Serpent's Bloodline: Legacy of the Basilisk

Even the best laid plans can go awry.

And there had been a lot of plans.

Fifteen years of freedom.

Fifteen years to raise a child.

Fifteen years to recover from guilt.

Fifteen years for a being to learn a new way of life.

But even the best laid plans could go awry - and whatever Peverell had planed, whatever the new parents and godparents of the child had planed, whatever would have been best for the child itself, in the end, it didn't happen.

Oh, Peverell gave up the child in his arms to a young and desperate couple. The husband of the couple had been the heir to a very important and influential French magical family. He and his wife had been unable to have children and in the end the husband's father had set an ultimatum: if they wouldn't have a child within the next two years, the marriage would be dissolved - something that the couple didn't want to happen because unlike others they had been happy enough to fall in love after marriage.

So they begged a friend to help them - and that friend was the one to be contacted by Peverell.

The child was adopted by the couple by blood-adoption to ensure that it truly was theirs before they returned to their home in France - and since they officially had stayed at a cousin's in Britain for the last year to escape the pressure of their parents and parents-in-law they simply could claim it as their own child, born by the wife herself.

The parents were happy.

The grandparents were happy.

The child had a family.

And Peverell had vanished from their lives to return to where he came from.

It should have been the end of their interactions for the next fifteen years - but it wasn't.

"Excuse me; is this the home of Salvatio Malfoire?" The man at the door eyed the stranger warily. The stranger was a grown, emaciated man with pale skin, black hair and blood-shot eyes.

"Who wants to know that?" the man finally said. The man himself had red locks and unearthly green eyes in the colour of the killing curse that would be invented soon.

"I am Anastasius Sanguini," the stranger said. "I am a teacher at Hogwarts, the school that your son's going to."

The other man just raised an eyebrow at that.

"He's not my son," he said. "He's my nephew and godson. I'm truly surprised that there's a vampire teaching at Hogwarts."

The answer was a grin full of fangs.

"I know that it's not really common to see my species outside of a coven, but… well… you could say that I am… different," the vampire said. "Don't worry; I don't use the children as snacks or anything idiotic like that. The most rumours you've heard about vampires normally are vastly exaggerated."

"Are they, now," the man said while his cool green eyes evaluated the being in front of him. In that moment, another voice from within the house could be heard.

"Nicholas?" the female voice asked. "Who's at the door?"

The man didn't even turn to answer.

"A teacher of your son's school, Cathérine," he said. "Did you know that Salvatio's school has vampires as teachers?"

The answer was a snort, then a short female with light blond hair and forest green eyes stepped next to the man.

When she saw Anastasius, she smiled.

"I guess you are Professor Sanguini?" she said. "My son has been talking about your class for some time now. I think he adores you."

The vampire sighed at that.

"I… well, I thought that as well, Madame Malfoire," he said. "But… well… may I come in? What I have to talk to you about shouldn't be talked about at the front door."

Cathérine Malfoire inclined her head at that and then stepped back. The man, Nicholas, followed her lead and then gestured the vampire in.

Together with their guest, they returned to the sitting room and then with an invite to sit down towards the vampire they sat as well. Inside the room already were two other people. A man with black hair and cool grey eyes and a woman with the same blond hair like Cathérine's.

"My husband, Lord Henri Malfoire and my sister Perenelle, Nick's wife," Cathérine said before introducing the vampire to her husband and sister.

"He's Salvatio's professor at Hogwarts," she said. "Professor Sanguini."

The vampire bowed.

"Anastasius Sanguini, at your service," he said and then sat down.

A moment later one of the house elves brought some wine.

"May we ask why a teacher of my son has come to us while the school is in session?" Lord Henri Malfoire, asked coolly and sat up a little bit to fix the vampire with a stare.

The vampire sighed.

"It's… complicated," he said hesitatingly. "May I first inquire if something… happened at home before he returned to school?"

And while the other adults exchanged confused looks, Nicholas didn't dare to look up from his fingers. He was sure that the guilt was written in his face…

Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire had always been a curious child. From the day his parents had laid eyes on him, he had always been different.

While other children loved to listen to stories, Salvatio preferred textbooks. While other children started to get bored at political functions, Salvatio stayed and listened. While other children expressed a wish to play, Salvatio preferred to learn.

The child had an inquisitive mind and his parents and godparents soon learned that answering one question would just lead to another three to answer as well. They also learned that keeping their child away from knowledge would just make it more determinated to unearth it.

In the end, it was the father - Henri Malfoire - who gave in and started to teach the child politics just to keep it away from other secrets that it shouldn't know yet.

"Henri, he's but a five year old! Don't you think it's… well… a little to early to teach a five year old how to circumvent laws or how to use them for his benefits?" the godfather asked the father concerned when he found out about the new training his godson received.

The answer was a sigh.

"It's either that or watch how long he'll take to find out about his adoption," Henri answered and rubbed his forehead warily. "I love him, Nicholas. I love him as if he was my own son -"

"He is, Henri -"

"-from birth, I mean," Henri corrected himself and then turned to the door of his study to ensure that it was still closed, locked and spelled. "Like I said, I love him. But he's far too young to understand the circumstances that lead to his identity. Do you truly think that I can tell a barely five year old that his true parents died around his birth and that his true uncle couldn't take him because of circumstances? I can't talk about blood-adoption to a barely five year old!"

"So you're teaching him about politics," the godfather asked with a raised eyebrow and Henri inclined his head.

"So I'm teaching him about politics," he said. "That should occupy him for a while…"

It did - for about two years. Then they were back to square one.

Yes, Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire was a curious child - but how curious Nicholas wouldn't learn until the boy had been home from his second year in Hogwarts for about a month and a half.

Nicholas himself was an inventor and alchemist. A lot of inventions in magic were made by him. A lot of discoveries in alchemy were made by him. A lot of new potions and spell were of his creation.

That day, Nicholas' wife Perenelle had wanted to visit her parents. Cathérine and Henri also decided to go. Nicholas instead had stayed behind to look after Salvatio who was currently ill in bed.

"Don't worry," he said when his wife and his sister-in-law and her husband left, "I will look after Salvatio."

"And no new potions until we're back, Nick!" his wife returned. "Who knows, you would even blow up the house if there isn't one of us near you to stop you!"

Nicholas had suppressed laughter at that.

"You know that I would never do that, love," he had answered and then kissed her good-bye. "See you later!"

Now, a few months later, Nicholas wished that he would have listened to his wife back then.

He didn't.

And he paid for it.

Tenfold.

So instead of doing something else, Nicholas had started a new potion in his lab that day. It was an experimental one and as such, relatively unstable. But Nicholas was an experienced potion's master and had done many great tasks with potions and alchemy. He even was in the process to create a true Philosopher's stone.

The potion Nicholas planed to create, was something to reduce fever. He had done his calculations over the last seven months and had looked up everything he could find about the ingredients he decided to use.

The potion formula he invented was sound, as far as Nicholas could tell, so he saw no reason to not brew the new potion right now…

Before he started, he had gone to his nephew's room.

The child had been ill with fever for the last four days and whatever Cathérine and Perenelle did - they both were experienced as healers - it didn't help. The child still burned as if it was fighting something constantly.

It wasn't the first time Salvatio had suffered under a fever like that. Since the child had turned nine, it had bouts of fever at least once a year and no one could tell what was wrong with the child.

In the end, Nicholas had started to invent the potion he wanted to start brewing that day.

"Salvatio?" he whispered into the darkened room and the child's tired eyes snapped up to look at him.

"Oncle… Nick?" it asked.

"I'm going to try the potion idea that I've been working on," Nicholas said. He hadn't told the child that the potion was for it. If he had done something wrong, at least the child wouldn't feel low because of it. "If you need me, I'm in the lab."

"A'right," the child mumbled as an answer and then closed its eyes again. Nicholas stepped next to the bed to measure the child's fever. The child leaned into his touch, desperate for the chill of Nicholas' hand.

The fever was still far too high.

Not good. Not good at all.

Nicholas just hoped that his potion would cure it. So in the end he tucked in the child and then kissed it on the forehead before he left, closing the door behind him softly.

Back in his lab, Nicholas started on his newly invented potion.

The formula was easy and quite straight forward. The calculations Nicholas had done all showed a low probability for accidents.

So when Nicholas added the next ingredient, a biting carrot, he expected nothing to happen.

The potion was stable, the calculations sound and the ingredients shouldn't react too badly with each other. He was sure that he knew exactly how the ingredients would react together and it should not have been dangerous.

However, he was wrong.

Instead of a slightly bubbling potion, the cauldron suddenly exploded, throwing him in the wall behind him, burning and poisoning him.

Nicholas wanted to scream in agony, but had no air to do so. His lungs burned. His legs were in an odd ankle and he couldn't even move his hands. His mind was fuzzy and even blinking didn't reduce the slow blackening of his vision. And while he was lying there on the ground he suddenly knew that this time there would be no-one who would come to his rescue. Cathérine and Henri and Perenelle had already left. The only ones at home were Nicholas himself and Salavtio who was sleeping off his fever.

He was all by himself.

He would die today - and as if he had called them, suddenly memories of his life invaded his fading consciousness.

It was said that at the end, you would see your life flashing by in front of your eyes - and Nicholas did. It was shambled and not in the proper order, but he saw his life nonetheless.

And it started with the first time he had ever seen his nephew…

" The child - what happened to its parents?" he had asked the stranger who was still cradling the baby.

" They died," the man answered instantly. "And I'm unable to care for him. I'm far too old to run after a young boy like him."

Nicholas guessed that the man meant it. The man's hair was white and his eyes were oddly milky, showing an eye illness old people often had.

" Is there truly no-one else to claim the child?" Nicholas asked nervously. He didn't want to get up his friends' hopes just to find out that there was someone else still.

" The parents are dead; the… uncle can't care for him. The grandparents are too old. It was a mutual decision. You don't have to fear about losing him again."

And Nicholas had called his sister-in-law and her husband, his friend.

The first time Cathérine got to hold her son, was the first time Nicholas saw her smile in five years.

" What's his name?" she asked the stranger.

The man just smiled.

" We called him Sal," he said. "But whatever you chose will be fine. He's young enough not to mind a change in name."

" We should leave 'Sal' nevertheless," Cathérine replied. "I think it wouldn't be right for him to lose the last connection he still has with his birth-parents."

In the end they decided on Salvatio.

" Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire," Cathérine said. And neither Nicholas nor Henri had the heart to tell her that the child might later on hate to be named after a stone…

That had been nearly thirteen years ago. Thirteen years of laughter - and now Nicholas would bring new tragedy to the family by dying…

That was the moment the door to Nicholas lab flew open and Salvatio entered stumbling. For a moment, the child stopped, its eyes widened. Then panic crossed its face and it stumbled towards him, clearly unsteady on its feet.

"Oncle Nick!" Salvatio cried, speeding up to reach the lethal injured man that was his uncle and godfather. "Oncle Nick!"

Salvatio reached him and fell next to him on his knees.

Nicholas could see the horror on the child's face and tried instantly to distract the young boy from his beaten, gruesome looking body.

"It… will be… alright, Salvatio," he pressed out. "Don't… worry… too much."

Dark spots started to dance in front of his eyes, but those desperate and fearful green eyes in front of him made him fight the darkness.

Instead another memory creped in his mind…

Salvatio had been seven, when they finally had told him that he was adopted.

The child hadn't taken it well and had run away.

It had been Nicholas who found it.

" Salvatio," he said, while leaning onto the tree his nephew had vanished into. "Don't you think that running away might be the wrong reaction?"

The answer was a tear-filled scoff.

" Don't care," the child said. "It's not as if I'm wanted."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow at that.

" How did you come to that absurd conclusion?" he asked. The answer was a little shock.

" Because if they truly would have wanted me, they wouldn't have brought it up," the child answered sobbing. "Until now, they never talked about it with me. I thought that meant that they saw me as theirs…"

Nicholas sighed at that.

" Obviously we weren't able to even keep this secret from you," he said, and then he shook his head. "Your parents would have never told you if it weren't for your heritage."

At that, Salvatio had looked up.

" What do you mean?" and Nicholas sighed and started to explain about the condition that had come with the child.

" They didn't want to wait to tell you until you had to find out because they feared you would feel betrayed. At the same time they wanted you to be old enough to understand their arguments when they told you. It is obvious now that we should have talked to you years ago…"

"Oncle Nick!" And Nicholas returned to the lethal situation he was in.

He tried to smile at the panicking boy, but instead felt darkness creeping near.

"Not… your… fault" he rasped. "Say… tante Perenelle… I… love… er…"

He lost consciousness.

The last thing he saw were his nephew's eyes, lighting up in unearthly green fire.

"Not you, too. I won't lose you, too!" then the darkness found him.

" Papa! Papa! Look! I've got a letter from a school in Britain!"

" May I see it, mon fils?" and Nicholas stepped next to Henri to look at the letter as well.

" Nicholas," Henri said, but the other man had already taken the open letter to read it over again.

" It's from Hogwarts, the British school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Nicholas said. "It's inviting Salvatio to join."

Henri looked at him confused.

" But why?" he asked. "Salvatio is living in France!"

" I guess, he was born in Britain," Nicholas said. "My parents had to go to Beauxbatons themselves to enrol me there. I didn't get a letter since I wasn't born in France."

" If papa finds out -"

" -then you tell him that Cathérine and you were still in Britain when Salvatio was born. You were visiting your cousin at that time after all and you came home with the child after staying at our home for about two weeks - far longer than you planed. It's easy to pretend that you were still in Britain back then. That is, if you want your child to go to Scotland for its education…" Nicholas replied. "Salvatio knows that he's adopted. Maybe he wants to at least feel a little close to the parents he lost before he could remember them…"

Beauxbatons' yearly Yule ball was as dull as every year - at least until sixteen-year-old Nicholas laid eyes on a girl he had never acknowledged before. She was wearing a yellow summer dress with red flowers on it. Her pale blond hair had also red flowers woven in it and her forest green eyes were twinkling like the stars.

" Mademoiselle Delacourt!" he said. "What a stunning dress you are wearing today!"

She laughed at that.

" Stunning enough to root you on the floor, Monsieur Flamel?" she asked at that, her eyes twinkling even more. "Or are you still able to ask me for a dance?"

" Ah, Lord Malfoire, it's nice to see you again. Have you thought about my petition for the Magenmagot? With your vote, we would surely win."

" A legislation to register pureblood-born is not exactly what I want to support, Lord -"

" You should think about it, Lord Malfoire. After all, who knows what repercussions could come out of it if you decide to not vote for -"

" Père?" And Henri Malfoire had turned to look at his innocent looking six-year-old son.

" Not now, Salvatio," he said softly.

The boy just looked at him confused for a moment, then turned to the other Lord.

" Milord," he said. "Are you talking about the bribes that you pay the Head of the Aurors to keep your head out of prison when you talk about repercussions?"

And when the other lord paled, the innocent looking child continued. "Or is it about the illegal gambling you join every Thursday night?"

And Nicholas stood in the back and suppressed laughter at that. The boy was six! A six-year-old devil. How by Merldin and Morgana had that little devil sniffed out that information?

" Er… never mind, Lord Malfoire," the lord finally said. "I guess I will have to do without your help…"

And Nicholas burst out laughing, just silenced by the quick spell of his wife aimed at him.

" You know, when you ever - EVER - touch me again I will -" eighteen-year-old Nicholas Flamel tried in vain to not listen to his wife. Currently she had started on all the curses she would bestow upon him if he ever dared to enter her bed again.

" Don't worry," one of the two midwives whispered. "She'll calm down later. It's often like that in birth -"

" Good… to know," Nicholas answered and then swallowed when his wife found a new idea to get her revenge on him…

He wondered if his hand would survive that night…

" Bonjour!" Lafayette, the best wandmaker in Paris, said when they entered. "Madam and Monsieur Malfoire, how may I help you today?"

" We're here to get a wand for our son, Monsieur Lafayette" Henri answered, pushing nine-year-old Salvatio softly to the counter.

The wand-maker looked at the boy.

" He does not look like he's eleven" Lafayette finally said.

" He isn't" Henri answered while letting Nicholas and Perenelle enter. "He is nine."

" So why are you coming to me now?" Lafayette asked surprised. "There's still time."

" Normally there would be" Nicholas answered. "But Salvatio does know too much about magic and we cannot continue his study without a wand."

Lafayette raised an eyebrow.

" Normally parents do not teach their children a lot of magic until they reach the eleventh year of their life" he said, scrutinizing Nicholas and the others.

" He's a genius" Henri answered sighing. "He learned to read when he was barely three and I fear he does now know my library better than me."

" So he just read things?"

" No. He followed us around and asked question after question until we started to teach him what we know." Cathérine answered. "You are not telling us we should have stomped our son's thirst of knowledge?!"

" No" this time the wand-maker was studying the boy in front of the counter. Salvatio just stared back.

" How do you chose which wand does fit which wizard? Do you just let them swing the wands or do you test their bloods for their affinity?"

Nicholas could see the surprise in the eyes of the wand-maker when Salvatio asked his questions. Nicholas himself just shook his head. He had long ago given up on trying to understand how the youth came up with his questions.

" I use their blood" the wand-maker finally answered looking curious. "You're definitely not a normal young man, are you, young Malfoire?"

The boy just shrugged.

" I like to know things" he answered.

" Well then… would you give me some drops of your blood to test it?" the wand-maker asked.

" How many?" the boy answered, looking at the wand-maker with hooded eyes.

" Just two - there is nothing else I can do with them except of testing your affinity." The wand-maker answered smiling at the boy. Salvatio scrutinized him for a moment, then he nodded and extended his hand.

" You can have them" he said but he watched the wand-maker the whole time after he had spent the two drops. Nicholas found it amusing.

" You should not have told him about blood-magic and the Dark Arts, Nicholas" Perenelle scolded him quietly while watching Salvatio being measured.

" He asked and I saw no reason not to tell him" Nicholas defended himself.

" Well, the reason should be obvious" Henri said chuckling. "And I wondered why Salvatio was looking at the wand-maker as if he was the new Dark Lord."

Nicholas shrugged.

" Maybe I should have waited a few years," he answered. "But I saw no reason to at the time Salvatio asked. I did not think that he would make an enemy out of the wand-maker when he asks for his blood…"

In the end, they ended up with a new wand for the child and a warning: "Holy is an unusual wood for a wand" the wand-maker said. "But combined with the pureness of unicorn-blood and the darkness of grim-hair - something like that implies a greatness and a pureness of the soul I have not seen before. Watch out for him - he will change our world more than once until he dies…"

" You could adopt one of our children. Neither Perenelle nor I would mind if you -"

" No, Nicholas. Both, Cathérine and I know how much you love your seven children. We won't take one of them from you just because we can't have an own."

" You wouldn't take it. Perenelle and I would still see it every day. It would just have four parents instead of two!"

" No, Nicholas, no! Please! We simply can't -"

" -Then at least give me the right to search for a child you can take in without feeling guilty!"

" Alright. That, I can accept…"

…

…

…

" Salvatio -"

Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire was a curious child. He had always been inquisitive and had absorbed knowledge like a sponge from the moment he was given to his parents. Nothing had been safe from him. If there was a secret, he found it. If there was trouble, he landed in the middle of it and pulled himself out again before his parents could even think about helping him.

Yes, Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire was a curious child - but whatever he had learn, how different he was, nothing could prepare him for the day he found his uncle dying in his lab.

Salvatio had been feeling ill that day. It was the fever he had had ever for at least once a year since his ninth birthday.

This time, his parents and Aunt Perenelle hadn't been able to stay at home, so in the end, only Oncle Nicholas had stayed to watch over him.

It didn't truly matter to Salvatio. He had slept anyway, so he didn't mind his parents leaving too much. At least he didn't until he heard the explosion in the lab and came there to make sure that his Oncle was alright.

He wasn't, and it had torn Salvatio's heart when he had seen the extent of his Oncle's injuries and had heard his Oncle's words, trying to relieve him from a guilt that hadn't settled yet on Salvatio's narrow shoulders.

"Oncle Nick!" Salvatio pleaded, "Oncle Nick! Oncle Nick!" But the man's eyes had been unfocused and his breathing laboured. Something in Salvatio told him that his Oncle wouldn't survive those injuries. Something in Salvatio told him that he had to act, to safe the man in front of him - but whatever told him these facts, whatever called to him, he couldn't grasp it. It was as if it was removed from his reach by an unbreakable wall.

A wall Salvatio couldn't breach.

A wall Salvatio didn't want to even try to breach because he instinctively knew that behind that wall, nothing but pain was hidden.

Then his Oncle's eyes unfocused even more, for a moment, they shut. And Salvatio's hands grabbed at the shirt of his Oncle as if he could hold him, as if he could rescue him if he just held on strong enough on the bloody fabric.

Then Oncle Nicholas smiled.

"Oncle Nick!" Salvatio repeated his pleading.

And Nicholas returned to the lethal situation he was in. Again, his Oncle's lips twitched as if he wanted to smile reassuringly.

"Not… your… fault" his Oncle rasped. "Say… tante Perenelle… I… love… er…"

His Oncle's eyes closed. And suddenly, Salvatio was totally aware of the blood that not only drenched his godfather's and his own clothing, but that also had started to tint the floor red. A red puddle slowly but surely spread over the stone-floor, mixing with the greens and browns of the exploded potion and surrounding the bits and pieces of metal from the destroyed cauldron.

"Please, no, no, no!" Salvatio mumbled, his hands over his godfather's body, unable to touch him in fear of hurting him, but also unable to stay still and do nothing while something in his mind told him that Salvatio should be able to help - somehow, somehow…

But there was no way - and there was no-one he could call. Yes, his parents were noble. Yes, they had servants and even two house-elves, but the servants were home and the house-elves had gone with their masters and would be unable to hear the call from that far away.

Salvatio was alone and his godfather's blood was slowly soaking his garments.

It was when he saw his godfather's eyes flickering once, before the figure in front of him seemed to loose even the tiny rest of its life, that suddenly another, foreign part of him rose and filled him - still imprisoned behind impenetrable walls but there nonetheless.

His eyes lightened up in unearthly green fire.

"Not you, too. I won't lose you, too!" he hissed, his fists tightening until his nails drew his own blood.

Salvatio couldn't tell, who he had lost, but he knew, he knew as sure as he knew his name that he had lost someone - and he wouldn't lose Nick.

One of Salvatio's bloodied fists loosened and reached up to his neck where a locket lay - a locket he had worn since the day he had been brought to his family.

His fist closed around that piece of jewellery as if to pray to it.

Then he ripped it from his neck, throwing it away from him and watched it meet the opposite wall where it fell to the ground.

Salvatio hadn't thought about that gesture, he had simply done it, not caring, that the chain had left his neck bloodied or that the locket had opened when it met the wall.

Instead he turned back to his Oncle, his hands again hovering over the man while he prayed, he prayed to whoever would listen that somehow his godfather wouldn't die.

"You can't die, Oncle Nick! Not you, too!" he whispered. Then his hands finally stopped hovering and instead ripped open his Oncle's shirt so that he could see the damage.

Salvatio knew instantly, that even his mother or Tante Perenelle would be unable to save his godfather from dying. Salvatio had watched both ladies often enough when they induced into the healing arts to know that even their knowledge wouldn't be enough to safe the dying man in front of him - and yet, there was something in Salvatio that told him that his godfather could be saved, if Salvatio just would listen…

But Salvatio was a twelve-year-old child. Whatever he knew, he didn't know enough - by Morgana, no one Salvatio knew would know enough to rescue the man in front of him!

"You know, you could help him if you truly tried, Salvazsahar," a voice suddenly said and Salvatio turned wide-eyed towards the speaker. No one was there, just a shadow at the wall, flickering in the light of the still burning fire.

Salvatio turned back towards his godfather his hands again hovering, this time over the wounds.

"If you swear yourself to me, like your ancestors did, I would even help you," the voice said again and again Salvatio's head snapped towards the place where he had heard the voice from. There was nothing but the slightly moving door.

"If you truly want it - you are now strong enough to circumvent the barrier. It has lost a lot of its strength already," this time Salvatio thought that he even might have seen something - but when he focused on the place, there was still nothing there.

"It's your decision…"

Before Salvatio could even think about looking at the place where the voice had come from this time around, his Oncle's breathing stopped.

"No, no, no! No!" Salvatio cried. "No!"

And in an automatic gesture he reached for his Oncle's forehead, his fingers dancing, drawing runes in a known and yet so foreign pattern. Then he drew runes on his own forehead, before carving both of them into the flesh and activating them.

It all happened within seconds.

The magic of the activation cursed through his body and for a moment Salvatio's sight blackened. Then it returned in full colour - somehow feeling more intense than any other time before.

And his Oncle drew a rattling breath.

"You won't die on me, Oncle," the words were harsh and the barrier in Salvatio's mind wavered.

But something was wrong.

Something was different.

Salvatio's magic didn't flow like it ever did before.

Something had changed - something necessary had changed…

"Blood-magic," Salvatio whispered to himself. "I haven't done my blood-magic…"

And yet, that creature behind the barrier knew that there was no way to stop the ritual now - if they died doing it or not. The moment the runes were activated, Salvatio had thrown his life on the line.

But it didn't matter. Somehow it didn't matter that he had done so.

"You have a choice. Remember and rescue his life and yours or live forever in regret," the voice whispered again, but this time, Salvatio wasn't sure if the voice hadn't come from within him, hadn't been a part of him.

And suddenly Salvatio knew that whatever he had to remember - whatever pain was hidden away, pounding against the barrier in his mind - he had to remember, because he would never forgive himself if he could have rescued his godfather and hadn't done it because he had been afraid of a little bit of pain.

And with that thought, with that decision, the walls in his mind shattered, giving access to the memories lost behind…

" So… I will stay fifteen - forever?!" Salvatio heard himself ask a man he knew as atr, father.

" I am not sure" his father answered. "But I have made up a theory."

" A theory?"

" You are not from this time. Even if you have been reborn here - you still should not exist here because there are no circumstances that would have lead to your existence." His father elaborated. "So your body might be in stasis until you return to your rightful time. That means you would be able to grow in mind, but not in body until then."

" But… what is with dying?"

" My theory suspects, that you won't be able to die until you are back in your own time. You are timeless until you reach the day you left you own time. After that you should age normally."

" So I will be fifteen for the next thousand or two thousand years?!"

" He was stricken with horror when I told him" Salvatio's memory self told a knight - Sir Lancelot, his mind supplied. "He wanted to see my arm trice before he was sure that the Basilisk-venom had not killed me!"

" The story was true?" the knight asked half-horrified half-awed.

" It bid me" Salvatio had said casually. "It was a phoenix that healed me."

" I am surprised that your father did not insist that you would never leave his side again," the knight said. "How many winters did you count when this happened? Two? Three? As big as the scar is you must have been no more then a toddler!"

A memory of his twelve-year-old self slaying the basilisk.

" I taught you healing for ten years - and now you don't want to finalize the last step in your profession?" Morgana had said.

" A healer cannot fight" Salvatio heard himself answer.

" And you want to fight?"

" No, I want to protect."

" The time I grew up in, it was normal to do blood-magic. Rituals and potions were the most often used arts of magic. For us, blood-magic wasn't evil, it just was a way to gain control over your gift." Salvatio heard himself tell one of his best friends - Godric had been his name.

" But it's seen as evil now - so why didn't you stop?" said man objected.

" Because I can't," Salvatio had answered sincerely.

" What do you mean 'you can't'?"

" Blood-magic can be deadly if you…" then Salvatio had changed his explanation. "There are rituals and rituals, Godric. The first rituals a druid does are those to shield their body from the following rituals. After that comes the blood-wakening. If you wouldn't do the blood-wakening, you could stop after shielding yourself from other rituals. But after the blood-wakening you have to keep doing blood-magic. If you wouldn't you would lose the grip on your magic and finally on your mind. It wouldn't do you any good if you stopped."

" Oh," Godric had said, his eyes wide. "So… so you have to do it? You would go crazy if you didn't, right?"

" Yes. But there is always a setback in every kind of magic you practice."

" Huh? But… I didn't! Why should I call you a monster?!" Salvatio heard Godric's confused voice and he could feel a taste of his hurt and furious feelings of that time.

" I don't know," Salvatio had answered. "All I know is that you did! You called me a monster to my face. You called my father, my grandparents and my son a monster to my face! And you ask me why I would be furious with you?!"

" I would never… ! This whole discussion was about purebloods and pure-blooded children in Haugh's Wards! That discussion wasn't about you or your family!"

" Well, news-flash, Godric! I am a pureblood! My father was a pureblood! My grandparents were! My son is! I might be a mixed born pureblood but a pureblood nonetheless! I never thought you would think of me as a creature unable to behave human!"

" Mother was weak. She never understood that some things have to be done to come closer to our Firbolg-inheritance. This ritual is one of them - after all our ancestors are immortal, so that just tells us we should be immortal, too." Medrawd, his beloved baby brother had said, and Salvatio's response had been harsh at that time.

" Don't try to reason with me, brother. I am a healer. I would not understand what you are talking about."

" You were always more like mother," his brother had answered unconcerned. "No! You are like my father. Too blinded by your need to look out for others to understand an opportunity like that!"

" I think this time I am proud that you think I am like Arthur. I wouldn't even want to be like you!"

" I'm sorry, Salvazsahar," Salvatio heard Peverell say in his memory. "But it isn't your time yet. You might hate me for it later on, rightfully so, but if you ever need me and I'm still around, come and find me. I betrayed you once, I won't do it again."

And then words came to him that he hadn't heard back then, but that he remembered now.

" Tell me, my Lord, does his suffering please you so much that you force me to prolong it?" Peverell had asked in a desperate tone of voice.

The answer was a laugh.

" Nay, Peverell, child," the wind had whispered. "But it's not his time yet. He can't be claimed by Death until the circle is fulfilled."

It was the same voice that had spoken to Salvatio just moments ago…

"It's your decision, child," the voice said in that moment. "You know my price. If you will serve me like your ancestors served me, I will help you to rescue your godfather…"

And Salvazsahar looked up at the shadowy figure that was hardly seen in the light of the fire.

Then his eyes travelled back to the man in front of him - a man that was just still alive because of the magic that bound him to Salvazsahar. It was an unstable connection, a risky one. Salvazsahar could feel the connection's instability like he could feel the instability of his own mind.

Still, he had to do it, he had to try.

With experienced hands he started to paint the ritual circle on the floor. Then he placed the nearly dead man in the middle and activated the runes.

Again, Salvazsahar's magic stuttered before it stabilized, its instability together with his still suffering mind was drawing on his sanity and the clarity of his thoughts.

Salvazsahar shook his head and focused.

He picked up one of the knives that Nicholas normally used for potion ingredients, made sure that it was safe to use and then cut open the other man's body to reach the organs.

For a moment dizziness overcame him and his mind slipped.

Not good, he needed to focus!

But it was hard, so hard without the stability of his own magic. It was odd, the moment he remembered, the moment his magic turned wonky. But then, Salvazsahar had been ill at least once a year with fever since his ninth birthday - a clear sign of his slowly unhinging blood-magic.

If he had woken like planned by Peverell, the other man would have been able to guide Salvazsahar through the wakening and like that he might have been able to stabilize Salvazsahar until he had renewed his blood-magic.

Like it was now, Salvazsahar had just himself to rely on - and a patient he had to heal or he would forever regret it…

So he focused on the task with all his might.

But it was hard, and after a time, it slowly but surely started to impossible.

When Salvazsahar had not even finished the healing of the organs of the other man, his hand nearly slipped when his mind suddenly drifted away into nothingness for a moment.

"You know that you won't be able to safe him like that," the voice whispered again while Salvazsahar tried with all his might to return his focus on the task, to clear his thoughts and his mind and concentrate again.

He couldn't.

The fog that had started to invade his mind had strengthened and he couldn't even see his work anymore, nevertheless think about the next step.

"No, no, no! No! Please, not now!" he whispered, knowing without a doubt that he had to safe the man, but also knowing that he wouldn't be able to do it…

"Just one word, Salvazsahar," the voice said and its sound mixed with memories of other sounds. Colours started to dance in Salvazsahar's vision. Memories blurred, past and present slowly but surely melted together and Salvazsahar knew - knew without a doubt - that if he didn't get a grip of his mind right now, he would lose himself to insanity.

It was like back then, thirteen years ago when Peverell had rescued him, and at the same time it was nothing like it at all. While back then it had been a deliberate step towards insanity and the all consuming nothingness of the after-life, this time it wasn't wanted but fought. And Salvazsahar was losing said fight.

But he couldn't lose another person he loved. He couldn't lose the man who had taken the place of an uncle, of a godfather, of someone trusted and loved in his life.

"Please, I'll do everything!" he pleaded. "Please, just don't die on me!"

And like a sledge hammer something rammed into his soul, anchoring it to life and sanity.

It felt like downing.

It felt like being stabbed all over again.

Burning pain filled his body and his mind screamed when it was flooded with the same white flames that Salvazsahar had called to end his life just thirteen years ago.

Salvazsahar gasped and closed his eyes for a moment when his vision finally cleared and returned to normal.

Then tears leaked out of his eyes, dropping onto the wounds of his uncle, healing them slowly and surely like only phoenix tears could.

Salvazsahar's hands also worked with renewed strength until the last grave wound was healed and the man in front of him was as good as new.

Only when Salvazsahar was sure that his patient would live, he raised his face to the ceiling and spoke.

"Why did you even ask?" he said. "As far as I know I belonged to you already from birth. Why did you even ask for my promise when you already had me in your clutches?"

"Because without your answer today, you wouldn't have belonged to me from birth," the voice answered.

"So you already knew my answer. You already knew that I would lose my last safe-haven today, my last chance of peace in the eternal arms of death…"

"Don't worry, " the voice answered softly. "You don't belong to me fully, yet. And you won't remember your promise until it is time."

And with that, wind caressed Salvazsahar's hair, and to the crying child, the once dying man woke up to new life.

The next, Nicholas could remember was agony. All filling agony, cursing through his body, binding his soul and fogging his mind.

And then it was gone and peace filled him.

Nicholas opened his eyes again, seeing his nephew sitting beside him, weeping.

"Salvatio" he said softly and the boy looked down from the ceiling, his eyes focusing on his Oncle, tears still in his eyes.

"You stopped breathing for a moment," the boy said flustered. "I thought I lost you!"

Nicholas blinked at that and then sat up. His body still ached but the all-consuming pain was gone. Carefully he touched his chest and legs, sure that his rips had been broken as well as his bones in his legs.

Nothing.

No open chest, no broken rips or bones.

Not even blood, except of the blood which still marred his formally white tunic.

"I… I thought I could not rescue you!" the boy next to him cried and flung himself in Nicholas unsteady arms. "I fought! I fought! But it was… too much… way too much blood… and I didn't remember! I didn't remember!"

The boy hick-upped, clutching Nicholas' tunic like a life-line.

"Shh" Nicholas said, still feeling slightly ill. "Shh, it's all right, child, it's all right."

And just then he finally was able to comprehend the boy's words.

I thought I could not rescue you… Way too much blood…

"You healed me?!" Nicholas asked astonished, looking down at the boy in his arms. He knew his wounds had been lethal and not even Cathérine with all her knowledge would have been able to safe him this time.

"Y… Yes" the boy stuttered, still weeping.

"I had to… you were dying, Oncle Nick."

"I know I was," Nicholas answered while trying to wrap his head around the fact that his thirteen year old nephew had healed him.

"How…?" he finally asked and the boy pointed at ground around him. Written with white crayon there were runes, hundreds of runes.

Nicholas shuddered.

"Dark Magic?!" he asked, not sure if he should really be angry at his nephew. "You used Dark Magic to rescue me?!"

The boy, his head still buried in Nicholas breast, shook it fiercely.

"No!" He cried. "No!"

"But it was a ritual," Nicholas stated, while starting to feel better and better, as if each tear which fell on him, took away the pain.

"Yes" the boy whispered.

"A ritual to bring back the death?" Nicholas asked carefully but fearfully.

"No" the boy shook his head again. "A ritual to heal. But it did not help much. You were still dying."

New tears fell on Nicholas.

A ritual to heal… Nicholas never ever had heard about something like that before. Where had the boy learned it from?!

"I was still dying?" he finally asked. The head, still buried in his chest, nodded. Nicholas decided to let the ritual go until the boy was less upset.

"So how did you rescue me?" he asked instead.

A tear-strained face looked up to him, the eyes puffy and red.

"I… I don't know… I cried. I cried and you healed," the boy answered. "And now I can't stop crying."

Nicholas blinked at these words, but wiped away the tears still rolling down the boy's cheeks. He wanted to asked, how crying should have healed him, but in that moment he found the answer himself. The boys tears soaked in his skin and a faint glow emitted where they had been. Nicholas felt his fingers getting more agile, healthier.

He stared at the boy who clung to him and back at his fingers. A sudden suspicion filling his mind.

Again he wiped away the boy's tears, this time holding his hand so that the dim light of the fire could enlighten them.

They glowed in the colours of the rainbow, twinkled like little stars.

Nicholas was a potion master, he knew this glimmering.

Phoenix tears.

And then he remembered the stranger's answer to his question from way back then.

" A pureblood child?" Nicholas had asked and the stranger had hesitated a moment before answering: "Yes."

A child with phoenix tears.

And suddenly Nicholas etched for answers he couldn't get from the child.

"I don't think that something has happened to Salvatio over the holidays," Cathérine said in that moment. "Yes, he was a little bit different in the last part of the summer, a little bit more withdrawn and cautious maybe, but I don't remember an event that happened that could have changed him. I simply thought that he was growing up…"

"Something has changed within your son over the summer," the vampire Professor replied to that. "Whatever happened, he isn't the same anymore."

"What do you mean, Professor?" Nicholas asked and the Professor hesitated.

"He… treats me different," the Professor finally settled on.

"You mean Salvatio suddenly shows prejudice towards you?" Henri Malfoire asked frowning, but the vampire professor shook his head.

"No… no prejudice… just… different," he seemed uncomfortable with his answer. Nicholas was quite sure that the vampire could elaborate further but didn't want to for whatever reason.

"I was just concerned that something might have happened that could have affected him," the vampire finally settled on. "If there truly was no event, then I guess he truly is just growing up and he will grow out of his current behaviour quite soon…"

"If he's doing something wrong, we can talk to -" Cathérine started to say, but the vampire interrupted her with a soft smile.

"That isn't necessary, for now, I think," he said. "Give him some time to grow up. I promise that I will talk to you if the changes are intolerable. I just came to make sure that nothing else happened…"

In the end, the vampire left again, leaving an uncomfortable Nicholas alone with three other, baffled persons. And for a moment, just for a moment, Nicholas actually thought about telling the others what happened. Then he remembered his own promise to himself that he wouldn't say a word until he knew the full story - and that story he had yet to unravel.

Meanwhile a vampire walked away from a manor with a gleam in his eyes.

"I guess that there is someone else to visit tonight," Anastasius Sanguini murmured. "And I hope for Peverell's sake that he has a very good explanation for hiding my own father from his family for nearly thirteen years…"