Chapter Ten

oooP1ooo

(Neville)

"You'd burn the trees down?" asked the silver eyed boy in the treetops.

"Of course not! Not on purpose," he responded with a scoff.

"Then why would they not like you?"

Neville looked away with a flush. This all felt sharper than past dreams. He could think clearer. It felt real. Words fell from his mouth without his agreement, but that wasn't new. "They can feel it, the fire in my magic."

He frowned.

Fire? His magic had felt warm and wonderful (wild and desperate to be freed of the gunk holding it back). It felt right—and yet not. His magic was fiery, it was a truth he had always known but had forgotten somehow—except that wasn't right, not quite. It felt different than he remembered (but forgotten). Different and yet the same.

The boy dropped from the branch. He was shorter and thinner and overall weaker than him. (His silver gaze held no fear at his words. Stubborn strength gleamed in those eyes.) The boy's hand came up.

"I'm Sa–"

The world jerked as they clasped forearms.

Silver eyes stared widely into his. Their right arms were clasped together and a liquid pressure of magic—thriving, twisting like vines, like slithering snakes—flowed up his arm. It withered up his right arm and burrowed into his veins and arteries, claimed his heart and flowed through his entire being.

The silver eyed man grinned, grimaced, at him. "I see what you mean about the fire. Your magic burns."

He looked down, breaking eye contact.

Runes surrounded them in circles on the floor. More runes glowed and pulsed in the air around them, spinning in some predetermined pattern. His gaze moved to their arms and found other runes and markings swirled around their arms and wrists, tying them together. Ogham and fuþark glowed gold. Swirls and circles, dashes and triangles—meaningless symbols that whispered of arcane powers glimmered around the runes, just as powerful and meaningful to their grapher.

The markings flared.

Something settled inside him, like a piece he had been missing. The withering, slithering magic curled about his own fire and faded. The ritual, as it was most definitely some form of ritual they had participated in, turned dark and the markings faded away until they were indiscernible.

They moved their arms apart, revealing the dried blood and the swirl of silvery gray and blood red runes covering their right forearms. He brushed a finger over the raw skin and hissed softly at the ache. The skin was already turning red and puffy, irritated from the magic embedded within each mark.

He looked up and knew what ritual they had done as he stared at the young man across from him. "Brother."

A smirk stretched across his brother's face as he answered, "By blood."

The world jerked and twisted. Neville shuddered as moments flew by his eyes of his brother, of his sisters, of war and conflict, of laughter and friendship. His brother's death, his marriage, his children, and his own death slammed into him the hardest. So many memories of his brother circled to the surface—something pulled them forward, teasing him, torturing him. It blurred together for but a moment.

In that moment a lifetime of memories poured into his mind and buried him whole.

He was in another ritual circle but the room was stifling hot, the sun beat down from the sky.There was no ceiling. His head was fogged and he had the distinct impression they had gotten very, very drunk. His brother would never live down them completing a ritual while drunk. If they survived this foolery, he'd make sure of that.

Their left arms were pressed together this time. Their right hands rested over each other's hearts, palms flat. Marking strange and foreign covered them. Some were picture like and a few lines vaguely reminded him of Roman script. Yet others were indiscernible squiggles and dots and dashes which must form some type of language but one he had never seen before. The circle they stood in had the same strange markings. The air crackled with power. Thousands of glowing lines flowed around them.—He was almost certain they were lines of script but it was too tiny for him to tell with certainty.—It was all very foreign and seemed far more complex than their blood brother ritual.

Eight tanned, wrinkled old mages stood outside the circle, surrounding it. They were brown and tan and old. A mix of black, salt and pepper, and gray hair was pulled back from flat broad features.—Not of the Isle.

They had traveled to see lions, hadn't they? He frowned as he tried to recall details. His brother had drawn attention in Fustat for his parseltongue...they had traveled down the Nile.—He shook his head to try to clear it. He couldn't recall. (1)

The old men were chanting.

His brother wasn't the one doing the ritual. The silver eyed man was going to hate that fact when they were sober.

The strange markings flared in a familiar way. The feel of his brother's twisting, snake like magic slithered up his arms but did not stop there. It twined and slithered up and in, burrowed through his veins and dug deep. It entwined with his own magic and continued to burrow into it, into the very essence that made him, him. He could feel his magic doing the same to his brother.

They were both screaming from the agony of their magic sinking into their very beings.

Then the room flared golden and something clicked into place. Like before it was as if something he had been missing had been found. Except it was more. A part of him felt changed, not just found. He was more than he had once been. He was he and he was his brother. They were two and they were one.

He met silver eyes and he knew, somehow, that they would never be parted from each other for long—comparable to the eternity he felt they now had.

The world jerked once more as he stared into those eyes. There was blood everywhere. The silver eyed man was dying.

One of their first apprentices betrayed them—him. He was supposed to meet the boy. He should be the one dying. He will kill the apprentice, if the boy wasn't already dead.

A part of him could not believe the sight. It had to be an illusion, some trick to distract him and make him drop his guard. (It was working.)

A cough rattled through the laying form. Blood splattered from pale lips.

His brother was dying.

The fact forcefully snapped into place. He dropped to his knees before his brother. Heart pounded in horror. ( . .NO.)

"You cannot die!" He croaked as he attempted to force his fiery magic into the soothing power of healing.

Blood covered his hands as he leaned over. He grasped his brother's hand with one while the other pressed to the most obvious wounds. The sizzle of blood pulled bile to his throat and he attempted a different way to force his magic to heal instead of cook.

It wasn't working.—It had never worked.—It had to work this time.—It wasn't.—It just had to.

Silver eyes stared up into his own. They were dull. No recognition showed.

He leaned closer and croaked out in desperation, "You cannot die Sally!"

The light was fading from those silver eyes.

"Sal! Stay with me. Stay with me."

Silver eyes flicked at the nicknames. Lips twitched into a faint smile. Sally's hand tightened onto his own for a moment. The strength faded as quickly as it came.

He hissed in a demand reminiscent of his brother, "Salazar, you will listen to me! Keep those eyes open."

Another twitch of bloody lips and the tightening of Salazar's hand in his was all he got. Then his brother went still and he was clutching a corpse. His brother was gone. A half of his soul—his brother in blood, in magic, in soul—was gone.

A hesitant hand pressed to his shoulder, "Godric?"

Pieces he had gained from his brother went cold. His eyes snapped up and stared at the enemies fighting the reinforcements he had brought. The world exploded with flame as he roared.

Godric snapped awake. His heart pounded at the terrible memory turned nightmare. Sweat covered him but the expected stifling heat of his magic charged room wasn't present. He stared groggily up at the night sky instead.

Hands paused at the feel of grass before the Gryffindor founder forced himself upright. His gaze swept over the area as his ears strained for anything else amiss.

Everything was amiss.

He was freezing. And butt naked. In an ancient druid's grove.

Godric took a moment to orient himself. He had no memory of coming to this place. His last memories were of his death bed or what he had thought was his deathbed. Godric felt some relief that he hadn't actually died from poisoning. Killed by his own wife would have been a terrible joke, almost as bad as marrying her in the first place.

This place was ancient but familiar. The feel of the magic, heavy and old as it was, reminded him of Hogwarts. Sally's groves were nowhere near this old, though.

Godric lifted a hand to tug at his hair but stopped at the sight of it. It was not his hand.

The hand was tiny. It was a child's hand. There were few calluses, the impressions from years of hard work were missing. The hand was soft. It was also slightly tan. His freckles had been stolen. The universe painted on his skin was gone. (His baby sisters would be outraged at the loss.)

His ritual bands and circles of runes were still present. No one had stolen his blood brother connection with Salazar. But it was irritated, the skin vibrant red and puffy. It reminded him of first receiving the mark.

He looked at his other hand. Some part of him expected to find it normal but it was like the other. Only his magic brother bond was still present. Even then, it was irritated and new looking, almost like it was freshly made.

Freshly made.

Godric pressed a finger against the dark red runes in wonder. A spike of pain answered but he ignored it. The runes had all gone gray and dull, faded after Sally had died. They weren't like that now. The markings looked new.

He looked down at the rest of himself. It was a small, chubby boy's body. His freckles were entirely missing. His hard worked physique was gone but the various ritual marks remained. All of them looked fresh and felt as uncomfortable as he recalled them being when first receiving them. He pressed a hand to the soul brother bond across his heart. It was as new as the rest, as whole as the other bond marks.

Godric stared down at it, pressed into it with his fingers as he took in the pain and revelled in what it might mean.—But that was impossible.

The man turned boy stood and nearly crashed back down as he overestimated. It would be a while before he became used to the body's size. Hopefully he'd be back in his own body before too long.

A bleating meow pulled his attention down and to the side. Orange eyes glowed up at him from a black feline face. The lion-like tail revealed it to be a kneazle. Its heavy middle implied female and pregnant but Godric had never been much of an animal person to be certain. It could just be fat. A simple pendant dangled from a chain around its neck.

It chattered at him in frustration.

"What?" he croaked out before grimacing at the young voice.

The feline turned and pranced, surprisingly gracefully with its heavy stomach, to a seemingly unconscious boy.

Godric didn't spring into action, though. The boy, clothed (lucky bastard), was on the ground. The limp stance implied unconsciousness but, Godric looked around once more, that meant nothing. He spied a stick and headed over for it, ignoring the yowl of irritation the feline sent at him. Barely halfway to the stick, he stepped into something gooey.

It had once been a candle. A quick glance around revealed the circle of melted wax. He had been in the center. Godric knelt and carefully shifted the leaves and plants around, digging up some of the grass. There was no runic design hidden underneath. His head snapped up to the sky. No moon.

"A purification ritual?" he breathed out in wonder. That explained nothing. It made no sense.

His gaze flicked back around the grove. It was just the boy, cat, and him.

"Where's the druid?" he muttered.

No adult would allow children to complete a ritual on their own. The mistakes that could be done, even with such a benign ritual, were astronomical. Sally always said–Why was he thinking of Salazar so often now? He had spent years trying to forget the loss of his brother.

A hand pressed to the other arm's forearm as he jumped to the answer. Pain spiked across the raw bond tattoo as he pressed against it. It was no longer faded. What that meant whispered in the back of his mind but he didn't let it breath it's tempting words. Sally was dead, had been for twenty-six years, four months, and seven days...

Godric gritted his teeth at the depressing thoughts and picked up the stick before he turned back to the unconscious child. A pile of cloth caught his attention. Eyes jumped between the two for a second before Godric decided some cover was better than nothing before confronting a possible enemy.

More chatter from the knzeale indicated that she disagreed.

The clothing was strange. It was extremely well made in a fabric he couldn't identify but there was no magic woven into the articles so he felt safe putting them on. They did fit the body he was possessing well enough. The black robe reminded him of the uniform Rowena had insisted on.

Godric left the robe on the ground but did investigate the pockets. There was a hat, gloves, and a wand. He grinned at the polished wood before he flicked it.

His grin vanished.

The silver wood and it's unknown core was entirely unresponsive. He set it back on top of the robe and retrieved his stick. It wasn't like he needed a wand, anyway. Though, without his sword, the wand would have been useful if he was forced into any formal duels.

Nothing jumped out, nothing changed as Godric carefully shuffled around the circle of melted candles. The feline pranced away from him but stayed near the boy. Orange eyes stared up at him in accustion. He could feel the disgust at dressing before investigating the boy.

Godric rolled his eyes at the cat and turned to said child.

A jab of the stick gained no reaction from the limp boy. A smack had a similar lack of response.—The kneazle huffed at him.—He pushed the child over with the stick, revealing some strange delicate metal and glass things on his face. Godric leaned over to stare at the device for a moment before he used the stick to poke at pockets and sleeves. No weapons or curses sprang out.

It took some creativity and effort but he was certain the child was both unconscious and physically unarmed. It didn't mean some enchantment or such wouldn't rear its head, though.

"Would you look at me, Sally? I'm entirely too paranoid in my old age," Godric allowed a bitter smile to spread as he muttered to himself, his gaze moved to meet the cat's gaze and then away. "I've turned into a more paranoid version of you. Too bad it didn't help with my wife."

The child had a mess of curly, wavy black hair and pale ass skin. Of course, the black hair and black robes probably made him look paler than he truly was. A reddened patch of skin had Godric push the boy's hair from his forehead with his stick. There was a vibrant red sōwilō shaped scar on the child's head.

Godric frowned down at the boy for a long moment before releasing a heavy sigh. He finally knelt before the boy and found the kneazle on said boy's chest. Godric and cat stared at each other, finally about level.

"Your boy needs to breathe, cat."

Orange eyes narrowed and the kneazle leaned toward him, nose twitching slightly. She tilted her head and chirruped at him before she climbed off the child, allowing Godric to take stock properly. The creature claimed the spot right above the boy's head to keep watch, laying directly onto the mess of hair.

Godric shook his head at her and she turned her gaze away as if dismissing him. Her ears were still pointed toward Godric.

The child had a fever. His heart rate was normal. There was no visible blood.

"Guess we're off to Hogwarts, lad." Godric muttered. His gaze moved back to the cat, "Off."

The cat ignored him. Godric used his stick to poke it. Orange eyes flashed back at him.

"Get off...up?"

She shifted and flopped her head onto the boy's head. Her body stretched out and paws tangled into some of the boy's hair. Godric narrowed his gaze at her and finally used his hand to push her gently away. The kneazle was gone the second his hand brushed against her fur.

Godric shook his head and turned back to the boy. It was late and both the child and he needed to get to Hogwarts before whoever had brought them here returned.

He grabbed the child's arm to pull him up over his shoulder. The boy flinched and whined sharpily. Godric frowned but dropped the child back to the ground and rolled a sleeve up to make certain there was no wound or broken bone.

His breath caught at the sight.

Godric yanked the child's other sleeve up, not bothering with being gentle. He had to tug an odd silver bracelet about but a helpless noise escaped his lips as he took in the markings. Godric pulled his own sleeves up to compare, though he had long memorized the marks.

The boy had the match.

"Sally?" he finally choked out.

The Hogwarts founder mentally reached out for the parts of him that were also Salazar, the bonds that tied them together until death (and, perhaps, through death, too). They had been cold since his brother had died.—They weren't cold now.

Three intertwined bonds thrummed with life. The bond of blood, the bond of magic, and the bond of souls all existed. His heart pounded hard as he reached out and grasped them in a mental vice grip.

Where was Salazar? The bonds answered: Before him. In front of him. Alive.

It had to be a siren's call. Salazar was dead. Godric had seen him die.

Godric tugged at the boy's robes, pulled them up so he could yank the tunic up. Vibrant red ritual runes and marks covered the boy's chest and hips. The soul bond across the heart was the twin of his own. Godric stared at it in wonder.

The Gryffindor didn't know nearly as much about rituals as Salazar. They each had their masteries and specialities. Rituals was one of Salazar's, not Godric's. But Godric had known Salazar long before his brother had his ritual mastery. He had learned a great deal about rituals from simply living with the man most of his life.

Godric couldn't help the tightening of his hands as he held onto the boy. He couldn't look away. Each person in a bonding bore identical tattoos but those markings were unique for that bond. Another group bonded under the exact same ritual would have an entirely different tattoo. This boy had the match to his which had to mean one thing.

A laugh, part desperate, part hysterical escaped Godric.

His brother had come back to him. Sally was in a black haired squirt of a child's body but he was back. A grin spread.

Another whine from Salazar reminded Godric of his brother's fever. He now had a good idea why Sally had such, though. It looked like most, if not all, of his brother's ritual marks were irritated. He had no idea why that was the case but a dip in one of the pools should soothe them enough to drop the fever to nothing.

Then, hopefully, Sally would wake up and they would figure out what the hell was going on with their body possessions. With that plan in mind, Godric dug into Sally's pockets and found another wand. This time, when he flicked the wand it reacted.—Not particularly enthusiastically but there were some sparks.—It reminded him of the other wand and robe.

Those likely belonged to the child he was possessing. Godric sighed but got up and reclaimed the items. He even pulled the robe on. Then he took Sally's wand and pulled his brother up over his shoulder.

"Uff," he groaned and muttered, "Lad's going to go through some strengthening exercises after this." Whoever he was possessing had no muscle. He must be a noble's child, one of those second sons expected to become a monk or priest.

Godric found the aspen gatekeepers and stepped out of the grove. A forest surrounded them. He looked around in wonder as he attempted to find something, anything familiar. Nothing jumped out to him. Only the brisk night air and the night sky filled with starlight was familiar. (But even that wasn't quite right.)

A mewl pulled his gaze down to the kneazle. She stared up at him.

"You aren't coming with us," Godric announced, "I've no idea what you think you're doing but Sally isn't your person. Gods, I don't think I've even seen him with any pet before and he can talk to snakes."

The black cat mewled again.

"That means shoo."

Orange eyes blinked one after the other at him.

He shook his head and focused on more important things. They needed to get to Hogwarts. His eyes dropped to the ground and spied an acorn.

Godric flicked Sally's wand at it and ordered, "Portus."

A frown bloomed across his face when his magic didn't respond. The man tried twice more before he switched wands. The silver wand was no better. He switched back to Sally's wand, as it had actually responded earlier, and tried once more. Finally, Godric laid Sally onto the ground, picked up the acorn and brought it over so it was directly in front of the wand.

"The one good spell the Normandy's brought with them and it requires a wand," muttered Godric in frustration. (If he had actually used the spell enough, he would have been able to do it wandlessly but it was a Normandy spell. He had avoided using it.)

He had never had this problem before but he had also had his wand to direct the delicate spell. Godric had only ever used his or Salazar's wand before. He had never been in a situation that had required him to use another person's wand. Neither present wand seemed to like him much.

Godric growled softly as his tenth attempt failed. "This is ridiculous," he muttered as he dropped down into a comfortable position and closed his eyes.

It took only seconds for the man to mentally sink into himself. He opened his inner eye and made a wounded sound. His magic was fucked.

He shook his head at the horrific sight, now was not the time to worry about this, and reached out to one of the spikes of golden, fiery magic. He wrapped a thick strand to his hand and pulled. Back in the physical world, Godric opened his eyes and pointed Sally's wand at the acorn. The spell snapped out as he concentrated on his desired result. His annoyance and tight grip on his magic had made verbalizing the spell unnecessary.

Godric tucked the wand into one of his pockets, pulled Sally into his lap so he had a better hold on him, and grabbed the acorn. The kneazle yowled in complaint but it was too late for her to do anything about the situation. It was left behind.

The world jerked and twisted. Nausea washed over him, revealing another weakness with the boy he possessed as bile rose to the back of his throat. Godric focused on keeping a hold of Sally and the acorn as they spun around and around.

Up and up they went and then down. The trip was almost over. He could spy a blur of the twinkling Hogwarts. They had been close, surprisingly so.—Godric couldn't recall a forest so close to Hogwarts but tertiary triad members could be wily folk, especially with the Normandy invaders out to wipe them from the world. It was entirely possible that they had started hiding entire areas from sight, not just their groves.

The spinning snapped. Godric yelped as he was tipped over and nearly let go of Salazar. A moment later they crashed.

Godric rolled over and threw up. Then he found Sally, who had apparently woken up enough to roll onto his side and throw up himself. Godric helpfully pulled the boy out of the puddle of puke. Luckily, Salazar wouldn't remember that.

He stilled and stared.

They were in a forest. Godric whipped his head around and saw Hogwarts. There was a forest at the edge of Hogwarts proper. The inner wall was missing. Godric was pretty sure the gate was missing too. There were three more towers than he remembered. The ones that had been under construction were completed. All of them were complete.

"How the hell…" breathed Godric, and not just because of the bloody forest on Hogwarts land.

Hogwarts didn't have a ward to restrict portkeys. Salazar had died before he could create something like that. Helga had added some charms to keep the bloody things from gaining access within the school but Godric had aimed for the main courtyard which was the designated drop off since more and more people were using portkeys these days.

But they had run into some type of barrier. Otherwise they should have landed in the courtyard.

Godric's mouth went dry. There was something he didn't know, something extremely important. The founder pulled Salazar over his shoulder and trudged through the giant ass opening in his wall.

He was going to get some answers. Gareth and Helga had better have them.

A wooden hut came into view as he trudged on. There was no light coming from it so it had blended in with the dark land. Godric paused and considered knocking. It was late but a secure place to lay Salazar so he could find his cousin and Helga would do wonders. Or better yet, the person that lived there could go collect them for him so he didn't have to leave Sally.

The sound of something banging snapped his head towards the school. Light streamed through the main courtyard's gateway. Figures rushed out a moment later. Their height and the time of night implied adults. They were strangers, all of them. He could tell with a moment of watching their various gaits.

Godric shifted his grip on Salazar and crouched to make himself as small as he could before he ran over to the garden near the hut. He laid Sally against a giant, oddly colored vegetable like plant and pulled the working wand out. The rush of figures came into view a moment later.

None of them glanced at the garden but Godric took no chances. He aimed the wand at their backs. While they were still focused on the forest, Godric delved back into his core to pull as much magic through the mess as he could. He blinked to refocus his sight, as ready for an attack as he could be.—What should have been instinctive was difficult. The magic churned, unused to being used or having freedom. It was wild and eager to spring out of him.

While he had fought control over his magic, the group of strangers had reached the edge of Hogwarts Proper. The eldest was a white bearded fellow wearing a set of truly ridiculous robes. A pointed hat and half-moon metal things on his face finished the assembly. The man flicked a knobbled wand out towards the crumbled wall and dark forest.

"It wasn't children," he announced in a grave voice.

A brow shot up at that claim. Sally and he were not children but damned if they weren't possessing some at the moment. Godric didn't see how anyone could have claimed such a statement. Last he checked there was no way to discern the age of an intruder without setting a barrier up before the person went through the area. He scowled at the sudden thought that someone could have placed such a barrier on the edge of his school.

What the hell was going on here? Who were these people?

"Why would children have portkey's?" scoffed a plump woman.

"There is always a possibility that some had gone on a little adventure. To be young and full of wonder, it can make them do the most foolish of things," the elder explained.

"And," huffed out a tall black haired woman in some type of wrap. Godric supposed she might actually be out in her undergarments as odd at that would be. "They likely didn't know it would be a one way trip. I keep telling you we need to change the charms so portkeys cannot work either direction. Allowing portkeys out of the school isn't good, not if the students learn about it."

"Now, my dear let us focus on the matter at hand," the elder responded, clearly not interested in reopening that conversation, "though there are no children, there must be someone."

"Unless they portkey'd away already," said a swallow skinned man. He flicked his wand up and muttered some spell. The people surrounding him lit up a vibrant red. Godric stiffened as he felt the spell swoop over them. One of his ritual bands burned against his skin and the spell continued on its way. Neither Godric nor Salazar glowed.

He relaxed, glad for probably the thousandth time that Sally had convinced him to go through that particular ritual. Paranoid bastard had it right sometimes. He had stopped counting how many times that band had burned in response to someone trying to track or detect him.

The group of strangers had moved into the forest. Salazar shivered violently, drawing Godric's attention. He pressed his hand to his brother's chest and let a little bit of his magic out into Salazar, focused on balancing his temperature against the fever (the single piece of "healing" magic he could do). The shivering subsided for the moment.

A flash of light from the forest drew his attention again. Godric grimaced as the elder walked back out with an acorn floating in a glowing sphere of magic. He waved his wand about a few times as his companions returned after him.

"A one way trip," he remarked with a curious frown. The old man shook his head and, with a wand flick to end whatever detection spell, tucked the acorn into his robes. "I will inform the ministry of the matter in the morning. Thank you for your prompt response everyone."

"Of course, Headmaster." Nodded the plump woman before she headed back to the school. The swallow skinned man sneered out around him as he followed.

That left the underdressed woman and elder, both of whom lingered at the forest edge. "Do you think someone was attempting to reach the stone?" The woman asked quietly.

"Perhaps, Minerva, perhaps," the elder said. He looked over the area once more before he added, "it seems to me that they may have been testing us. It should be common knowledge, common sense in fact, that we would have protections against portkeys."

"Albus, you don't think–"

"No. Of anyone, he would know of the protections in place."

Godric frowned as the two finally headed back up to the school. Questions and more questions. "I don't think we've returned home, Sally," he muttered to his unconscious brother. He furrowed his brow as he looked down at the black haired boy. "Good thing we've alternate entrances, eh?" He looked back up and again considered the strangers. "Good thing we hide the ritual rooms, too."

oooP2ooo

It took a while to reach the escape passage by the loch. Salazar grew heavy the further Godric carried his brother and this body struggled to breath properly. He was tempted to activate his strengthening runes. They would allow him to carry Sally with little strain but he was also wary of how they'd react with him not in his own body. It was a child's body and the ritual band that had been activated from the detection spell was still burning. It shouldn't be, not unless someone was still trying to detect him.

So he struggled along, weezing the further they went, and took multiple breaks. Thank the Mother for Rowena's space-time enchantments. They would have never made it into the castle before dawn if he had to carry Sally the entire physical path.

Godric took a longer break once they reached the end of the passage. He mentally considered which hidden passage would take them the quickest route. They were on the third floor. They needed to be in the dungeons.

He should have portkey'd them to the escape route near one of Sally's groves. The hidden passage to the ritual rooms was directly connected to it.

They could take the third floor passage up to the seventh floor where one of the passages would take them down to fifth. There they'd be able to go directly out to the kitchen floor. But then he would have to carry Salazar down a flight of stairs. That didn't sound pleasant.

He frowned over his options. They should have setup passages that could take them to any floor for this very scenario. He'd make certain that was added to the list of projects for the year once this insanity was completed.

Seventh had a passage down to the dungeons but it was on the opposite side of the floor. Could he tempt crossing that much open hallway? Or should he tempt a flight of stairs? He glanced over to Salazar.

His brother was shivering again; the fever had risen.

Open hallways it was, Godric decided.

He hefted Salazar back over his shoulder and pushed open the hidden doorway. A statue, not the one Godric remembered having placed there, slid back into place as he stepped out of the way. It wasn't a particularly pleasant looking statue. He much preferred the griffin one.

Shaking his head of the stray thoughts, he'd deal with the various changes later, Godric turned and stopped. The wall was covered in paintings. He had never seen such detailed, realistic paintings before. Only statues could reach such heights of realism.

A snort startled the founder. He twisted around and pointed Sally's wand out. But there was no one there. Godric searched intently for a long moment but the heat radiating from Salazar forced him to turn back and head towards the nearby passage to the seventh floor. He relaxed slightly as he spotted the tapestry of The Hunt. It was worn, had clearly seen better days but it was still there.

Godric leaned close to it and whispered in his mother tongue, "Ne sceall se for horse murnan, se þe wile heort ofærnan." (2)

The tapestry pulled up to one side by some invisible rope and revealed the hidden passage to the seventh floor. Once more the space-time enchantment shifted the long, winding path into a shortened passage. This time it was only a half dozen steps. The exit was hidden by a large painting.

Breath escaped in sharp, wheezing gasps. He attempted to control it, worried the sound would catch something's attention. The edge of panic bubbled through him as he struggled to breathe in enough air without rushing. It felt like his chest was closing up.

Tears stung his eyes at the sharp ache of each suck of air. Godric forced himself to set Salazar down and take another break. (Gods, this child was going to be put through hell during training if a bit of lifting and walking caused this.)

When he could breath without pain or hints of panic, Godric picked Salazar back up and opened the hidden passage. The opening revealed the missing griffin statue standing across the hallway. Godric stared at it for a moment. That particular spot should contain stairs up to their large meeting room on the eighth floor.

The sound of something snoring distracted Godric. This time he found the source of the sound. He stared at the snoring portrait used to hide the hidden passage he had just exited from.

If it snored, did that mean it could awaken? Could talk?

Gods, he hoped none of the paintings he had passed had been awake.

Godric shifted his grip on Salazar and trudged through the dark hallways, past more and more sleeping paintings. He took his time, careful to walk quietly and breath slowly to avoid wheezing and waking the portraits. Eventually the twisting hallway opened up into a general study area. Godric firmly ignored all the different furnishings (none were familiar). On the other end of the area another hallway continued for a short way. It ended with multiple paintings. More importantly, the passage he was interested in had an unfamiliar portrait where a mirror should have stood.

The figure was of some religious man, he supposed. The face was vaguely familiar but Godric couldn't think of many apprentices that had chosen to follow the Catholic religion, not to such an extent at least.

The man turned child shook his head at the idea. He wasn't one to judge but there was just something off about a person that joins an organization that openly murders people accused of magic, when said person had magic themselves. To each their own in the end. Godric couldn't claim the religion didn't have its purposes and better aspects. Some of the bible had resonated with him. He would have preferred less hangings and burnings at the stake, though.

Godric reached out and felt around the frame. Relief flashed through him as the portrait swung open like the mirror had once done. Godric quickly entered as said portrait woke and cried out, "Who's there? Of all the inconsiderate...Do you have any idea what time it is?"

The passage released them into the dungeons. It took only a few more minutes to reach the plaque of serpents and seconds to taps the heads in the correct order. By that point he was wheezing again. Once in the emergency escape, Godric set Sally onto the dusty floor and rested his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

His gaze fell to the floor and found small footprints in said dust. First years had come this way recently. More importantly, the dust layer was thick. It hadn't been that long ago since he had been in this passage. There had been no dust then.

Godric settled down beside his brother with a groan at the evidence piling up. A great deal of time had passed. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about how long.

This body hurt.

He was exhausted.

They were almost to the ritual rooms, though.

Godric glanced back down at the dusty floor. He had to wonder what condition the rooms would be in. Gareth nor Helga would allow the rooms to fall into disrepair. Neither would the children. But none of them seemed to be in Hogwarts.

A rather pathetic sounding whimper from Salazar forced Godric back up. The basilisk statue moved on his command and they traversed the last space-time enchanted passage to the ritual rooms. Soft, silvery moonlight glowed from Sally's experimental runic stones, lighting the passage and room as Godric entered.

It was beyond dusty. The classroom was empty of any furnishings. The thick layer of dust on the floor had long turned into a grimy dirt. The various doors were missing. Any wood in the lit rooms had either been removed or had crumbled from time. Who knows what the pitch black ritual rooms held.

Both cleansing pools were empty of water. Only grim covered the deeply inset basins. None of the patterns and decorations on the floor were visible, they were so dirty.

All of it made Godric uneasy. How long had it been since anyone had entered these rooms?

Godric laid Salazar on the floor in one corner of the room with the smaller pool. He stumbled over to one of the walls and fumbled with the various runic matrixes inscribed upon it. There was so much grime he could not make out all the runes.

Finally, after lighting up and twisting the patterns around, the large basin set into the ground lit with a white light. The light filtered through its own layer of grime, dimming and hiding the thousands of runes Godric knew covered the bowl. A rumble echoed through the empty stone rooms and water gushed into the pool.

The basin filled with murky water. Godric grimaced at the sight and looked back to the matrixes he had been fiddling with. He rubbed a sleeve against the wall but all it did was push the grime about.

He glanced back at the water and paused. It was clearer than a second ago. As he watched, he relaxed. The murky water was being removed by the purifying runes. Slowly, the water was becoming crystal clear and with it the thousands of glowing markings became visible. Soon the water would glow with an iridescence, indicating the cleansing magic was ready.

Godric turned to Salazar and pulled the clothes off his brother. He carefully pulled the strange metal and glass device that hung haphazardly from his ears (Godric was surprised the thing had stayed on through all the running about) and unclicked the thick, silver bracelet. (It had taken some time to figure out how to unlock it.) He paused when a delicate gold chain with rings dangling from it was revealed under the layers of clothing. Protective magic sparked in warning when he hesitantly tried to remove it.

Once Sally was naked, beyond the necklace, he stripped himself down also. The purified water would destroy their clothing. Only specially treated and created white linen could be safely worn in a cleansing pool. It was simpler to just forgo modesty. (Godric had no desire to storm his own castle butt ass naked. While he imagined doing so would cause a number of the older ladies to faint, if he had been in his usual body. It would have been entirely ridiculous. He would still do it if he had to but he didn't as long as he took the time to protect the clothing he had.)

Steam slowly filled the room. Godric groaned as he felt it affect his wakefulness. It was not the time for a nap. He rubbed his face and grumbled to himself. He needed to wake Sally and they would have to remove the intruders from Hogwarts before any of the children were harmed.

Thank the gods, purified water was extremely buoyant.

At the sight of the iridescent gleam in the water, Godric dragged Sally into the pool. Salazar seemed to relax as the water pulled the irritation from his ritual marks and dulled the fever. Puffy red skin slowly lost the angry tint and began to lighten to a mildly irritated pink.

Godric dunked his head before he shifted the two of them into a comfortable floating position with Sally's head on his arm and near the edge of the pool. Then he allowed himself to float and doze. The irritation of his ritual marks and his magic soothed as the cleansing magic went to work.

He did not fall asleep, not really.—It would be a truly foolhardy thing to do in a bath.—Because of that, he became aware the second Salazar began to stir. Emerald colored eyes peeked out from under black eyelashes. They were unfocused for a good few minutes as Sally struggled between unconsciousness and waking. The warmth of the water didn't help pull him from his slumber.

Godric could tell the instant Sally was able to focus. The barely lit ceiling, still covered with a mosaic of the night sky, seemed to pull his brother into proper awareness. His head slowly turned on Godric's arm and green eyes stared at him.

"Nev?"

He frowned at the unfamiliar word. Something nagged at the back of his mind but he pushed it aside for the moment. "Sally."

The black haired, green eyed boy frowned. He slurred out in response, "Nevilllle, how' we ge' here?"

Godric furrowed his brow at his brother. Not feeling particularly patient, Godric shifted and stuck his free arm out so Sally could see his forearm. There was no reaction for a long moment.

Green eyes followed the arm and took in the markings. Then Sally jerked up, tried to stand, and dunked himself.

Godric shot up and grabbed out for his brother. A short struggle commenced which ended with a coughing Salazar using Godric's shoulder as an anchor as he tried to clear his chest of the water he had accidentally swallowed.

When he finally succeeded, for the most part, Salazar choked out a quiet, small, disbelieving, "Godric?"

"Salazar," Godric answered quietly back.

His brother's hold on his shoulder tightened painfully. Emerald eyes stared at him in wonder. His jaw clenched and released multiple times. Salazar didn't seem to know what to say. His gaze dropped to his own forearms as he searched out the proof of their living, breathing bonds.

Godric could feel Salazar tug on their bonds. Sally's head snapped back up to stare at him an instant later. Wonder and hope and devastation crossed the foriegn face and his expressive emerald eyes.

They floated, staring at each other for a long few minutes. Salazar ended up breaking that silence with a whispered, "Tell me something only Godric could tell. Something you wouldn't see if I had accidentally shared my memories."

Godric tilted his head at the specific demand. There was a story behind that. It took a moment to consider his options. Something Sally didn't have a memory of but knew either happened or could have happened. A particular memory sprang forward but he took another moment to try and consider some other options. Nothing came to mind.

"Teasagh made me promise I'd give her a year, and I would help her during that year, to woo you. She was going to convince you to take her as your wife after the conflict with the Normandy bastards," Godric said.

Salazar became still, his eyes grew distant. "Little Teasagh?"

"You know–"

"Yes," Sally interrupted, "I just thought she had given up. I helped with her birth. I would never have–"

Godric snorted. "I don't know. I think you would have fit together well, if you had given her a chance."

The two stared at each other, falling silent once more.

Salazar shifted and looked away. "Did she ever…"

"I found her a good man. She was content in the end." Godric looked away from his brother also, even though Salazar wouldn't have seen the slight grimace Godric hadn't been able to hide. She had been content but not filled with joy as Godric imagined his sister would have been if she had married Sally.

Salazar moved away from Godric and returned to floating. Both fell into respectively heavy thoughts. Both had things to say and ask but, at least for Godric, the moment needed savoring. His brother had returned to him.

It was the odd sound of a pop-click that forced the two back to the present time. Godric stared at the source of the sound. A House elf stood wringing its hands together with wide eyes. It wore a sack with their Hogwarts's seal within a shield shaped symbol embroidered across the chest.

When the hell did Hogwarts get House elves, Godric wondered. He straightened as a thought hit him. Had the invaders brought them?

His gaze moved to Sally and saw a lack of surprise. His worry faded. Salazar had some idea what was going on.

"Master Sally," the creature finally wailed out, "You's be using unclean rooms!"

"Mipsy, it's alright." Salazar tried to calm the poor creature as he swam over to the edge and patted the ground beseechingly. "You couldn't have known we were going to use these."

Godric snorted. "Master Sally?"

Salazar slapped a wave of water into Godric's face. "It's your fault they call me that!"

"Oh really?" he asked in bemusement. How the hell was it his fault?

The House elf stared at him with sharp eyes. "Master Sally, your Nevvie be alright?"

Godric frowned. "Nevvie?"

Salazar frowned at him in turn. "Neville, you know, your name?"

"My name is Godric," he reminded his brother slowly. Godric watched his brother carefully, wondering if he needed to worry over Salazar's memory. His brother had been dead after all. That could have caused some memory problems, couldn't it?

The House elf made a startled squeak. Then it pop-clicked away.

"Brother...Godric…What is your last memory before awakening here?" asked Salazar.

He shifted his floating form up so he was sort of float-sitting in the pool before he answered, "I was laying on my deathbed...What I had thought was my death bed."

The pale, young, foriegn face softened. "Ended up old and wrinkled, did you?"

"Not exactly."

Salazar frowned at that but focused on whatever he was trying to lead towards. "Does Neville mean anything to you?"

"Besides being important enough for you to ask about it?" Godric snarked before he turned thoughtful. "There is something about it that...feels important, I suppose. It's one of those things that sits at the tip of your tongue, you know?" He huffed in annoyance. "I can't–the reason is just out of reach."

He couldn't recall and that was annoying. He always had issues remembering things.—Godric frowned at that because that wasn't true. He had very good memory...except for right after Salazar had died. But he was well aware why he could barely recall the shit that had happened over those years.

Godric looked back at his brother in time to see a slight grimace. "What?"

The black haired boy sighed as he leaned into the pool's curved wall, slumping further into the warm water. "I awoke in this body when it was three years old." He gave as a strange sort of answer. He turned to stare into Godric's eyes. His brother's eyes were an intense green. "I'm eleven now. We're eleven. We both go to Hogwarts as students." Salazar openly grimaced as he said, "We are children, reborn into these bodies. They are our bodies."

"Reborn?" Godric scoffed, "Death has screwed with your mind. We are clearly possessing the children–"

"These ritual bonds–" Salazar held up one of his arms. His gaze dropped to their blood bond markings. "–would not have settled onto these bodies if we were simply possessing them. And, as I said, I have been awake since I was three years old. Godric...It's 1991."

"1991–"

"That is the year," Salazar explained, his gaze turned back to stare intently at Godric, "I have been reborn into this body, into the Familia of Potter. I am...my name is Harry James Potter. You are Neville." Salazar paused for a moment. His brow furrowed as he considered something before he said, "Neville Longbottom."

"1991?" Godric breathed out.

Godric slumped down so the water reached his ears. He could see Salazar watching him from the edge of his sight but he ignored his brother as he considered everything Salazar had said. Godric turned his eyes to the mosaic covered ceiling. He traced the aged image of the sky, spied the constellations, recalled the sections that had fallen, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

They were in the future.

He could claim Salazar had his head screwed on all strange since death had taken him but it wouldn't change the facts. Dead men don't come back. Or didn't, till now.

His mouth went dry.He had died. Acadia had killed him. Did his children know?

Probably not. And it didn't matter. Hadn't mattered for centuries.

Over nine hundred years in the future and they were in eleven year old bodies, supposedly their new bodies.—Godric didn't really see how this body could possibly be him but Salazar won't lie about something like this. Didn't mean he was right, though. It still seemed more likely some idiot had summoned their souls and forced them to possess these children.

Godric frowned. Sally had been back since he was three. That was a long time to possess a child. And why hadn't he come back then too?

He huffed as no answer came to mind, beyond the entirely unlikely idea that they had really been reborn. It felt so impossible, like a strange dream where he regained his brother but lost his children and the others that made up their family.

Over nine hundred years was a very long time.

That must mean the intruders weren't actual intruders. Those adults must be the teachers and caretakers of Hogwarts. Hogwarts had stood nearly a thousand years.

A quiet stream of hissing curses drew his attention back to Salazar. His brother was looking over all the various ritual marks covering his person.

"Are you alright?"

Green eyes snapped up. Worry glowed in them. "Are all your ritual markss back?"

The note of Sally's parseltongue accent put Godric on alert. He cautiously answered with an affirmative. More, and more violent sounding, hissed curses escaped Salazar.

"How is it bad?" Godric asked, though the parseltongue was a good indicator that it was bad.

"We are children, Godric!" Salazar hissed out, green eyes flashing up at him, "Of coursse itss bad! We waited until we were adultss for a reasson."

"Do we need to worry about using any of them?," asked Godric as he floated closer to Salazar as his brother scowled out at the world, "Most of mine just...work. I don't have conscious control over them."

A frown softened the scowl. "Posssibly. I think ssome of the ritualss will influencse how our bodiess develop...A number of them sshould be ssafe to usse, the oness that don't affect our physsical form but I cannot be scertain."

"Right...so avoid using the ritual marks when possible, got it," muttered Godric before he changed the subject. "Why didn't I awaken when you did?"

Salazar started at the question. "What?"

"You remembered yourself when you were three," Godric offered as he realized Sally was still considering the repercussions of their ritual marks reappearing. It was interesting they appeared now for Salazar. Apparently his presence had caused some chain reaction within their magic. At least, that's what he assumed had occurred.

"Ah," Salazar said as he caught up to the subject change, "that is up for debate. I survived an attack by an evil wizard when I was approximately a year old. He killed my parents with some killing spell and tried the same on me. I'm supposedly the only survivor of the spell, ever. Helena–err…"

Godric grew grim at the strange, vaguely familiar story. He asked, resigned at the last part, "Helena is still a ghost?"

Green eyes blinked owlishly before he scowled, "You were aware–"

"I never got a straight answer out of them," Godric countered before Sally could properly enter a rant. He frowned at a sudden thought. "Did you?"

The two stared at each other for a moment. Sally looked away with a slight smirk while Godric scowled. "Of course she'd tell you. Never understood how you became her favorite."

"She was but a child when I died," Salazar countered, "I imagine it would have changed if I had lived to see her grown."

Godric shook his head and redirected the conversation. "You survived a killing spell?"

Salazar nodded. "Helena and I have debated the possibility that my parents had done some form of ritual and, combined with the killing curse, may have forced my past memories to surface." He pushed his bangs from his brow and revealed the runic scar on his forehead. It was only slightly less irritating looking now that the soothing magic of the cleansing pool had worked on it. "This is the only physical sign of that night."

"No other evidence?"

"Not really, no." Salazar shrugged, his hand dropped to trace the gold chain around his neck and dangling rings. "As for your remembering now, I think we can blame our bonds. We are brothers by blood,–" Salazar dropped the hand down to emphasize his forearm and stared down at the runic bands and design. "–by magic, and by soul." He shifted about in the water and lifted his left forearm to glance over the bond markings before pressing a hand to his chest where the soul bond marked over his heart.

He looked back up at Godric, wonder glowed in his green gaze. "We've been drawn to each other. I think you would have regained your past memories eventually from being around me...I suppose you don't recall how you have been dreaming of late?"

Godric shook his head.

"You weren't sleeping well. I could tell that much." Salazar sighed. "I vaguely recall the feeling that I had slowly dreamed back my memories over the course of a few years before I properly woke up. I think I may have caused that process to start with you."

Godric slowly nodded before he said, "But something happened that led to you completing a purification ritual for me."

"Yes."

Godric jumped to conclusions as an earlier remark about shared memories came to mind. "You accidentally connected with my magic again. More than just a brush."

Salazar grimaced. "The bonds were rather insistent on reconnecting properly and I hadn't expected-your magic…"

"Is fucked," Godric said as he looked back up to the ceiling, "I couldn't get my magic to work for a simple portkey. So I took a look...It's...bad."

"We'll heal it."

He offered a sharp smile. "Of course."

Salazar looked down into the shimmering water. "A bath a day will go a long way."

"Do what we must, I suppose."

His brother sighed. "You must have stuffed the last decade of memories into the back of that catastrophic mind of yours. At least you seem to recall some things. It would have been a true pain if you hadn't recalled the modern language."

Godric startled. He hadn't noticed but now that Sally had pointed it out, they weren't speaking any of the languages they both knew. It hurt his head for a moment as everything gained a foreign feel. It was like those moments when a word suddenly looked all wrong, even though it was written correctly. It was like seeing it for the first time.

"I could have done without that being pointed out," muttered Godric.

"You'll truly appreciate this then," Salazar said dryly, "You've gone and changed your accent."

Godric groaned. "Like that time with Pictish?"

"Yes but you went and combined your present accent with your past one. Just avoid speaking for the next month or two," Salazar explained.

"You must be joking."

"Not really."

A pop-click announced the return of Mipsy the House elf. She came with two stacks of clothing. "Master Sally, Master Rie here's your clothing. Breakfast be happening now. Best not be late."

"Thank you Mipsy," Salazar smiled kindly at her, "Hogwarts is aware?"

"Hogsie is." Mipsy hopped onto her toes as she beamed. Her ears flopped about in her excitement. "Mistress Lena knows also. She kept Hogsie from connecting so Master Rie's mind doesn't go mushie."

"It would be best to wait on that," agreed Salazar.

Godric flicked his eyes back and forth between the two. "What is she talking about?" He turned to the House elf. "Who's Hogsie?"

The elf bounced on her feet and glanced at Salazar instead of answering his question. Salazar also ignored the questions. Instead, he attempted to pull himself out of the pool. He failed, as his irritated ritual marks made it difficult to bend. Salazar fell back into the pool with a sharp clap of water. It looked a little painful.

Godric snorted at the sight and swam over to his brother to help push him out. "Well?"

The green eyed boy walked over to the runic controls and tapped a few matrixes. The water vanished from his form. The nest that passed as hair poofed out into a wavy, curly mess. Most ended up standing on end.

Godric smirked at the sight. His grin widened as it became clear that Sally had no idea. After appreciating the amusing sight for a moment more, the founder asked, "Salazar?"

"It would be simpler if you saw," Salazar finally explained as he dressed.

Godric raised an unimpressed brow but followed his brother's lead and got ready for the day.

Mipsy wrung her hands. "Masters, you be leaving now, yes? Mipsy would have the rooms cleaned."

"One moment more," Salazar said with a smile down at the little creature, "if you don't mind."

Mipsy made a helpless sound and pop-clicked away.

Salazar picked up their dirty robes and pulled out the various items from their pockets. Godric frowned as he was handed the pale, unresponsive wand. "So, this is mine?"

"I-Yes. Isn't it?" Salazar asked as he placed the metal and glass device on his nose before looking at the wand once more. "It is yours. Mine's the yew wand."

"It's not very good," Godric said with a frown, "I prefer your wand."

Salazar stared. "You prefer my wand?"

"It actually works."

"And yours doesn't?"

Godric answered the question with a swoosh and sharp flick at the pile of dirty clothing. "Wingardium leviosa."

Nothing occurred, as he had expected. Salazar's expression was worth the irritation at the failure. It wasn't worth the sudden sense of incompetence and uselessness that swept over him.

Godric started when Salazar pulled the wand from his hand. His brother twisted it around and looked it over with care. He watched as Sally held it an inch from his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for a hair fracture."

He yanked the wand back with a scoff. "You know shit about wands. You never even use yours."

"Like you're any better with that sword you carried around everywhere," Salazar scoffed back.

Godric straightened up at the idea. "Could I use my sword?" That would fix the problem of the useless piece of junk he apparently called a wand.

"No one wears swords, let alone uses them now." Salazar sighed. "You need to figure out what's wrong with your wand. Besides potions and herbology, all the magic intense courses are wandbased. It'll be a few years before there's other options."

"Great," he muttered as he slid the wand into a pocket, "Now what am I supposed to see before we go off to this breakfast thing?"

"Me, Papa!"

Godric turned sharply at a little girl's voice. A girl, maybe a year or two younger than them, stood at Salazar side. She had his daughter's hair.

Salazar interrupted his investigation, though it had paused quite sharply at the comparison to his daughter—His dead daughter. (She couldn't be dead. She hadn't been dead yesterday.) He hadn't even fully appreciated her transparent nature. "This is Hogwarts, Godric."

The little girl beamed up at him. "Papa Rie has come back in time for my birthday, too!"

"What?"

"She age's by the century." Salazar offered as if that explained anything.

The little girl bounced on her toes as she cleared the distance between them and tackled him with a warm laugh. Her form grew more solid as she connected with him. "I'm so happy you've come back papa! You were so sad when Papa Sally went away and then Papa Sally came back but you were gone and so he was sad too. But now you're both back!"

Godric tentatively hugged her even as he stared over her shoulder at his brother.

Sally smirked back at him as he said, "We should head to breakfast."

"We shou–"

Hogwarts released him and proceeded to stab him in the chest with her finger. "No tomfoolery till we have a proper bond. Sissy Lena said your mind's not ready to connect with me. That means you can get in so much trouble! So. You. Are. Not. Allowed."

She spun around to point at Salazar. "He's not allowed, Papa! No drunken stupidity, no tickling dragons, no nothing!"

Salazar offered her one of his charming smiles, the one Godric had sort of hoped he had lost the ability to use in this new body. "Of course dear."

The little girl beamed. "Good." Then she vanished. No pop, no click, just gone as if she had never been there.

Godric rubbed his chest as he tentatively asked, "Did she–"

"Yes," Salazar said clearly bemused himself, "I do think she was quoting Helga for part of that. She's a little bit of all of us, though."

"Suppose she got Rowena's tendency to rant?" Godric jokingly asked. Horrified realization spread across Salazar's face. That was answer enough. "Ah, too bad...Any chance you're also her favorite?"

oooPooo

1. Fustat was a major city, and was the economic and administrative capital for the Fatimid Caliphate in the 11th century, in now Modern day Egypt. Its remains are now part of Old Cairo.—Al Qahira (Cairo) was built in the late 10th century just North of Fustat to be the royal residence for the Caliph, and so the royal capital….if I understand this clearly. I haven't gotten a chance to really research this so feel free to let me know corrections.

Salazar and Godric head to Africa for lions and would have naturally ended up in one of the major cities in the area at some point or other. This is one of the cities Godric would have seen Arab geometric design, which influenced some of Hogwart's stained glass windows as noted in earlier chapters. This is also how Salazar and Godric learned some form of Arabic, since they would have been traveling the area for a decent length of time.

2. Ne sceall se for horse murnan, se þe wile heort ofærnan. = He who wants to catch a hart must not worry about his horse. (Old English). This is one of the 46 Durham proverbs which were written down in the 11th century. As with many proverbs, this was likely around for a while before it was finally written down.

A/N

_So I figured this is a good spot as any to note pairings. I like to think most of you got the correct impression that there will be no pairings for Salazar or Godric in this story but I will make it very clear right now. bThis is not a romance./b Neither Salazar nor Godric will be paired with any Hogwarts student. Nor will the two become romantically involved with each other as, while I have no issue with homosexuality, I don't plan on writing it within this story. I also have zero interest in turning their brother relationship into a weird incest but not incest thing.

And Sally and Rie are total bros. (The pure snark from the two is ridiculous at times, though editing helps cut it down.)

Both may look at the opposite sex, blatantly look, as they age into full on teendom though.—Sometimes you just don't realize that you're staring after all.—And there will probably be a decent number of children attempting seduction on them to the horror of our two old guys stuck in children bodies.

M/M, M/F, F/F, Goblin/centaur, etc., might be implied in secondary characters, beyond said attempts at seduction, though. Don't know if that will happen. Doesn't in part one but if it does show up, it isn't going to be a major point of the story. The most likely pairing type that might have more than implied showings, simply because of some plot I know of at the moment, is M/F but...it's not really a conventional relationship so I don't think it counts. It's not really romantic, that's for sure.

_Salazar and Godric hanging out naked in a pool bathing together is just part of their culture. There are many cultures that have communal bathing. Magical Britain, with the cleansing pool thing going on, developed (in my mind) this same type of culture during their original 1000ce lives.—Said culture faded away as rituals were made illegal and druids were killed off.—This will not be the only time we find the two, and possibly others, lazying around a pool buttass naked.

Which does lend to the faintest possibility of some lightly implied m/m crushing, I guess. I still don't see it happening because there are enough subplots to deal with without adding random side characters-crushing-on-each-other side plots in the mix. But since I am warning you about all this, consider yourself fairly warned.

_I debated on noting this last one but I'm not entirely certain I made it clear enough because of pov and character limitations. So. As noted, Godric has his memories as Neville buried under about +50 years of past life memories. Even when he recalled just being Neville, he was having problems...The mind is a delicate thing, you know? Our Neville has a mind that has been unbalanced since he started remembering, but not remembering, being Godric. That imbalance remains but now we have an "adult" perception to it all. (Which is hopefully realistic.)

Chemical imbalance in the mind can cause depression, erratic behavior, nervous breakdowns, hallucinations, etc. I am taking the whole memory issue as a type of chemical imbalance. I'm not saying Neville is going to have all those things happen but he had some showing through before this memory flip and it's going to continue, just in a slightly different way.

When this all settles, Neville/Godric should feel like one person and feel like a balanced merging of the two. Lets see if I succeed in doing that.

_I entirely failed to update the past chapters last month. That will happen over the course of this week, possibly all at once. So, in case you are notified for some reason, there is only one new chapter this week.

Also, during grammar edits, etc., I realized I stated some of the groves in the wrong place. I fixed that in this massive update...but in case some of you noted which direction some of the groves are, those directions have been changed. Sorry about that.