Serpent's Bloodline: Legacy of the Basilisk

1899

The moment Sal stepped into the room, following his 'healer teachers', he recognized the woman on the bed. He hadn't seen her for hundreds of years, and yet, he had never forgotten her face.

She had been the only time-traveller he had ever met who had travelled back for centuries exactly like him - adding to that that he hadn't been able to save her, there had been no way for him to forget her face.

Staring at her again after all this time was unsettling and somehow bitter, considering all the time in the past he had tried to find a way to help her and hadn't found it.

Sal stepped closer to the bed, watching the other healers weaving their wands over the unconscious body in the bed.

Then one of the older healers stepped into the room - just seconds after Eloise Mintumble's eyelids began to flutter.

"What's her status?" The master healer asked.

"It doesn't look good, sir," one of Sal's female teacher healers said. "Whatever experiment she was part of, something went wrong quite horribly with it."

In that moment, Eloise opened her mouth and groaned.

"What can you tell me about the experiment, sir?" The master healer asked the other man who had followed them in. Sal's gaze focused on the man who stood next to the door, ringing his hands agitated.

"We were testing a new way to time travel," the man told them with tears in his eyes. "She went back in time and then used a device to return to the present."

Sal closed his eyes.

The unruly dark hair.

The glasses.

The face.

He knew exactly who the man at the door was.

The man was the splitting image of his ancestors - even if the ones Sal knew hadn't worn glasses.

Fleamond Charlus Potter - who preferred to be called 'Charlus' since his third year in Hogwarts.

Ralston Potter's descendant.

The man looked defeated and so different and yet all the same if compared to Ralston.

"Back in time?" The master healer asked a bit disbelievingly.

It was that question that made Sal remember his first meeting of the young woman in the bed and his life after meeting Ralston Potter…

2 nd June 1568

In 1568, Sal finally was able to give up the mantle of power in Hogwarts again. Antiona Creaseworthy had been made Headmistress, after Sal 'died' in the summer.

Of course, Sal could have quit his place as a Headmaster and simply moved on, but it was basically an unwritten rule that one was Headmaster for life. There had been not a single Headmaster before Sal who hadn't died doing his job as a Headmaster.

So Sal had decided to fake his death and give up his place as a Headmaster that way. It was never good to stand out, after all…

The moment Sal had been free from his duties, he had changed back to a young man again and head for London. He planned to leave the Isles and return to the main land from there.

Regretfully, he was cornered before even thinking to embark on his next adventure.

"Where are you heading, Salvatio Prince, without even thinking to say good-bye to us?"

Sal sighed when he heard the voice and turned around to face the couple who had obviously found him before he could go through with his plans.

"Móna, Ralston," he greeted the two of them.

The two students - now long since grown, smiled at him in amusement.

"My Prince," Ralston greeted, but instead of unsureness, there was a hint of teasing in his voice when he used the title.

Sal rolled his eyes.

"I'm no-ones prince, Ralston," he reminded the man.

To his surprise, Móna snickered at that.

Ralston just raised his eyebrow.

"I'm quite sure that even if you're not acknowledged by the most of the Isle, your claim hasn't changed because of that," he said amused.

Sal sighed.

"Can't I go back to anonymity?" He asked half-amused and half-annoyed. "I think I have earned it after all those decades working with morons to ensure that the school was kept standing."

Ralston snorted.

"I bet that was truly hard work to do," he said even more amused than before. "I remember that our son Harold wasn't the easiest child to deal with."

Sal laughed at that.

"He wasn't," he agreed. "But I knew that much already long before I met him. Any child with you two as its parents would be a handful indeed."

"Indeed," Ralston snorted amused.

Then his face turned serious.

"I heard that Sal Basiliskson died," he said, not a hint of a smile on his face.

"He did," Sal answered sighing. "He was old and he couldn't continue like that."

Ralston just looked at Sal silently and Sal wondered what the other man saw. Where just days ago had been while locks and wrinkled skin, now the youthful, black-haired and green-eyed appearance reigned Sal's features.

"Not a lot of people will recognise you looking like you do now," Ralston commented. "If it hadn't been for Móna, I would have had a hard time as well - and I saw you once looking exactly like you do now."

Sal's smile vanished at that.

"I know," he said, nearly quietly. "I'm sorry."

Móna just laughed at his apology.

"Don't be!" She exclaimed. "I was always aware of the eternal Prince. I don't mind seeing him at all."

Sal raised an eyebrow at that, but in the end guessed that it was her blood telling her things like that. He was quite sure, she was the descendant of an elf and gifted with the ability to see more than the average human.

"So you're here to tell me good-bye?" he asked her interested.

Móna smiled.

"No," she said. "We're here to invite you into our home for a few weeks or months. Spend some time with us as your friends, Salvatio Prince. We will not object when you want to leave later on."

For a moment, Sal wanted to decline her invitation, but then he saw the same stubborn look in Ralston's eyes that Peverell tended to wear whenever he wouldn't budge one inch from whatever he had decided.

Sal sighed.

He knew that that look meant that he wouldn't win a confrontation with the Potters today.

He sighed again.

"Alright," he said slowly. "But just for a few days."

He would be cornered into staying for months.

1899

Charlus didn't seem to notice the scepticism of the master healer after his answer where Eloise had gone to, because he just nodded when the healer asked "Back in time?" while tears started to run down his face.

"To 1400," he replied sniffing. "It should have been safe! We calculated everything!"

Sal closed his eyes at that exclamation.

He had long since learned that even if you thought you knew everything - even if you tried to do everything to ensure that something didn't happen - there was always another way for things to come to pass.

In the past, Sal had tried to keep the people safe he had known that were in danger.

In his original time, the Slytherin family had ended - so Sal had always kept an eye on his son Myrddin's descendants, hoping to prevent it.

He had even gone so far to create a paterfamilias's ring - something that had always existed for families of noble birth like LeFay, Grim and even Pendragon - so that he could monitor the health of that family even from afar. And yet, with all the precaution, in the end the name of 'Slytherin' had still ended up lost in time yet again…

31 st October 1568

After Sal had finally left the Potters the previous day, he was back in London and on his way out of the country, when he felt the disturbance. Something was off - and this something had to do with the Slytherin-family. His paterfamilias-ring - a ring he had gained when people forgot his original last name Emrys - was humming and telling him that something was happening to his descendants.

Sal did not hesitate the slightest moment. Concentrating on the ring he let it lead him to where he had to go. With a soft pop - not quite apparation but something very similar - he vanished to the place the ring was leading him to.

It was a house, a mansion, to be precise.

From where he stood it looked peaceful. The lawn was made quite beautifully, the flowers were blooming and the old bricks of the house emitted a friendly, warm atmosphere.

The only thing that did not fit was the feeling of dread that his Family Magick was continuing to send him. It was screaming in his head that something was wrong, that something was happening to his family in this very moment.

Sal ran to the door. The wards of the property were fading away under the pressure of the Family Magick and finally they slid aside, letting him in without struggle.

When he reached the door he did not even try to open it. He simply threw a spell at it, pulverizing it to dust. The hallway was empty but the door to one of the rooms stood open. In it he could hear someone moaning. He followed the noise and found a man in his mid-fifties lying on the floor behind a desk. The man was bleeding from thousands of wounds and he reeked of the darkest of magic.

Sal crouched down next to him.

He took the hand of the man, letting his magic fly free throughout the body of the other. The man moaned again, then he opened his eyes.

"Who…?" he struggled to say.

"I am Salvazsahar Slytherin" Sal said. "I am the Lord of the House."

The man stared at him, then he coughed slightly. Sal knew that the man was in no condition to do anything right now. He had to heal him first before he could get some answers.

"Let me heal you, then you can tell me what happened."

The man just shook his head slightly.

"She's… still… here" he rasped. "My… wife… sons… find them…"

"You will die if I leave you -"

"Sons… please…"

"Alright," Sal answered, standing up again. He knew that the man would be dead when he left him now - but Sal wasn't just a healer, he was also a protector. The man had asked him to protect his family - if he was willingly deciding to die for it, Sal could and would not stop him.

So Sal left the room, heading down the hall to the next. It was a dining room and it was empty. After that he found the sitting room. Inside there lay the corpses of an old man and woman. They were lying on the floor, the man still holding the woman's hand. Sal let them be and headed on. He found the stairs and entered the second floor. In the middle of the hall lay a young woman - maybe the man's wife. Her abdomen was slit and her eyes glassed over.

Sal ignored her when he heard a whimpering sound from somewhere down the hall. He ran in the direction he had heard the sound from. The door he had heard the whimpering from was closed. Sal did not hesitate. He busted it open with a spell, the runes for protection immediately on the tips of his fingers.

The sight he was met with was gruesome.

A woman was standing over the corpse of a maybe twenty-year-old man. In front of her were three children - the eldest maybe seven. The eldest was shielding the younger ones. The boy was missing an arm and bleeding heavily from the open wound. But he still was standing in front of the other two, trying to protect them. A tentative shield had been created between the children and the woman, but it was flickering and had started to slowly fade away.

Accidental magic, Sal recognised instantly.

Most likely done by the eldest.

Regretfully not strong enough to shield them much longer…

The shield flickered again, then it vanished.

Sal reacted instantly. He threw the protection runes at the boys, enveloping them with a golden glowing shield.

Then he added a stasis charm to it so that the oldest boy wouldn't bleed to death until Sal could heal him.

The woman in front of the boys stopped with the curses she had been throwing at the shield and turned.

She blinked in surprise when she saw him then she spoke up coolly. "Who are you that you think you can butt into family business?"

Sal just looked at her.

"Family business?" he asked with a voice a lot more frosty than hers.

He knew that the wizarding world had changed and like in the mundane world some things were seen as 'family business'. How people were treated within the family was normally the heads right to decide and nobody had any right to tell them otherwise.

Obviously, the woman in front of him tried to tell him exactly that.

"Yes," the woman said. "The whole family is rotten to the core. The only one that is still on the right path is me. It is my duty to ensure that the family will return to the right path."

"So you are family," Sal said slowly, his eyes narrowing before flickering towards the children who were still standing in front of the woman, eyes cautiously wandering from the woman to Sal and back.

"Yes," she replied coolly, clearly believing he would let her be. "And now leave!"

Sal just raised an eyebrow at her.

As if he would stand by and watch while she killed the descendants of his second son.

For a moment he pondered on his answer, then he decided to take the easy way out.

"No," he said rigorously.

She blinked surprised.

"Excuse me?"

"No" Sal repeated firmly.

When her eyes narrowed, he knew that he would have to go further to make her leave.

Of course, considering that she had killed part of his family, he had every right to kill her on the spot, but as much as he wanted revenge, he would not kill her if he didn't have to.

There were other ways, better ways to punish her…

He pressed his lips together then straightened. "You are the one who will leave," he demanded coolly. "From today on you will be banished from this family. You and you descendants will never be a part of Slytherin ever again. This I decide as the Head of Slytherin!"

"As if you truly are the Head of Slytherin!" the woman snorted.

Sal just extended his hand. On it was glowing the paterfamilias-ring in a creepy green light.

"I am Salazar Slytherin, Founder of the House of Slytherin," he said icily, using that name the first time in centuries for himself. "It is my decision to banish you as you have broken the rule of family - family does not try to kill each other."

The woman just stared at the ring. Then she laughed hysterically.

"As if you could really stop me!" she said. "I have born a son - he will be the heir of Slytherin! I just have to kill these little peasants my brother's whore birthed!"

And with that she turned and threw a spell at the children.

The spell was absorbed, but Sal wasn't too sure how many spells like that the shield would stop.

She hissed in wordless anger and raised her hand for another spell.

Sal reacted instantly.

He did not draw his wand - instead he threw one of his daggers, stabbing her heart easily.

She gasped for air, her hand raising to grasp for the blade stuck in her pretty corset and painting it red. Her eyes stared at the hilt in her chest then she raised her eyes to look at Sal.

He looked back at her evenly.

She coughed then she slumped on the floor. Her breathing was shallow and blood flooded the floor beneath her.

Sal kneeled down next to her.

"Never," he said coolly. "Never try to threaten me again. I am not called the darkest wizard in history without a reason."

Of course the words were just meant to frighten - but still, Sal definitely knew more than enough dark magic to be called the darkest wizard in history. That he also was a healer and because of that definitely not interested in conquering the world did not count much after all these centuries.

He stood up again when the woman's eyes glassed over and turned to the children. Without hesitation he vanished the protection shield and entered the stasis.

The eldest boy looked warily at him.

"Don't worry," Sal said, raising his empty hands to show his good intentions. "I would not kill the descendants of my own son if I don't have to."

The seven-year-old just stared at him.

"You… you are far too young to be Salazar Slytherin," he finally declared, eyes wide and fearful. He ducked the moment the words were out of his mouth, clearly unsure how Sal would react.

Sal just chuckled.

"I look like it," he said. "But as I cannot age, my physical age says nothing about my real one. And now let me see your arm."

The boy stepped a step away from him.

"If you're really Salazar Slytherin, you will kill us," he declared with conviction.

Sal blinked at that sentence surprised.

"I will?" he asked astonished. "Why would I?"

He wondered what kind of rumours had started to exist about him that the children were that sure that Sal would kill them if he were Salazar Slytherin.

"Because we are the children of a mudblood," the boy answered, disgust in his eyes while muttering the clearly hated word. He stared at Sal, clearly daring him to say anything.

Sal just blinked.

When and why had those rumours -?

He shook his head.

Sal guessed that it wasn't important right now.

"Well," he finally declared, deciding to go for the easiest understandable answer. "Then we should definitely be good in getting along."

"Why?" this time it was the second eldest that spoke. "Everyone says that Salazar Slytherin hated mudbloods and that father has disgraced his ancestor."

Sal just snorted, disgusted by the rumours already spreading throughout the magical world about him.

"Let those hypocrites say what they want," he said. "If you really want to differentiate between 'mudblood', 'half-blood' and 'pure-blood' then you will have to call me a mudblood as well - maybe a half-blood if you don't look too close."

The answer were three hanging jaws.

"You're a mudblood?!" The eldest asked astonished. "But… but you… you are wearing our family-ring! You told us you are Salazar Slytherin!"

"I am," Sal answered. "But being a mudblood or a pure-blood did not count at all when my relatives and I founded the school."

"Relatives?!"

"I will not explain as long as you are still bleeding," Sal answered coolly. "Now let me see the wound." His voice had the ring of authority only a century old healer could have and the boy gave in.

Since the boy had lost the arm there was nothing Sal could do to recreate it. Even with the best potions there was no way to get back a missing body part. So Sal just healed the wound like the others the boy had.

"How come that you can heal?" the boy asked while watching him. "I thought Salazar Slytherin was a dark wizard…"

Sal just snorted.

"The problem is the word 'dark' itself," he answered the boy. "When I was born there was not much that was called dark magic. Then centuries passed by and suddenly things I learned and used for years were labelled 'dark' - so suddenly I was using the Dark Arts and was a dark wizard. It is silly - they labelled it dark just because they could not use it or something other irrelevant…"

The boy just stared at him.

"So you're not dark?" the second eldest asked.

Sal just shrugged.

"I am a healer," he answered. "And I am a guardian. I do kill if I have to - but my most important mission is to heal. I do not think about the magic I use when I heal. When it is labelled dark - let it be labelled dark. I simply do not care. I learned a long time ago that being a dark wizard is nothing you should prevent - it is being evil that you should try preventing."

The boys just stared at him.

"But enough of that," Sal said. "There are more important things to speak about - like telling me who she…" He pointed at the witch he had killed with his dagger. "… was and what your names are."

The boys looked at each other. Finally the eldest said: "She was our aunt, Lady Esther Gaunt, former Slytherin and the sister of our uncle and father." With that the boy looked at the dead twenty year old man in the room - the uncle.

"I understand," Sal said sighing.

He was quite aware that it might take years and years for the boys to forget the massacre that had happened today, if ever. Sal was also quite aware that it might be quite a while until they wouldn't feel guilty for the death that had happened tonight.

He didn't look forward to the reassurance he would have to do until the children would overcome this night…

"The Gaunts have started to call themselves the 'true Slytherins'," the second born boy spoke up in that moment. The youngest - he was maybe three or four years old - nodded with huge eyes.

Sal was quite sure that the youngest obviously wasn't old enough to truly understand what was happening, but old enough to at least remember the talks of their parents and grandparents.

"Our cousin often promised us to kill us when he is old enough," the second born added forlornly.

"And no-one would protect us because our mother is a mudblood," the first-born said, his eyes hard and challenging.

"I understand," Sal said again, this time thoughtfully.

"As if you really do," the eldest snorted, scorn in his voice.

"Believe me, I do," Sal answered with a sigh. He knew that it would take time for the oldest to trust him, but he didn't have the time to gain their trust right now. He had to hide them from the Gaunts and the rest of the magical world - and to do so he couldn't wait for their trust right now.

He closed his eyes and thought about the problem.

There was just one thing he could do right now…

"We have to ensure that nobody will come looking for you," he said sighing. "And I do understand that that means you cannot live any longer as members of the Slytherin family. It is too dangerous to carry this name any longer."

The eldest just snorted.

"So you banish us, too," he concluded, his voice bitter.

Sal sighed and then just shook his head.

"I would never do something like that," he assured the boy. "But I think it's best to let the Slytherin-name be lost in time. Create a new name and when you marry take the name of your bride instead she yours. You might not be Slytherins by name anymore after that - but you still live and you still belong to Slytherin-family."

"And where do we live until we are all grown up?" The eldest asked bitingly. "I'm still too young to raise my brothers and there is no-one left…"

"… except of me," Sal finished the boy's sentence. Said boy stared at him.

"You -"

"I will take you in as my sons until you are grown up," Sal said. "And don't worry - I actually do know how to treat children. I have been a teacher for a very long time - and a father."

"You are not our father!" the youngest cried, fear in his eyes.

Sal sighed again and rubbed his tired eyes.

"And I wouldn't like to try to be him," he answered softly. "Just see me as an additional uncle or grandfather. I will raise you until you are of age - but I will never try to be a father to you, I promise. I know how it is to lose a father."

"Well, you might," the eldest answered bitterly. "But I am sure you were all grown up when you lost him."

For a moment, Sal didn't know to answer that accusation.

Then he decided to go with the truth - at least for the most part. He definitely wouldn't talk with three children about his time-travel if he never even had told his wife Andromeda or the other Founders.

"Yes and no," Sal answered finally. "I was born as the son of two fathers. The first I lost when I counted one winter. The other I found when I was two times your age - and lost him when I was all grown up. Believe me - I know what it's like to be an orphan. I have been one fourteen years of my childhood and even more as an adult."

The boys just gawked at him.

"And now, what are your names?" Sal asked again.

The three boys looked at each other, then the eldest said hesitatingly: "I am Seraph Severus and these are Salazar Charles and Myrddin Neville." The eldest first pointed to the second eldest and then to the youngest.

"Well, a pleasure to meet you, Seraph Severus, Salazar Charles and Myrddin Neville. I am Salvazsahar Serendu Harryjames - better known as Salazar or Sal - at your service," Sal replied, forcing himself to smile to look a bit more approachable.

Four-year-old Myrddin Neville giggled.

"I never heard someone really saying 'at your service' before!" he said snickering.

Sal just sighed at that.

When had those words changed again?

He had been in Britain - and yet hadn't noticed the change nevertheless!

"Well - I was raised more than two thousand years ago," Sal finally settled on with a sigh. "I grew up with different mannerism than you. I will try to teach you the modern mannerism though - but I cannot promise that it still will not be a little old fashioned."

The eldest just shrugged. "I can correct you," he said suddenly a lot calmer and a lot more grown up acting than before.

Sal smiled a bit at that.

"If you wish," he agreed. "But I still think that we should add some more people to our little circle. I know a pair or two who will be delighted helping to raise you."

The three orphans looked at each other sceptically, but in the end, the oldest nodded. It wasn't as if they had a chance to decide for themselves. Sal was the head of their house - and the only one of their family still alive who could take care of them.

"But what about our parents and -?"

Sal looked at the children in pity.

He knew that there was no way to bury them with the children present - or even without. The family needed to be dead legally to the wizarding world, so there was no way that he could allow a burial without a reasonable double for the boys…

But then, maybe…

"I might have an idea," he told them softly. "You won't like it, but it will be a way to hide you away and ensure that nobody will come looking for you."

In the end, Sal called his patronus and told it to "Go and bring Móna, Ralston and maybe the Flamels".

The children just watched, while Sal left to look around for the other people in the house.

The man he had found alive before, was long since dead. Sal was quite aware that the man had to have bled to death even before Sal had even found the children.

Sal refused to have the children walk around the house as well. He had removed the uncle's body from the room and had told them to stay where they were. He didn't think it to be a good idea for the children to see their other dead relatives in the state they were in.

It didn't take long for help to arrive.

The wards on the property, now deferring to Sal, told him immediately who was outside.

Sal was quite sure that if the woman wouldn't have been part of the family, not one of them would have been surprised by the attack. Like it was, not one of them had seen her as a threat until it had been way too late to stop her…

Sal opened the door to the people in front of it.

"Oncle Nick, Tante Perenelle," he greeted the couple. "You're surprisingly quick to answer my call."

The Flamels exchanged a glance.

"We were in London already," Perenelle said. "There's a Wizard's Council meeting in a view days and we planned to attend."

"We were also quite intrigued by the spell you used," Nicholas added. "I have never seen such a way to send a message before."

Sal frowned.

"It's the patronus-charm," he said concerned. "If you don't know it I should teach you as soon as possible. It's way too dangerous for you to walk around not knowing it, considering the neighbourhood we keep."

Perenelle looked at him in amusement.

"Neighbourhood?" She asked him.

Sal sighed.

"Azkaban," he elaborated. "It's the home of the dementors."

This wiped the smile off of Perenelle's face.

"Dementors?" She asked concerned. "There're dementors near the Isles?"

Sal inclined his head.

"They won't enter the Isles if they know what's good for them," he told his aunt. "But even like this, it would be best to know the charm just in case."

"Oh," Nicholas replied dismissively. "We know the charm."

Perenelle nodded with a smile.

"We were just intrigued how you got it to speak," Nicholas added.

That caught Sal's attention.

"Got it… to speak?" He asked confused. "I didn't try to -"

He was interrupted by the arrival of Ralston and Móna.

"How did you get the patronus to talk?" Ralston ask the moment he appeared.

Sal opened his mouth to tell him that he had no idea how he managed it when he remembered the reason why he had called the two couples originally.

"Not important," he said instead of his planned answer. "I called you here because I need your help."

Perenelle and Nicholas exchanged a glance while Ralston and Móna did the same.

"We're here and we're listening," Nicholas finally settled on. "What do you need?"

It would be a long day, but at the end of it, the once marvellous manor of Slytherin family would be given to the unforgiving flames. The valuables on the other hand were packed and then brought to Gringotts.

It didn't take long to actually explain the king of the goblins what they needed.

"It can be arranged, Morganaadth," the goblin replied, his eyes never leaving Sal's. "Give us a new last name and we will create a family for them - one thought to be extinguished for at least three hundred years. With you as the head, it should be no trouble for us to hide the truth from prying eyes."

Sal inclined his head in gratitude.

"Tis would be most welcome," he replied. "As for the name -"

"Make it Prince," Móna added. "We already invited Master Sal under that name to our manor a view months ago and his present and name have since then travelled throughout our community. Nobody will look twice if they find out he has some children of his own."

The children with them looked a bit uncertainty at Sal.

Sal on the other hand shrugged.

"I won't take the decision from you," he told the children. "It's your choice to make. It's your choice to decide on a new last name."

The oldest looked at him gratefully at that and then nodded.

"My brothers and I will talk about it," he said and gestured his brothers aside to do so.

After that day, all the valuables of Slytherin would be hidden away in a hidden vault of the Prince family. With goblin magic and a ritual the boy's ancestry was hidden. Sal was sure that if he raised them to be druids instead of wizards and would guide them through an awakening, nobody would be able to connect the Prince children to the Slytherin children in the end.

"You should leave the Isles for a while," Ralston suggested as well. "Nobody will go looking for them anywhere else on the country."

Nicholas nodded.

"You can come and live with us," he said. "You know we're always delighted to have you, Salvatio."

"And the children as well, of course," Perenelle added and smiled at the three boys. "I'm quite sure we will be able to make some proper French gentlemen out of you now!"

In the end, Sal took the invite and left with the boys for France. He wouldn't return until the first of the children was entering Hogwarts.

By then, it would be a well-known fact that the Slytherin family had perished and that the Gaunt family had somehow lost all their claims to said family - implying plain and simple treachery even with the Gaunts trying to deny the truth and spreading lies.

It would be many years until the lies would be believed - by then, the Slytherin family was long since gone and the Prince family was a fixed part of the Wizard's Council.

Of course, the fact that the Prince family's head, one Salvatio Prince, would be a staunch advocate for the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was part of their reputation of an ancient house. Said Head of House had been partly responsible - together with Ralston Potter who served the Wizard's Council from 1612 to 1652 as well - for the laws that woulf govern the wizarding world for the next centuries.

Even if there would always be people objecting to the Statute, in the end, so many of them agreed, it had been the better decision in the contrast to the more militant peers, who wished to declare war against Muggles.

Finally, many years later the Prince-brothers started to settle down.

The youngest, Myrddin Neville - going by 'Neville' met a young witch who was heir to her family name. He married her out of love and took her name. Like that, the Longbottom family became the third heir of Slytherin.

The same happened to the second born, Salazar Charles, going by 'Charles'. He would give his status as the second heir of Slytherin to said family and take on their name of Prewett - a family which many centuries later nearly perished at the hands of Voldemort. A family that would resurrect with Charles Prewett née Weasley, second born son of Arthur Weasley.

The only one who decided to keep the Prince-name was Seraph Severus Prince, going by 'Severus', the eldest. He was the first true Prince and like that should have been the actual founder of the house - a house that was born out of Slytherin and that Seraph Severus hoped would return to that name when the time was right.

The house would nearly perish at the hands of its own descendants - the name lost when the last daughter of the house married a muggle. Her son, the potential heir was refused by her parents and like that would stay a 'Snape' until his thirties.

Two other houses would be born out of the Prince house over time: the house of Greengrass, and the house of Zabini. They also would follow the call of the house of Slytherin the moment it was bound to return…

But that would happen many years in the future. Until then, centuries passed and Sal would go from being called 'Master Sal' by the children to being called 'father'. He would go from being the father of three children to being the father of three adult children, to being a grandfather and finally having to bury his sons.

There was just one promise that he held onto from the day he adopted the last heirs of his second son: he had once promised them that one day Slytherin-family would return. And he knew he would hold onto his promise - even if it would take centuries to being able to follow through with it.

And so it came to the rumours that the Gaunt-family were the only heirs of Slytherin and that they were the last once left of the formerly great family.

1899

While the master healer still looked sceptical at Charlus' answer that Eloise had gone to the 1400s, at least one of the nurses seemed to understand what the silvery robes, Charlus was wearing, actually meant.

"They're from the Department of Mysteries," she whispered nearly silently into the healer's ear and the healer's scepticism vanished.

His face smoothened out and instead of voicing his disbelief, he calculated the time between the time Eloise went to and the current time.

"So she went back about five hundred years," the healer said.

"And she's aging rapidly," the female healer said. "It seems as if she's aging a far greater speed than she should, and we can't stop it at all…"

"Please!" Charlus pleaded. "Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I'm sorry," the female healer said sighing, and Charlus started to cry in earnest.

Sal closed his eyes again at the answer.

He knew that it was the truth - even he with the experience of millennia had no chance at healing her.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

"You know it has to happen," the wind whispered into his ear. "She decided to leave time and escape her destiny - now she has to suffer for it."

Sal couldn't object to that assertion.

He knew that the moment Eloise had decided to use the device she had gotten from the other Unspeakables, she had been lost.

Of course, he had tried to find a way and help her anyway - but some things simply weren't meant to happen.

Sal had learned that long ago.

"Don't blame yourself, my balance," the wind whispered. "Your destiny is to guide the others around you. You might have been born for more - you might have to decide your destiny in the future - but right now, there's nothing you could have done that could have helped her in any way or form."

"That doesn't change the fact that I still wished for a way to help her," Sal answered in a whisper.

The answer was a laugh.

"You will always wish to help," the wind said and caressed his hair even if it shouldn't even exist within the rooms of St. Mungo's. "Even if you have to suffer for it."

Sal sighed but couldn't object, after all, he was basically standing in the one place that confirmed the wind's accession best.

St. Mungo's.

1665-1666

Sal had been wandering for the last fifteen years. After establishing the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy he had finally left the Isles, feeling quite imprisoned by the land at that point in time. He hadn't been stuck in one country for such a long time in centuries, after all.

Sal had been sure that he would not return to the Isles for at least a century after he finally escaped them - so he was quite surprised by himself when he found himself in London barely fifteen years after his flight.

On the other hand, it wasn't surprising at all, that he was there. The plague had hit London and Sal's healer instincts would have protested more than loudly if he hadn't been there to help.

The plague was infecting wizards and muggle alike - and both of them died the same way without any chance of healing.

Fever.

Headaches.

Swollen lymph nodes.

Yet, no treatment that mundanes would accept and not call 'witchcraft'.

Yet, no wizard or witch would acknowledge that they were as affected by the plague as mundanes.

Sal hated it.

Sal hated the middle ages.

Sal hated the people - mundanes and wizards alike.

He hated the mundanes for their narrow-mindedness and fear of the devil and witchcraft.

He hated the wizards and witches for their beliefs that their magic would shield them from a 'mere muggle illness'.

"Arrogant! The lot of them!" Sal cursed nearly silently while he cast one spell after another to treat one of those wizards who had given in and gone to him for treatment.

The plague was still spreading - and as much as Sal tried to at least reach and warn the wizards and witches, he was mostly ignored by all of them as 'just another idiot who had no idea what was going on'.

Sal was frustrated by that fact.

He was a trained healer - he was bound and marked by his oath; yet, people ignored his warnings as if he was nothing but a little, undereducated child!

"Idiotic, ignorant children!" Sal cursed nearly silently while trying to determine what potions could be used for the man in front of him.

He could treat the symptoms with fever-reducers and other potions, but he had yet to find a potion that actually helped with the plague itself and not just its symptoms.

Yet, even with the treatment of the symptoms and some experimental potions he was still in the process of developing and testing, he was able to do more than all the other, uneducated wizards and witches who had stopped learning after Hogwarts.

"Arrgant magicals," Sal grumpled. "As if Hogwarts teaches everything you need to know!"

The wind laughed at him for that exclamation and Sal rolled his eyes.

Sal knew that if others would just listen to his warnings he might even be able to save some of the infected wizards and witches - but nobody listened.

Unlike muggles, wizards had a slightly different biology thanks to the magic and their creature inheritance - even if it was centuries in the past and nearly dormant - and thanks to that, the chances of healing them should have been way better than the chances of healing the muggles. Even the chances of squibs should have been better because even with fully dormant creature-genes they still had the potential and were different than normal muggles - and yet, both of them died as fast as muggles.

"Stupid, arrogant wizards!" Sal cursed nearly silently again while he forced some of his potions down his patient's throat. "If they just had bothered to fully train more than one wizard a century in the healing arts it would have been so much easier to treat all those people!"

Unfortunately, it seemed like they hadn't - or the wizards and witches trained as healers all had left London already…

"Which would be stupid considering that they're needed here," Sal thought darkly. "It's not as if I can treat all of London by myself…"

Sal sighed and shook his head.

"I just wish there were other trained healers around here!" He murmured to himself exasperated. "It shouldn't be too hard to find some who have at least some training in the healing arts! There have to be at least some in training around here!"

"But training them needs somebody who can train them, my child," the wind whispered and Sal stopped in his treatment to look around and find the voice speaking to him.

There was something familiar, and yet so foreign in this voice that Sal just had to stop and listen.

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

"Who're you?" Sal whispered and the wind laughed at him.

"So you remember me, Salvazsahar," the wind whispered in Sal's ear and caressed his hair. "It just tells me about your strength that you can remember me even after I shielded your memories from yourself. You truly are the perfect balance for me, my child!"

Sal looked up, staring into the darkness of the night.

There was something so familiar to the wind, something so soothing that he automatically bathed in it. It felt like coming home after a long, long time away. It felt like being soothed by his fathers. It felt like the memory of being held by his mothers.

He closed his eyes, letting the wind play with his hair.

"I know you," he whispered.

The answer was a whispery laugh from the wind.

"That you do, my balance," the wind said, caressing Sal's hair. "That you do."

Sal sighed and then opened his eyes again.

"Who are you?" he asked the wind, his eyes searching the empty night for the reason of the voice.

The voice laughed again.

"It's not your time, yet," the voice said. "You will know the answer when it's time for you to decide your path."

"Then why are you here if you don't want me to know?" Sal asked confused.

The answer was another wispy laugh from the wind.

"Because you're in the middle of my current territory," the wind said. "And I couldn't resist to visit you and ensure that you'll do everything you can to keep my balance."

Sal frowned at the wind.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked a bit concerned with the words of the wind.

The wind caressed his hair.

"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do," it whispered amused. "I just came to see you doing your work."

"My work?" Sal whispered confused.

Again, the wind caressed his hair.

"You have chosen to be a healer millennia ago," the wind caressed. "You are my balance. It doesn't matter how you achieve that - it just matters that you do."

"I don't understand," Sal whispered, but the wind just laughed at Sal amused.

"Not yet," the wind said. "Not yet, my balance. Don't worry, you don't need to know. As long as you follow your path, you will not need to know who I am for a long time yet."

With that, the wind vanished from Sal's awareness, leaving nothing but the memory of Sal's exasperation about the missing magical healers of London and the vague feeling of home in Salvazsahar's mind.

"Stupid wizards and their inability to see that there's no way that magic will protect them from the plague just because they're magical," he murmured exasperated.

Then he turned his attention to his new patient.

The man was a wizard and as bad off as the one Sal had treated before.

His was shivering thanks to the fever.

He had huge, blister-like swellings under his armpits and on the neck.

Both clear signs of the plague.

Sal sighed, forced the man to drink the potion he invented to treat the plague - it was still experimental, but better than nothing and it seemed to help at least a bit - and then used spells to ensure that the man was not only clean, but also in a bubble that would ensure that he wouldn't infect others and keep his temperature and body condition monitored.

He wasn't about to drain or incise the blister-like buboes of the plague. It wasn't the first time Sal was confronted with this particular malady and he had long since learned that treating the buboes by drainage or incision the infection had just the ability to spread further and infect more people.

A lot of healers or quack doctors who had no idea about that and didn't listen to Sal when he warned them died thanks to trying to do just that.

"And that's the reason why I hate the middle ages," Sal mumbled darkly. "Stupid arrogant wizards! We've thousands of charms to shield us against an infection - even going so far to never touch the patients! - and yet, there they are, not more educated than the mundanes!"

Sal sighed again and rubbed his tired eyes. Since he never touched the infected people he treated if he didn't have to - and always made sure to wear dragon hide, charmed clothes so that the infection couldn't spread to himself, if he had to - he was quite safe to touch his eyes without any precautions.

"If I continue like that, I will be truly earth-bound to London," he said darkly to himself, then he rolled with his shoulders. "Well, at least then doing spells in this area will get a lot easier than it is right now."

Until now, his best spot in London when it came to manipulating magic through earth like his elder dragon heritage demanded had been Diagon Alley.

Sal guessed that that would change in the future considering all the healing he was currently doing all over London.

He sighed again and closed his eye before forcing them open again. He had no time to sleep if he didn't want his patients to die…

He was already dangerously tired. He had been treating people all alone for months now and he had been without proper sleep for at least as long as that.

"This isn't right," Sal murmured to himself. "I'm just one firbolg-born - one magical - and there are thousands out there! It isn't right at all that I'm basically the only one who's out there healing people!"

Of course, Sal had the experience of millennia, unlike other healers who were barely trained, but that didn't make up the fact that even half-trained healers would be some kind of help while the plague was spreading in London.

Sal knew that maybe a lot of healers didn't dare to treat something they knew nothing about.

He knew that some of them were maybe too untrained to even start treatment.

Yet…

"Some help would be appreciated nevertheless," Sal mumbled darkly. "I'm not all-powerful, after all!"

"Well," a voice spoke up behind him in that moment. "You certainly don't look like it."

Sal wiped around, drawing his wand with one hand and the dagger with the other while turning.

The man's eyes widened.

He raised his hands and stepped further away from Sal's back to show him that he wasn't a threat.

Now, that Sal could see him, he saw that the man he was confronted with was actually more of a boy, maybe two or three years older than Sal had been when he had been thrown into the past.

Nevertheless, Sal continued to watch him warily - he wasn't stupid enough to believe that just because of his youth the other man was harmless.

Said young man raised his hands to show he was weapon-less.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," the youth said. "It wasn't my intention."

Sal's eyes narrowed.

"If it wasn't your intention to startle me, tell me what're you doing behind me, watching me?" He asked distrustfully.

Sal knew quite well that if the young man was a mundane, the chances that Sal would be suspected of witchcraft or something like that were still high.

Not too long the whole European mundane world had still been in the peak of the witch-hunts and Sal wasn't too sure ihe wouldn't be prosecuted if the youth was indeed a mundane.

"I was interested in your work," the boy rambled, looking suddenly quite nervous. "I understand that you're a healer and there might be some secrets I shouldn't see as someone untrained, but… I've always been interested in healing and… well, I'm just out of Hogwarts and Master Healer Avery refused to take me in and train me since I'm mundane-born and actually can't afford training… I… well, when I saw you working I just thought… you know… just one look…"

Sal was surprised at the longing in the boy's eyes, but it was the boy's rambling that made him look at the boy with a frown.

"Master Healer Avery?" He repeated.

The boy nodded and ran a hand through his hair.

"He's the Master of London," he said. "Every practicing healer in London has to follow his lead. You should know this as a healer yourself. You should have gone to the Master of London and ask for permission to practice your arts in London."

Sal frowned at the boy.

"I never asked anyone for permission to heal," he said coolly. "I won't start now."

This time, the boy returned the frown.

"So you've not sworn your healer's oath?" He asked concerned.

Sal understood the boy's concern. Without a healer's oath, it was far too easy to bind the people you saved to yourself with a life debt.

Sal sighed but tipped his chest to activate a visible form of his healer's oath on it. The light of the runic circle shone bright even in the brightly lit the improvised hospital wing.

The boy stared at Sal's chest in awe.

The healer's oath couldn't be faked and even Sal's slightly different version - he was a guardian healer, not a simple healer, after all - was recognized even by magicals who had never seen a healer's oath ever before.

Then the boy frowned.

"But since you've sworn the oath, how can you work when the Master of London hasn't given you permission to practice in London?" the boy asked confused.

Sal understood the confusion far too well. He wasn't looking that old and his appearance spoke of missing experience. A healer was bound by the oath - and the oath decided their rank within the healers working in the same place. The more experience, the more important a healer was because with more experience he would be comanding more healers in a grave situation and at the same time he would be given more complicated cases to treat.

Sal knew that his oath would tell the other healers and potion masters who were also bound by a slightly different oath to obey without asking if the need arose - exactly like it had done for millennia now.

Sal looked at the boy with amusement.

"The Master of London doesn't have any power over me," Sal said with a shrug as an explanation for the boy. "He can't order me around, so if I decide to help, it's my decision, and my decision alone to aid. I'm not bound by the decision of anybody else!"

The boy looked at him in surprise.

"But how?" He whispered confused.

Sal hesistated for a moment, but in the end decided that speaking the truth would be the right thing to do for now.

"A healer is bound by experience," he said. "As long as my experience surpasses the experience of the Master of London, he won't be able to force me to do anything."

The boy looked at him in surprise, then the boy's eyebrows furrowed.

"If you can defy the Master of London when it comes to healing - are you able to defy him when it comes to teaching me?" There was hope in his voice when he asked that and Sal closed his eyes.

He was in the middle of fighting the plague - this wasn't the ideal place to start with the teaching of an apprentice. On the other hand, the boy had been refused by the Master of London so the chances of him ever reaching his wish without Sal were nearly non-existent.

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

"What's your name?" He finally asked, already half-way on his way to accept that he would teach the boy his profession.

"Mungo Bonham," the boy replied. "My name is Mungo Bonham."

Sal smiled at the boy.

"I am Salvazsahar Prince," he replied, then he closed his eyes again.

He knew that he wouldn't be an ideal master when it came to teaching the profession of a healer. He had been trained by Morgana and had never searched for another master after that. He had created his own techniques, his own way of healing - there was no way that he would be able to teach the boy in front of him the way of the healers of his time and age…

"But maybe that's not too bad," Sal thought to himself while looking back at his patients. "Maybe it needs something different if the healers of London sat by and did nothing to help the ill."

He looked at the boy in front of him frowning.

"How old are you?" he asked the boy.

This time the boy frowned.

"Eighteen," he said hesistatingly. "I'll be nineteen in a few months."

Sal sighed again and closed his eyes.

He knew that the boy was too old to actually learn the way of the druid like he had learned it. The boy was too close to his second maturity to start learning the old way like Sal had learned once.

The boy seemed to read something in Sal's eyes because he closed his eyes in resignation.

"You won't train me, will you?" He asked resigned.

Sal sighed.

"No," he finally decided and the boy's face started to fall before Sal continued with his exclamation. "I will train you. But it won't be easy and I fear it will be absolutely different to the training other healer apprentices receive. I've not been taught like them and I can't teach like your healers do. If you can accept that, I'm willing to teach."

Sal knew that if he taught the boy, he would at least insist on the first important rituals for druids. He wouldn't be able to teach the awakening because there was no way to get through all the rituals for a druid before the boy reached his last maturity, but he would insist on teaching the protections against the negative effects of rituals.

The boy meanwhile looked at Sal thoughtfully.

"How different?" He asked hesistatingly.

Sal looked at the boy seriously.

"I guess totally different," he said with a sigh. "I wasn't taught like your other healers at all. My oath might have been basically the same" - well, it wasn't, but Sal wasn't willing to explain the difference to the boy - "but my teachings have been very different and if I teach you, I will only teach you the way I have been taught and not any other way."

The boy frowned, but all in all he looked quite thoughtful.

In the end, he nodded slowly.

"I think," he said slowly. "I will be able to live with the fact that I won't be taught like those who refused me because I can't pay for the apprenticeship."

Then the boy's face fell a bit.

"What will I have to pay for the apprenticeship?" He asked, a bit of fear in his eyes.

Sal just shook his head.

"I won't ask you for money," he said tiredly. "I will expect you to work with me and listen to me, but I won't force you to pay for my guidance. I don't need the money and I don't care if you can affort a normal apprenticeship or not."

The anwer was a smile and Sal had to surpress another sigh.

It seemed that his mental complains about missing healers had actually affected him enough that he was willing to train his help himself.

"Looks like I'm back to teaching," he thought exasperated. "And there I thought I was finally rid of that part of my life for a while after I basically fled Hogwarts…"

1899

Eloise forced open her eyes.

For a moment, her eyes and Sal's met.

Then Sal sighed and closed his eyes tiredly.

"I warned you," he said sadly the moment he was sure that she was aware of her surroundings. "But you didn't want to listen."

Again, his eyes searched her.

He saw her staring at him, scrutinizing him until she finally was able to place him.

"Sal… vatio," she rasped, and he smiled.

"Actually," he confessed. "You first got to know me as 'Professor Malfoire'."

Her eyes widened.

"But yes, you are right," Sal continued. "I am Salvatio, the 'seventeen-year-old child' you met in 1402."

"But…" Eloise rasped out.

"You should have lived through the centuries like I did," Sal said sadly. "It would have been far better for your health if you had done like I suggested."

"What… are… you…?"

"Doing here?" He finished for her quitely, looking over at Charlus who was raging against the other healers. "I'm a healer at St. Mungo's currently," Sal said. "I gave up my teaching position some time ago and started anew. Currently, I'm a healer's apprentice."

He rolled his eyes at that while remembering that there was no way anybody in this hospital would be able to teach him anything new. Sal had been a healer for millennia - whatever they 'taught' him, he had actually known for at least a few hundred years already…

1666-1702

"The Master Healer of London wishes to speak with you."

Sal sighed and looked up from his patient.

Next to him, Mungo also looked up from his own patient - his face, unlike Sal's wary of the healer apprentice who had searched them out.

"And why does Master Avery want to speak with me?" Sal asked calmly, not about to freak out over a child who was throwing a tempter tantrum - even if said child was the Master Healer of London.

"Master Avery has not said," the healer apprentice said, but his face showed his disapprovement of the house they were in and that Sal used to treat his patients.

Sal for a moment said nothing, but in the end nodded.

"Alright," he said. "Give me half an hour and I will be willing to meet him."

Sal was quite aware that the man might be about to force Sal's compliance to his insane plan of letting London suffer - but Sal wasn't truly concerned about that. In the eyes of magic, Sal was of higher ranking when it came to his oath - his experience and abilities the measurement of his status.

The healer apprentice's face turned sour, but in the end he nodded.

"If it has to be like that," he said moodily.

Sal snorted in amusement and then turned to Mungo.

"Make sure that all of them are quarantined in the wards and then ensure that they're safe from attack or whatever else. I'm going to finish this brew and then help you," he ordered.

Mungo nodded instantly.

"Yes, sir," he said before setting to work.

It didn't take long until Sal noticed that the - at the start sour faced - apprentice began to take interest in their work the longer he watched.

In the end, the curiosity of the boy won out and he came closer to Sal who was still finishing up his brew.

"What exactly is your apprentice doing, master?" He asked Sal interested. "I have never seen someone weaving magic like that."

For a moment, Sal just looked the other apprentice in the eyes, Sal's mind automatically slipping through the weak defences of the boy and measuring his worth.

In the end, he answered evenly.

"It's called quarantine," he said. "The magical bubbles surrounding our patients ensure that they don't spread the illness further. They keep the patients clean and monitor their health. If the condition of one of them worsens I will be notified immediately thanks to them."

The boy looked at the bubbles of magic with huge eyes.

"They sound useful," he said and Sal smiled at the healer apprentice.

"They are," he said, not elaborating that they were just a version of his normal healing dome that he had used for centuries. The bubbles, unlike the domes were created especially for illnesses. They didn't have the stasis component his usual wards had and an added component to keep the one treating the patient safe, but all in all, they were quite similar.

"Where did you learn those, master?" the healer apprentice asked longingly and Sal rolled his eyes. For all the boy's sour faced demeanour at the start of their interaction, the boy truly had the heart of a healer.

Sal was sure that if the child got the chance he would make an excellent healer one day - exactly like his apprentice of a year, one Mungo Bonham.

"They're a variation of the rituals I learned for healing," Sal replied. "My mother taught me - like she was taught by her forbearers."

The boy's face fell a bit.

"So there's no way for you to teach me, is there?" He asked a bit disheartened and Sal wondered when he had turned into a potential teacher in the other apprentice's eyes.

"Not without you learning the rituals of protection first," Sal replied kindly. "Even my own apprentice isn't allowed to cast those, yet, and he has been apprenticed to me for a year now."

The other apprentice frowned.

"My parents already payed the tuition to Master Avery to take me in as an apprentice," he said frowning. "I haven't learned a lot from him, yet, since it has only been a few weeks, but I don't think he would be willing for me to take out time of my schedule just to learn from another healer."

Sal snorted.

From what he had heard about Master Avery within the last year, the man was stuck up and quite arrogant - and absolutely fixated on the monetary aspect of his life.

Sal couldn't stand him - and he hadn't even met the man, yet!

"I fear I can't see him accepting your proposition as well," Sal finally settled on saying before removing the cauldron from the flames and starting to bottle the still-hot potion.

After he was done, he moved on to help his apprentice before finally setting the last wards that would give an intruder quite a hard time entering - if he ever managed to enter, that is - and then nodded to the other healer apprentice that they were ready to go.

The house they were led to was more like a manor than a house.

The entrance hall was adorned with expensive carpets and tapestries. Golden candelabras adorned the ceiling and the windows were made of coloured glass - as if glass for windows that huge wasn't expensive enough already.

The Master Healer of London was living like a king - and Sal's antipathy grew a bit more. He absolutely abhorred people who were solely interested in themselves. That the man was a healer and should have been bound by the oath to help, yet somehow had managed to not lift a finger, was just irking Sal some more.

The healer apprentice led them to the man's study, knocked and then opened the door carefully.

"The healer and his apprentice are here, sir," he said.

A moment later he opened the door and Sal had his first look at the other man.

The man was fat, with mousy grey hair and a long beard that reminded Sal of the legends about his second-born son Myrddin.

The man's face on the other hand wasn't at all as kind as Myrddin's was described. Instead, it was even sourer than the healer apprentice's had been when he had come to Sal.

"Enter," he said and his beady eyes settled on Sal and Mungo the moment they stepped into the room. The moment his gaze landed on Mungo, the boy began to squirm.

Sal instead returned the gaze, his own eyes lit with hidden fire.

"You wanted to see us, Healer Avery?" Sal asked coolly.

He knew that the right conduct would have been to call the man 'Master Avery', but Sal didn't even need to read the other man's thoughts to know that the man had called them into his domain to stomp down on their independence. Sal wasn't willing to even verbally acknowledge anything that could be taken as deferring to the other man's imagined superiority.

The other healer frowned at him.

"It's Master Avery, healer," he corrected Sal rudely. "I am the Master Healer of London - didn't my apprentice tell you that?"

Sal just returned the unhappy gaze of the other man.

"He might have mentioned something like that," he replied sweetly instead.

The other man's face darkened.

"If he mentioned it, you should be aware that I'm the most experienced healer here in London and therefore should be treated with respect!"

Sal looked at his own apprentice and then towards the door where the other apprentice was still standing while shuffling nervously from one foot to the other.

"Considering that the only other healers in London that I met seemed to be healer apprentices, I don't think that being the master healer is such an accomplishment," he replied evenly.

The other healer's gaze darkened further.

"Do not dare to mock me, healer!" He exclaimed, nearly hissing at Sal. "I called you here to ensure your obedience. You will cease from disobeying me and follow my will like any other healer here in London! Not one healer will treat mug-danes and those too weak in magic to fight against a common mug-danes!"

It took a moment for Sal to understand that mug-people were actually mundanes, none-magicals. In that moment he could feel the other man's oath reaching out to Sal to force him into obedience - just to shatter and withdraw the moment it touched Sal's own oath. Sal could feel the same oath reaching out to Mungo as well - but, since Mungo wasn't yet oath-bound as a healer, but oath-bound as an apprentice to Sal, the oath had as much effect on the apprentice as on the master.

Sal's gazes cooled a lot more after feeling the other man trying to use the oath as a way to bind Sal to his demands.

Normally the oath between the healers was a good thing, but like everything it could be abused as well if someone found a way like the man in front of him had.

From the man's sureness of his actions and considering his name, Sal guessed that the master healer of London was also part of the Wizard's Council - and therefore felt untouchable.

For a moment, Sal considered eradicating the other healer here and now, but then he simply inclined his head to the man and turned around to leave the room.

Mungo, confusion on his face, followed.

The other apprentice followed as well, his shoulders slumped and defeated.

Sal led the way out of the premises and walked another two streets before stopping and turning to the two apprentices, a bit amused that the other boy had followed him as well.

"Sir," Mungo spoke up immediately, confusion still prominent on his face. "Why didn't you say anything -?"

"Because sometimes you can't take the open fight," Sal said earnestly. "If I had objected him right then and there, he would have had every power to destroy us in that moment. We were on his property, under wards following his command. He could have had us killed or imprisoned the very moment I would have continued to object."

That made the other apprentice look up open mouthed.

"You could have objected him further?" He asked in disbelief.

Sal inclined his head.

"His oath has no power over me," he said. "And since Mungo is sworn to me, it has no power over him as well. I could have objected, but we were in enemy territory, so I choose not to."

The boy looked at Sal in surprise.

"How?" He asked.

It was Mungo who answered.

"It's part of the healer's oath," he said. "Those with more experience are those with the power over other healers. As an apprentice you are the one with lesser experience, but Master Sal is older than he looks and he has a lot more experience in healing as Master Avery. If Master Sal wanted to, he could take over as the Master Healer of London."

Sal rolled his eyes, but he guessed that Mungo was right.

If he wanted to, he could take over.

"It just wasn't a good idea to challenge that man in his own territory," Sal said sighing. "That's why I just left."

"So… what are you going to do now?" The young apprentice asked.

Mungo looked at Sal as well.

Sal shrugged.

"I'll continue with what I was doing," he replied. "What else should I do? The plague is still killing the people of London. I have no time to get in a political battle and no reason to stop treating the ill."

Mungo grinned.

"Sounds good," he said.

The other healer on the other hand looked quite wistful.

"I wish there was a way for me to take up an apprenticeship with you instead of having to continue the one with Master Avery," he said.

Sal shrugged.

"Changing masters is quite easy," he said. "Especially since I'm the higher ranking healer. If you were to swear your apprentice oath to me as you have done to Master Avery, the one of Master Avery would automatically counted as void since I am the more experienced teacher."

The other healer apprentice shrugged.

"Be as it may," he said. "My parents paid Master Avery. They won't afford me another apprenticeship just because I want to change my master."

The next moment pleading eyes settled on Sal.

Sal sighed and rolled his eyes at Mungo who was currently trying his puppy-dog eyes on Sal.

"You will be the one helping me to teach him," Sal told the other boy.

Mungo grinned.

The other apprentice looked a bit confused at Sal and then at Mungo.

"What -?"

Before he could speak his mind, Mungo already intercepted him.

"What's your name and how old are you?" he asked the apprentice.

"Er… Elamiras Gaunt and I'm eighteen," the boy replied, still quite confused.

"Well, Elamiras," Sal said and held out his hand. "If you wish to, I will welcome you as my apprentice."

The boy smiled and took Sal's hand.

If Sal had known that accepting Elamiras would just be the beginning, he would have thought about it twice.

A month after Elamiras took up his apprenticeship under Sal's tutelage, on the second September, the Great Fire of London started at the bakery of Thomas Farynor on Pudding Lane shortly after midnight and spread rapidly west across the City of London.

Sal took his apprentices and fled to the Potters where he was welcomed by Ralston's grandson. When the fire finally ceased its destruction on Wednesday, Sal had gained another apprentice and the support of the Potters, Princes, Longbottoms and Prewetts.

In the aftermath of the fire, Mungo insisted on adding a hidden building to the mundane world - the future magical hospital.

They opened the doors about a year later with Sal as the lead healer and his by then six apprentices as his helpers.

When the Master Healer of London objected and complained to the Wizard's Council, his wish was swatted away by their new political allies and Sal himself.

Two years later, Mungo finished his training and swore his oath. At that time, the Master Healer of London had lost nearly all support and all but two apprentices. When he tried to force the newly named healer Mungo under his control, Mungo rebelled.

His rebellion ended with Master Healer Avery's oath going against the Master Healer himself when he tried to hurt the young healer.

It wasn't a pretty sight. The other healers were in awe for Mungo's daring.

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