A Thousand Splendid Suns

One Word Meaning Yes

Harry Evans is found impaled on a pointed rock in the Forbidden Forest, then just called the Forest, screaming.

It is one of Salazar's own students that finds him, the seventeen year old boy who was dressed in bloodied, worn Gryffindor robes -- even if those robes were obviously not of this generation's design and more of an assumed fan-thing, and also if this boy was not a student that Gordic, or anyone for that matter, recognized. It is odd, too, the more Salazar thinks about it, that a boy would be able to make his way this deep into the Forest.

And that he would survive so long wounded, stuck upon that rock, fighting off the nearby detities. The Forest, after all, is a dangerous place... they probably should do something about that, or at least block it off to the students in the school, muses Salazar.

Harry had requested, upon being found by the Slytherin student, for him to please get Madame Pomfrey, and please do it quick.

Now, Salazar has no idea who this "Pomfrey" is, but they do have a Madame Canneta , who was more than happy to deal with Harry's wounds. Harry is on bedrest when Salazar, and the other Founders, are approached by the Headmaster and asked what to make of him. "Tell me, is it a little odd?" asks the Headmaster, standing outside of the infirmary door.

Odd. Exactly what Salazar had been thinking. But he does not move to give this away, more interested in the Headmaster's own thoughts, saying, "Whatever do you mean, Mors?"

The Headmaster tilts his head. "Those robes. They're not ours. But they look like it -- save for a few details here and there, of course. Tell me, Salazar, what do you make of it?"

Salazar is saved from the obligation of answering. "Perhaps the boy is a fan," says Helga Hufflepuff, softly, echoing Salazar's own thoughts, though he would not of course admit to this. "He is a little too old to be admitted to Hogwarts -- I suppose he is just expressing his desire to attend, because of the fact that he cannot."

"I'm more concerned with how he got here," says Rowena ravenclaw. She crosses her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow, as though to counter disbelief. "The Forest is dangerous. He is very deep in, no matter where he came from, and there are plenty of dangers in the Forest, least of all pointy rocks to get impaled upon. And I assume that someone impaled him that -- it is unlikely he put himself up there, after all."

The Headmaster speaks: "He survived three days impaled there. I wonder how. Don't you, Salazar?" Salazar simply raises an eyebrow.

"Just who is this kid?" asks Godric, awe evident in his voice. The group lapses into silence.

Then, and only then, does Salazar speak again. He walks forward confidently and places a hand on the doorhandle to the infirmary. "Well," he says, softly, "let's find out."

And then he opens the door.

Harry, who is lying in the bed, looking quite exhausted, his hair overgrown and tangled, sits up in bed whenever the five of them walk into the room. He rubs his eyes, and reaches for his glasses, which are broken (has no one bothered to repair them for the boy yet?), and slips them on his face.

Then he gawks, with his jaw lying open. Salazar feels the boy's eyes sweep over him, as well as his magic, which Salazar notes as quite powerful. Then his eyes land on the Headmaster... and his face smooths out instantly, into a blank, emotionless expression. He does however pale, quite dramatically, and his hands shake as he runs them down his torso, which is covered in bandages.

Interesting reaction. To the Founders, he shows recognition. To the Headmaster, he shows fear. Harry has never seen any of them before.

What a curious boy he is. How queer.

"Hello, dear," says Helga, ever gently, stepping forward. Harry flinches back, then slowly relaxes as Helga makes no move to hurt him. "What's your name?" A poltie formality, given they all already know his name.

"Harry," he supplies. He coughs, then hesitates before continuing. "Evans. Harry Evans."

A Muggleborn? Or a half-blood? Most likely a Muggleborn, given the way that he hasn't thought to repair his glasses. But then again... "Where is your wand?" asks Salazar.

Harry blinks at him owlishly. He reaches into his pockets, but finds nothing. He begins to frantically pat around his body and Salazar watches the display with mild amusement. "I -- I don't know," cries Harry. He covers his face with his hands and gives a full body shudder. "I remember running from him... and then a spell washed over me, and I was falling from the sky. I landed on the rock. My magic, it must have kept me alive. But it hurt. So much." He bites his lip so hard that a line of blood runs down his chin, his eyes still concealed by his hands. Salazar is overcome with the strangest desire.

He thinks that this boy must have the most delicious blood. He brushes off this odd thought.

"Oh, dear," says Helga, pressing a hand to her chest. "My poor boy."

Salazar scoffs internally. She is too kindhearted, too trusting. She is not asking the right questions. "Who is he?" asks Salazar. Everyone stares at him, so he clarifies. "Who were you running from?"

Harry's arms snap toward his side. He stares at Salazar, then the Headmaster. "It doesn't matter," he mutters, sounding suddenly despaired. He looks down at the bed, downcast. "You won't believe me."

Salazar thinks it might mean something, that he looked at the Headmaster before declaring this. No, it must mean something -- this boy's actions are too pointed to be anything even close to a coincidence.

"Try me," dares Godric.

Harry looks up. He meets no one's eyes. "I am being chased through time," he says. "And he's going to find me."

Salazar's pupils dilate. He always has been one for foreboding omens.