had no where else to go, and there was someone out there that placed him with his relatives which must mean the person had some interesting in Salazar staying there.

Mrs. Figg sat him through three books of cat pictures before Aunt Petunia rescued him. By then Salazar silently promised to cease his electronic and magical experiments until he had his own house to burn down. Aunt Petunia never knew she showed up right after the silent promise and fulfilled the requirement of getting him out of there. All she knew was that the fires stopped now that her nephew was allowed off the property for part of the day. Him being three, meant the only place to send him was Mrs. Figg's.

A few months later a mostly grown black kneazle began to join him in the back garden. By her fifth appearance, Salazar decided to call her Omorose as a nod towards Egyptian respect for cats. (He had considered Pumpkin in case someone found out about her but she had been thoroughly insulted by such a name. She softened up only after he explained, in great detail, why he picked Omorose after that.)

oooP7ooo

It wasn't until he was well into his fourth year of this second life that Salazar found the house's blood tied protections. He only found it because someone triggered the enchantment while he was pulling weeds from around the bushes at the property edge. The enchantment flared across his senses, tugged some of his magic away without even a by-your-leave, and circled the entire property, causing the electronics to die temporarily.

Omorose's fur puffed up, standing on its ends, and she hissed furiously out at the property edge. Salazar could feel foreign magic as it swirled about the enchantment, searching for a way in. Someone was scurrying for him. He flopped down onto his butt as the sudden loss of magic hit him and exhaustion swept over him. Omorose claimed his lap with another snarl out at the scurrying magic. The reincarnate had a second to wonder where the rest of the magic the enchantment had needed had come from then he was asleep on the grass.

He woke up on the couch. His aunt and uncle were arguing in the kitchen again. He laid there in a daze as he listened to them.

"What if it was one of them?" Petunia asked, worried.

"No," insisted his uncle, "No, Pet...we have to admit it."

"That's not it! We're raising him to be normal! This had to have been some freakishness from that dark lord's followers. We knew when we agreed to keep the boy that something strange might happen at times, as a sign that these followers were trying to get to us through whatever protection Dumbledore left."

Something slammed down onto a table or counter. "No! There is no freaks out to get us—There isn't!—This is another sign the boy is a freak just like his parents. His freakishness is becoming more apparent as he grows older. That's what is happening."

Silence stretched across the house for a few minutes. Uncle's heavy breathing faded as he calmed. Salazar stared up at the ceiling as he considered the newest tidbit. He was four years old and already had an unknown number of enemies. He didn't know how many or who but there were people out there that wanted him dead.

He could really use his brother now. Someone to watch his back would be good. Salazar closed his eyes in regret as old memories washed over him. Godric, Helga, any of them would have been welcome.

Salazar squashed the depressing thoughts. He would never see them again. He would never return home, as the people that made it a home were gone. There was no reason to focus on the past. It was lost to him.

"If he's gaining more freakishness then...what do we do?" His aunt asked, her voice almost too muffled to hear.

"More chores."

Salazar grimaced. What else could they ask him to do? The entire house was covered in runic matrixes to remove dust. Dew was collected in large enough quantities to keep the gardens watered. He did the actual laundry and pick up from Dudley's messes. They just started him on weeding the gardens—which made little sense to him, what did it matter that plants were growing in the ground. Where else were they going to grow?

He turned away from the possibilities of new chores and considered the magic earlier. Not the scurrying, there wasn't anything to do about that. The enchantment that combated the foreign magic had needed more magic than what it had stolen from him. Where had it gotten the other magic? And how had it gained access to his magic without his permission?

oooP8ooo

He was officially cooking breakfast for the family. It was actually fascinating to learn how to cook with the stove and oven. Helga would have loved it.

Salazar was taught to cook bacon, sausage, beans, toast, and eggs in various forms. Once he had succeeded in those recipes, Aunt Petunia taught him pancakes and waffles. She seemed to enjoy showing him how to cook because she first attempted to do the same with Dudley and, when that failed in a cloud of smoke and burnt eggs, she pulled him in to learn how to cook other things.

It wasn't long before Salazar was cooking most of the meals in the house. Aunt Petunia still showed him new recipes as she enjoyed the success of his cooking and cut up the ingredients, when needed, but he was the one cooking it all. He learned about exotic spices and fruits and vegetables. Some he had heard of. A few he had even had a chance to taste when he and Godric had traveled through Egypt and Greece and so on. Many things, like bananas and vanilla beans, were entirely new.

Once he had perfected cooking roasts and lamb shanks, she turned to baking. Salazar found apple tarts and sesame seeded biscuits a delicious treat but his relatives often preferred the chocolate heavy cakes and muffins. Birthdays, in which all but his were celebrated, started with a hearty breakfast and ended with a chocolate cake. (If he added odd spices to some of the baked good to see what might taste good, no one but he knew. Aunt Petunia had no idea she particularly favored a chocolate and cinnamon muffin or at least she never remembered to pull the cinnamon out when she wanted it.)

Helga would have wept at all the variety available in the world now. And then she would have perfected the vast majority of recipes by a pinch of fairy dust or a splash of dirigible plum juice. Salazar tried to do her memory justice with the experiments completed, and all the plans to continue with magical ingredients he would one day have access to.

oooP9ooo

Between all his chores, Salazar found himself often napping with Omorose in the back garden. He was not old enough to be doing all the work he was. So working, sleeping, eating, and more sleeping was a pattern he fell into.

He rarely had time to search about the property for the enchantment's anchor. It wasn't until the next spring when he was ordered to dust the cellar that he found it. The cellar needed more than dusting to clean it. The brick walls were a white washed color tinted gray from age and grim. It was only filled with a few bottles of wine and boxes of christmas ornaments. There was little reason to clean the place but he suspected Aunt Petunia was starting to notice how little dusting the house actually needed these days.

There, on the wall most central to the property line, was a parchment. It was a letter. Salazar frowned at it, leaned as close as he could without touching it, but all he could tell was the ink lines were of the Roman alphabet. Aunt Petunia read books to Dudley using said alphabet. Salazar was not welcome during those bonding moments and so hadn't had an opportunity to compare her spoken words to the letters she pointed to.

It was strange that his relatives appeared literate. Only laymen and nobility had been in his original time. And even then the skill to read books and letters had been limited to Latin (though more and more had been branching off to write the vernacular instead).(4)

Rowena had been the most literate of the group. Her and Evander, her husband, could read Latin, Greek, and all the various runic script. But they had been scottish nobles. Godric and Gareth could read Latin because of some familia demand to go to mass and theological studies when young. But Godric's father had been a thegn and Gareth's a merchant. Their studies had been limited to the bible anyhow. Neither he nor Helga had the connections nor the requirement to learn in the same manner.

He could read ancient Greek and Egyptain runic spells and rituals, Arabic and Nordic was of slightly more difficulty. Even some Latin was discernible. But he had never had formal training to read a book (ask him to speak these languages any day of the week but to read books was a different matter). His training had been geared towards understanding magic and runic script in casting or to complete a ritual. There was a difference understanding why runes needed to be set in a certain pattern or tied to each other in certain ways for a particular effect and reading to understand a person's argument or story.

Salazar had meant to learn, now that Hogwarts was built and Rowena had started to fill the library, but then he had died. The reincarnated wizard shook his head as he forced himself to acknowledge the passage of time—Hogwarts wasn't built a few years ago. It was built many, many years ago.—Even if he had learned to read, he would not have been able to read this. The modern English was not the same as the tongues he had learned. He would learn to read all types of languages this time. The first would have to be whatever language was commonly spoken now. Then Latin. After that, he would see what made sense.

That meant, of course, that the letter before him was indecipherable. He could guess that it was the letter the dingbat, freak (probably called Dumbledore) had left with Salazar on the front porch. That it was flat against the wall with no obvious nails holding it there, kept Salazar from touching it. Who knew what would happen if he interacted directly with the magic present.

He needed to find an intermediary object. His fingers itched to draw out a runic circle that would pull the information he wanted from the parchment without triggering anything. Salazar backed out of the room as the design formulated in his mind.

"You cannot be done already."

Salazar startled and stared up at his towering aunt. She glared down at him and then stalked down into the cellar. He grimaced, he hadn't cleaned a single dust molt.

Aunt Petunia reappeared and pointed towards his room. Salazar stifled a huff of annoyance but obeyed. He couldn't help wondering if she would have punished him either way. No dust would have meant he had used magic once more and they didn't want that. That there was dust and no sign of him cleaning it was also a no-no.

He needed to remove these punishments. Salazar rolled onto his little cot and stared up into the dark. He was getting old enough that being ordered about and locked in his room would become inconvenient. It would be complicated, though. He was an integral part of the household, caring for the house and the people in it. He couldn't just vanish.

Notice-me-not knots would not work. But perhaps a few simple illusions would. One to cause him and, Omorose while he was at it, to fade into the background could work. His relatives ignored him most of the time anyway. Keep it weak enough and if they truly needed him, they could but if they had better things to do then they would not think of him. (And they always had better things to do outside of meal times.)

Thinking about it over the evening, the more Salazar liked the idea. All he needed was some natural material to store the matrix on, something he and Omorose could wear. The next morning, Salazar slipped up into his aunt's room. He looked through her jewelry boxes but didn't see anything she wouldn't notice missing. Then he poked through the closets.

A worn jewelry box sat amongst hat boxes. Inside were old jewelry. Most were tarnished and made with inexpensive materials. All looked like they were for a tiny girl or juvenile woman. Salazar hesitated for a second as the pieces must hold some sentimental value but he had done his fair share about the house these last few years. Two old pieces of jewelry would pay for that.

He dug around with magic on his fingertips. Much of the jewelry was made from material his magic didn't interact with. A few pieces actually started to melt when a spark of magic went into it. He did run across a variety of jewelry that could work but Salazar didn't want to wear a ring or bracelet with butterflies dangling off it. He didn't have pierced ears nor wanted to. And Omorose could not wear any of that.

Finally, he found two pendants made from some type of natural stone wrapped in silver. The chains were tied together by a loop of metal, one chain being slightly shorter than the other. The stones were of the same material but not of any precious quality as far as he could tell. They might have been a type of yellow-brown jasper or marble. He didn't particularly care. The necklaces were simple and didn't appear too feminine. The loop tying them together was easily bent and removed. It should work well enough.

That afternoon, after all his chores and during his expected nap, Salazar pressed his hand against each stone and guided his magic into tight, tiny circles of runes. The runic twin circles floated just above the surface of the stones, allowing Salazar to look them over before committing to them. He pushed more magic into the glowing designs to etch it into the back of the stones. It was the most magic he had actively used in this life.

Salazar awoke to his aunt calling him in to make supper. Omorose sat on his chest, tail swishing across his nose. He nudged the kneazle off and pocketed the pendants as Aunt Petunia stepped out of the house with a scowl.

It took a week to recover enough magic to add an ambient collecting and storage matrix on top. Then another week before he could add an enchantment to keep people from noticing the necklaces were there at all—thank you, Rowena.

Once done, though, his chores dropped to nearly nothing and no one noticed Omorose coming and going from the house. The world suddenly opened up with possibilities as his relatives only remembered him for meals, when the house or gardens got particularly messy, or when he was expected to go to Mrs. Figg. Not once did they think he wasn't doing his share of the work.

oooP10ooo

With his new found freedom, Salazar drew out the original matrix to investigate the enchantment over the house on some lined paper he had nicked from his uncle's briefcase. As he knew very little about the enchantment, he took a phased approach. The first matrix he created simply requested information from the magic within the enchantment.

Salazar very carefully laid the glowing paper on top of the letter. The already charged runic array flared and expanded out across the wall before shrinking to circle about the letter. He frowned as it continued to circle with no slowing. After a good ten minutes, Salazar gave up and left it to its work.

The next morning, he found the runic array covered paper laying on the floor. Salazar picked it up and went to his bedroom, snagging a biscuit on the way. Omorose was sprawled out across his cot, for all the world claiming it as hers. The look she gave him when he nudged her confirmed her opinion and Salazar sat onto the floor instead.

"You realize I didn't give you that necklace to have you steal my bed, don't you?"

Omorose yawned at him.

He rolled his eyes back at her before turning to the paper. The very center of the runic array was pulsing with faint light only visible because he was in the dark of his small room. Salazar pressed a finger on the spot and information flooded his mind. It wasn't nearly as much as he had hoped for.

The enchantment was actively pulling magic from his closest blood relatives and storing it in preparation for the next attack against him. There was also a poorly tied monitoring enchantment. Someone was being informed of the condition of the protection.

Salazar hummed thoughtfully as he set the paper to the side. Someone was watching over him. It was likely this Dumbledore person but he would be able to confirm this once he learned to read the letter.

The four year old pulled out a clean piece of paper, turned on his torch, and started work on the next matrix. He needed to understand how the enchantment pulled magic from him and how it was pulling magic from his non-magical kin. Now that he knew about the monitor enchantment, which was incorrectly tied to the other enchantment and so quiet ease to bypass, he could have a more detailed analysis.

It took time, partly because of how complicated the matrixes were and partly because of his still developing motor skills. Four year olds don't usually need to draw perfectly straight lines. Salazar couldn't do so as a four year old either but that was where rulers and the edge of books came in handy. (That didn't mean he couldn't wait to regain his skills at calligraphy. It was a very slow process for something that should only take a few hours.)

At the end of the week, he had his answers and they brought more questions. The enchantment was an interesting thing. As long as he saw the property as his home, the enchantment would exist. And the enchantment worked twofold.

First, it would draw any magic geared towards finding him, no matter where he actually was at the time and then it would disperse the magic so the person on the end of the searching magic would think it simply failed. It made any magical with the desire to harm Salazar incapable of finding him, no matter where he was—unless he brought attention to himself in front of such a person or if they were aware of where he was through other means. As long as no magical person told anyone where Salazar was, no one would be able to find him and as long as no one could find him, none that wished him harm could reach him.

Second, if someone with ill intent for Salazar did reach Private Drive, the enchantment would erect what surmounted to a notice-me-not charm around the property. The person would end up walking in random directions but never circles because that was the usual weakness of a notice-me-not charm. It also obscured any defining information for the entire neighborhood, making it impossible for the person to remember street names or house numbers to help determine what they might be missing.

It was an ingenious setup. Too bad the execution left much to be desired.

The enchantment was tied to Salazar through his blood. For the enchantment to settle over the property he considered home, it had to be owned by blood relatives and have at least one other blood relative living within it with him. The up keep of the enchantment was tied to those blood relatives as they agreed to the enchantment for Salazar's protection (they had to have for it to exist).

Technically, the only weakness of the enchantment was that a person not living at the property had to cast the enchantment. So that was a person that knew where Salazar was and could spread that news about as desired. Logically that person would be another blood relative but, as far as Salazar could determine, his aunt and cousin were his only blood relatives.

In this particular situation, there was a bigger weakness. One that both concerned and confused Salazar. For one of the fundamental rules of enchantments was that it had to be tied to magic for it to last any significant amount of time. That is why he tied his enchantments to charging rune matrixes. Rowena would utilize an enchantment within an enchantment to create a similar effect when she was in a hurry. One could also use a conductive material such as gold or diamonds that would either naturally collect and store magic or could be shaped into a circle to generate and circulate magic. They had used runic matrixes on diamond, engraved with gold for the most important enchantments of Hogwarts. Quartz was used for less important magic in the school. (It had nearly bankrupted Rowena and was one of the reasons it had taken thirteen years to build the castle. The wards had been the other part but for similar reasons.)

This enchantment was tied to Salazar because it was to protect Salazar. It was also tied to his blood relatives, Aunt Petunia and Dudley, because they were who lived within the property and accepted the enchantment. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were not magical which meant they could not be tied to an enchantment like this. But they were tied to it, so that meant they were magical.

Salazar could feel a headache growing at the circle of logic. The only way to do it, as far as he knew, was to have the enchantment use the non-magical's life but neither Dudley nor Aunt Petunia appeared to be aging quicker than normal. Which either meant the caster lacked fundamental understanding of enchantments and had delved into the art without the proper foundations (but somehow made it work) or the caster didn't care about the consequences of utilizing such enchantments. (Such enchantments needed an adult magic user tied to it. Theoretically, it could do considerable damage to a developing magical core.)

Finally, he decided to find out for certain instead of debating internally over the possibilities. He left his little room and quietly traveled up the stairs. A peek in Dudley's second bedroom revealed junk needing to be cleaned up. The guest room was closed and locked from the two toddlers so he pushed open the door to his cousin's actual bedroom. The little, rotund child was softly snoring away in his "big boy" bed.

Salazar stepped over a creaky wood plank, slid the door almost closed—any further and it would start to squeak—and crepted over to his slumbering cousin. Dudley was beginning to look a little too round. It might be time to avoid making so many sweets for everyone.

With a shake of his head, it was up to Dudley's parents to take care of any bad eating habits and Vernon's girth indicated it was probably a lost cause anyway, the reincarnated wizard refocused on the matter at hand. There was no magic in the room. Dudley hadn't done any accidental magic around Salazar before but there was no residual hint that he had done so when Salazar was busy with chores either. Neither Aunt Petunia nor Uncle Vernon had ever hinted at the possibility.

Dudley should be non-magical.

Salazar carefully placed a hand on his cousin's forehead and the other on his chest, over the heart. He closed his eyes and pulled his magic to his hands. He then carefully pushed the magic into his cousin, searching for a similar pool of magic tied to the boy's mind, body, and soul.

Magic shifted his perspective. The dark of his eyelids flickered with a shift of light. He opened his eyes to a swirling vortex. Salazar felt ill at the sight of a bursted core. He had never seen one before. Obscurus were more common than this, where children repressed their magic from fear until their magic lashed out.

This was entirely different. It wasn't the result of Dudley doing anything to his magic. Something had yanked on Dudley's core until it had been stretched and thinned into near nothing. At one point it was pulled and stretched far enough, the natural circle of magic had burst open. Dudley would never be able to use magic but he could have, if not for this. And there was only one thing interacting with Dudley's core on a regular basis that could have done this: the protection enchantment.

He separated himself from Dudley and back away. The acidic bile from his stomach churned up his throat. Salazar bolted to the loo as soon as he passed the door. It was one thing knowing that it was possible to destroy a child's magical ability through pushing it too far and it was another to see it.—Especially after considering the possibility as highly unlikely. And knowing you had the skill set to prevent it, if you had caught it in time.

Later, after failing to take a nap (there was too much to think about and the childish side of him feared what the enchantment was doing to his own magic), Salazar stared up at the ceiling of his cupboard. He did not want to but he needed to take a look at his aunt. Dudley having magic almost guaranteed Aunt Petunia did too.

oooP11ooo

Salazar found himself in a peculiar situation as he regarded the room of brightly colored pictures, filled with a horde of sticky, smelly children. He had expected to investigate his aunt's potential magic today. He had it all planned out. The infusion of chamomile and lavender was ready and the tea cup had a little circle of paper pasted on the bottom of the cup. The runic circle inscribed across the paper would promote the sleepy qualities of the infusion. He had planned to add it to her morning tea. She would have been out for hours, plenty of time to investigate.

Instead, Salazar found himself guided into the car and escorted through a building crawling with children. Aunt Petunia had dropped him off in this room with orders to listen and stay. Some eavesdropping with the other parents revealed this to be a school and everyone was starting their first year as five year olds. (Salazar hadn't realized he had turned five.) These children appeared to be his compatriots this time around. They left much to the imagination but they were only five.

"When I call your name, please take your seat at the desk I point to."

Salazar refocused on the teacher and frowned. His name? What was his name? How likely was it that his parents had named him Salazar this time around?

None since it was a bastardized form of the name his first snake companion had given him when he was two. Father may have taken the true name and turned it into Salazar but it still had started out as parsel. The name his mother had given him sounded nothing like any of the names in this day and age so he doubted that had been used either.

Did he even speak parseltongue this time around?

Salazar frowned at the thought. He didn't know what he'd do if he didn't speak parseltongue. He hadn't used it much, outside of battles, but it was still a part of him. It was his first language. His first friends had been snakes. To not have the ability would force him to acknowledge an even greater separation between his past and new life.

A hand touched his shoulder lightly. Salazar blinked up at the teacher.

"Harry dear, please take your seat."

Salazar blinked again as he took in the name. His parents had called him hairy? He was starting to wonder about them like Uncle Vernon did. Hairy was a terrible name for a child.

Salazar followed the directions and claimed his desk. A tag was taped to the corner. Roman script was written in pen across it.

He tried to recall being called hairy before. Nothing jumped out. Not even Mrs. Figg had used it, he didn't think. (It was entirely possible that he had mistaken her calling one of her cats hairy. Plenty of them had too much fur.)

Salazar spent most of the day mulishly following orders, annoyed that his relatives had never called him by his name. That this schooling took up most of his day did not help his mood. He had no time to figure out a way to investigate the enchantment if he was in school all day and had to make dinner and handle a few chores before bed.

Sadly, his weekends became full once more with the chores he didn't have time for during the week. His pendant wasn't strong enough to keep his aunt from ordering him around when she felt like the work needed to be done. And he found that he couldn't wear it at school least he was forgotten after check-in. Nor could he wear it when walking home, as his Aunt made him do, because the drivers couldn't notice him if he had it on. This meant he rarely wore it and often forgot to place it back on when he returned to Four Privet Drive.

Things only got worse before they got better. Salazar glared from his desk as the teacher called for another rendition of the Alphabet song. He itched to pull out a piece of paper and work on some runic design. He couldn't though. If the teacher couldn't tell he was present, he would be marked as absent and Aunt Petunia would be called. Then he'd be disciplined with more chores, less food, and time locked in his room.

Salazar could not work on any runic matrix without placing his pendent on. He wasn't allowed to work on other things from his fellow classmates. The teacher demanded full participation, even though most of it was obnoxious repetition.

He wanted to learn how to write and read but the class was far too childish for his tastes. The repetition got on his nerves. He had a basic understanding of the roman symbols already, some were useful for various runic castings. He did not need to repeatedly sing about the alphabet or pronounce what animal's name started with the letter. Salazar was done.

The teacher sent him a sharp look when he didn't join in the song. He couldn't help the glare he returned. Mulishly, he kept his mouth shut. Said teacher proceeded to walk up and down the rows. Salazar scoffed at her, knowing what she was attempting to do. Too bad he wasn't actually five and her stern look couldn't convince a goldfish to obey.

A hand pressed onto the top of his head. The teacher leaned down and staged whispered. "Harry, if you don't remember the words, we can practice during break."

Salazar flushed red, a childish side of him mortified as the children nearest giggled and sniggered. A burning outrage snapped through him and he stared to kill the old lady as she walked back up to the front of the classroom, far too pleased with herself.

Her wig turned blue.

His outrage vanished at the sight. Shock darted through him at the realization that he had an instance of accidental magic. The class roared in surprised delight. Their teacher startled about and took in the class, immediately spying the startled look on Salazar's face while the rest of the class were laughing and giggling and generally overly excited.

It took very little for her to decide he was the culprit for her wig.

A call later, and he was escorted home where he was immediately locked in his room. Then something large was pulled in front of it. Uncertainty warred through him.—The mix of terror and resignment on his aunt's face left him antsy.—He wasn't let out to make dinner. Desert was skipped entirely.

Salazar sat against his room's door, ear pressed as he listened to the activity in the house. Dudley was given a bath and tucked in bed. The telly was turned on and he struggled to stay awake. His tiny body won out in the end.

It was much later when the sound of one of the kitchen chairs scraping across the tile floor woke him. Salazar blinked out at the dark room. He could just barely see a hint of light coming through under the door.

"He's not to go near Dudley." His aunt stated, "Not anymore."

"Pet, he's just a boy. There hasn't been any unnaturalness from him since we picked up on the chore list. We're reaching him. He'll be normal. And he had no way–"

"No!" she snapped, "No, Vernon. She explained it all to me. Her wig changed colors after she had disciplined him for not participating in class. That isn't some random accident! It was retaliation. He attacked her !"

Fear filled her words at that last statement. Salazar closed his eyes in regret as he realized: His place in this family had a time limit. Eventually something would push his relatives over the edge. And then he'd see if burnings still happened.

Long repressed memories rose—His mother slumped lifeless amongst flames. His sister screaming, her tiny face twisted in agony.—Salazar squashed the memories with long experience and pushed them far from his consciousness. He swallowed the bile that had risen with them.

"–raising him to be normal."

"Lily was raised normal. It didn't help her!" His aunt's voice cracked at the end of that statement. Salazar sat up as he heard the pain in her voice. Lily, Salazar deduced, was the name of his mother. "She was my baby sister and they took her from me. They killed her when they sent her that letter…"

Salazar couldn't hear anything for a moment. He imagined Uncle Vernon attempting to comfort his wife. Or maybe Aunt Petunia had pulled out a rag to scrub the clean countertops as she tried to calm her thoughts.

"Pet–"

"The boy is one of them. Working him to exhaustion won't work anymore. The school doesn't know how to handle him. He's a freak and he is not allowed anywhere near my Popkin." Aunt Petunia decided.

Vernon said carefully, "It does sound like he has more of his freak father in him than hoped. To attack a teacher...Reminds me of the freak turning my own mustache yellow...I had thought him more like your sister, as you described her before all–all that nonsense had happened to her…"

Silences stretched for a few minutes. Then his uncle's voice came. Salazar could barely hear him. "He's still only five."

Petunia spoke up with a resigned air about her voice, "A letter will come for him when he's eleven. Then he'll be as good as dead to us, too."

Six year. Salazar moved to his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He had six years before he would have to leave. Six years to learn everything he could about the modern day world. Six years to find a place to live.

That wasn't so bad. He had lived on his own before, when he had been only six and the world had been a wilder place back then. Now he just needed to focus on what needed to be done, instead of this supposed letter he'll receive and the implications that came with it.

oooooo

1. Lime bleached hair was a thing centuries ago, before synthetic dying came about. It's what Salazar would know to explain Petunia's less then stellar bleach job (but much better than actual lime based, ancient bleaching)

2. pennies - when reading about old money, it is often called pennies. I'm not certain if that is accurate for a person that lived a 1000 years ago but it is why Salazar is thinking of pennies instead of other denominations at this point.

3. lunch is a relatively modern concept, depending on culture. And consistent three meals a day is similar.

4. 1000 years ago, from ~1984, what became England and the UK were in the Dark Ages. Literacy was not common and most who possessed the skill, possessed it only for latin because the Church had all their rites and docs in latin.