Hello all! This one-shot is written for the Race through Hogwarts competition on the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum. The prompt was "write about your house," and naturally I went right to its origins.

Updated as of 17 June 2015.

1. The First Sorting

Salazar had to keep himself from shuddering as his eyes scanned the small crowd of children congregated in the Great Hall of Rowena's castle.

At least, he did not shudder outwardly.

When Salazar had first approached Rowena about helping with his and Godric's plan to start a wizardry and witchcraft school, he had not expected her to be so apprehensive. Rowena had abandoned her monumental and formidable castle, despite the fact that it had been built and lived in by Ravenclaws for several generations. He had expected her to be thankful for being given an opportunity to put the fortress to other uses. Its stone walls reverberated with memories that Rowena did not wish to live amongst. At least, with children milling around, she would be distracted from its perpetual echoes.

And yet, she was anything but thankful. In fact, her compliance to his and Godric's plan came with several conditions, one of which was enlisting the aid of Helga Hufflepuff as a founder of the school.

Salazar did not doubt Helga's import as a founder of Hogwarts, as they had decided to call it. She was a natural educator, and had been teaching witches and wizards in an abandoned pub, or something of that sort, for many years. In fact, the jovial witch was the most knowledgeable in the field of education of the four of them, and the remaining founders had much to learn from her.

No, it was not Helga's import that Salazar doubted - it was her values.

The witch wanted to educate everyone. If she found a child in a muddy ditch that could make flowers appear in her palm, Helga Hufflepuff would do everything in her power to turn that filthy muggle into an all-powerful witch. It absolutely disgusted Salazar. The rare obscenities of the muggle world that possessed magic were just that - rare and obscene. In Salazar's opinion, they were not meant to be accepted by anyone - muggle or magic - but to perish until none remained. They were a dark spot of chaos on the face of an orderly world.

Of course, Godric's boot would have found his bottom if he terminated their arrangement with Rowena, and the founders had to reach a compromise, because it was not only Salazar that was picky with his students.

Rowena was, as she ever was, extremely pompous and hubristic in the matter. She felt that only the most intelligent of children deserved to be taught. After all, as Rowena had put it, what purpose was there to wasting valuable time on an idiot by birth?

Salazar had taken the opportunity to assert that pureblood wizards and witches were likely the brightest, which caused Helga's features to contort into an irritated glare.

As for Godric, he was as impetuous and hotheaded as always. He believed that only the bravest children should be taught magic. There was nothing more disappointing, as Godric had argued, than a wizard or witch that was too scared to put his or her skills to use.

So that was how the four witches and wizards had compromised to educate who they preferred, separate from the other founders. The students would be in separate houses, living in separate parts of the school, eating at separate tables. Even in classes, there would be no more than two houses present in one room.

Salazar was not pleased. There were still muggle-borns in his school.

"Salazar," Godric hissed at him. "Pay attention."

Salazar left his thoughts behind him and returned his attention to the crowd in front of him. They were huddled together like scared animals, staring up at the four adults with a mix of admiration and fear. Most were about eleven years old, while some of older ages were scattered amongst them. The four founders were sitting at a levitated table at the farthest end of the hall. Salazar spread out the rolled parchment on the wooden table and read the first name.

"Morcant Ahearn."

The boy was skinny and covered in mud. He could barely speak proper and coherent English - a common trait amongst muggle-borns that had begun to explicitly stand out to Salazar. The frail boy flinched each time one of the adults spoke.

It was no surprise to Salazar that he was picked for the house of Hufflepuff.

Going through the list was insurmountably dull. Salazar had found a few students that were pure of blood, some that were extremely ambitious to master magic, and a very cunning fourteen year-old. Yet, to his dismay, there were no parselmouths.

He should not have been too surprised at that. It was a rare gift to be a parselmouth that very few were born with. Usually, it had to be inherited. It was rarer still to find a witch or wizard that was the first parselmouth in a family.

"Aldreda Mercer."

The girl that stepped forward was small and covered in unbecoming bruises and scars. Her brown hair was violently shorn short and matted beyond belief. Despite all this, she stood the tallest out of all of the students, even those that had already been sorted. Her arms hung stiffly by her side and she looked Salazar directly into his eyes when he called her name. Salazar figured her to be only about twelve years of age.

"Tell us, girl: who are your parents?" Salazar asked.

"My mother's name was Jocosa, and she was a witch," Aldreda replied with unexpected confidence. "My father's name was Elric, and he was a muggle merchant. He kept her secret."

Salazar leaned back in his seat and whispered to Rowena, who was sitting next to him, "This disinterests me."

"Of course it does," Rowena replied with a light sigh. Then, she asked, "Where are your parents now?"

Salazar was not surprised that Rowena was interested in the girl. She spoke nearly perfect English, for a girl that originated from a clearly impoverished family.

"Dead. Killed by thieves in our home," Aldreda replied, her face stony. "They tried to kill me too, but I managed to cut off the arms of one of them with my father's knife, and ran with my mother's wand before the other could do anything."

In the corner of his eye, Salazar saw Godric sit up, his interest piqued. "What have you been doing since then?" he asked.

"Living day by day," Aldreda answered. "I have faced more than my share of thieves in that time, I'm afraid."

Godric stood up. "Then let those days end," he declared with a booming voice. Salazar rolled his eyes. His friend had such a mood for theatrics. "You are now welcome to the house of Gryffindor, Aldreda."

"Very well, next up," Salazar started as Godric sat down. "Merlin."

A small, skinny boy dressed in rags stepped forward. His hair was black as pitch, yet his skin was pale and ashen. Every part of him, from the way he stood to the way he hung his head, expressed fear and uncertainty, and yet his childish features were set in a determined frown.

"We don't seem to have your surname, boy," Salazar observed. "What is it?"

"I don't have one," the boy replied.

Salazar raised an eyebrow. "Do you not have parents, or grandparents, boy?"

"I used to," Merlin replied quietly.

Salazar grimaced. There was no way for him to confirm his blood purity now. "Well, who were your parents then, Merlin?" he asked, more so out of formality than interest.

"They was a wizard and a witch, sir," Merlin replied. "But they was killed by another wizard."

At least both parents were magic. That showed some promise to Salazar. Yet, he remained disinterested. For all he knew, they might have been muggle-borns. He could see Rowena's mind working harder than it ever did before, and he decided to stay out of her path. She was an unstoppable force when she set her sights on something.

"I suspect, then, that you grew up around magic," Rowena started. "Were you taught anything?"

"Yes, madam," Merlin replied. "My parents were teachin' me magic before they was killed. My papa always let me use his wand."

He pulled out the worn wand to show them, and held it as if he was a practiced wizard. "Very good," Rowena praised. "What are your skills, then?"

"Makin' things float, I can do that, as well as turning rocks into birds," Merlin answered. Suddenly, he grew uncomfortable before adding, "I could do somethin' that my papa and mum couldn't, too, and they thought me special 'cause of it, 'scept I'm not too good at it, madam."

"What's that, then?" Rowena asked. Her eyes gleamed with interest. Salazar had to keep himself from yawning.

"I can speak to snakes, madam."

Immediately, Salazar sat forward. He could feel Rowena's searing glare. "What do you mean, boy?" Salazar demanded.

This had certainly piqued Salazar's interest. None of the children before Merlin were parselmouths, and here stood a boy that was likely the first in his family, an even greater rarity in itself.

"When snakes hiss, it don't sound as hissin' to me, sir," Merlin answered. "And when I try talkin' to snakes, my tongue forms hisses, not words. They understand, and they like me."

"Rubbish!" a boy in the crowd shouted.

"Silence!" Salazar demanded, raising a hand. "That is very impressive, Merlin."

Suddenly, Salazar felt the nails of a hand digging into his arm. He looked to his right to see Rowena's angry complexion. "This child is mine, Salazar," she hissed.

"He's a parselmouth, Rowena," Salazar whispered back.

"You cannot even confirm his blood purity," Rowena argued. "He is an intelligent wizard, for his age, and belongs in the house of Ravenclaw."

"I can't possibly imagine a wizard of filthy blood being bestowed the gift of speaking parseltongue."

"I eagerly await the day that you are proven wrong, Salazar."

Salazar's face morphed into a glare to rival that of stubborn Rowena. "I demand that Merlin be placed in the house of Slytherin," he growled.

Rowena let go of his arm, but kept her eyes fixed on him. "In that case, I demand that you all leave my castle."

Anger bubbled in Salazar's veins, even though he knew Rowena well enough to know that she would never follow through with that threat. "You mad - "

"Salazar, Rowena, please," Helga interrupted. Salazar's angry stare turned to her.

"Don't tell me that you want the boy, too," Salazar hissed.

"Nothing of the sort, dear friend," Helga answered. "I would not get so sharp with me, if I were you, as I am supporting your cause."

"Helga, what do you mean?" Rowena asked, her gaze turning frantic as she looked at Helga.

"Rowena, the house of Slytherin has half the students of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and a third of Hufflepuff," Helga explained. "Merlin will be in this school, and you will likely get the opportunity to teach him something, but it only seems proper that we allow Salazar this boy. He cannot help that he is so prickly and unfriendly."

Rowena's glare softened and she returned her attention to Salazar. "Very well, then," she said quietly.

Salazar nodded in satisfaction, ignoring Helga's jab, and stood up. "Welcome, Merlin, to the house of Slytherin."

An ambitious smile spread across the young wizard's face. "I am honoured, sir," he replied.

Salazar took his seat, the remnants of his victory smile still gracing his sharp features. He had never before met a child that shared his skill of parseltongue, so it brought expected joy to the experienced wizard.

Merlin would be, without a doubt in Salazar's mind, the proudest product of the house of Slytherin and one of the greatest wizards the wizarding world would ever see.

I always enjoy writing Founders era stories - there is so much left to the author's imagination, and it's a welcoming challenge to do the research into Old English names and vernacular :)

Thank you for any reviews and favourites!