A Thousand Splendid Suns

The Importance Of Being Earnest

Harry doesn't talk much, those first few days on bedrest. He murmurs strange things here and there and when Salazar goes to visit him, they do hold good conversation.

"Tell me about that scar," he says, perhaps a little purposefully vague.

Harry's mouth twists into a frown and he forces his hands under the covers, hiding the scar that reads "I must not tell lies" and the one on the other hand that reads "I must not disobey." "I don't want to talk about it," he says, featherlight.

And Salazar allows this, but it only makes him all the more curious. What is so important about those scars that they would be the first that came to mind? Why not the one on his forehead, the interesting lightning bolt that reeks of Dark magic? Why not the dozens of scars littering his boy, like the world's cruelness is an artform and his body a canvas?

Salazar wants to pick apart this body and eat him alive.

Harry asks on the third day, to Madame Conneta as Salzar enters the infirmary, "Do you have a pain potion? The strong ones?"

"Do you mean an Elixir of Pain? We do have those -- does your wound still hurt? How bad, on a scale of one to ten, the being the worst--"

"No," says Harry, shortly. He presses a hand to his stomach. "I mean, it hurts. But not enough that I'm not used to it. I deal with pain a lot."

Conneta looks confused. "If it's not for pain, then why--?"

"I need them," says Harry, simply. "I need that potion. The recipe might be a little different than I'm used to, and I usually take more potions than just this one, but I believe it'll do the job just fine."

"If you're not in pain, then I cannot recommend prescribing you potions you do not need."

But Salazar sweeps in. "Give him the potion," he says, and he is aware he does not sound like himself. He sounds too soft, too caring, too--

Conneta blinks, shocked. "But, Founder Slytherin--"

"If the boy needs potions, then the boy will have his potions." Salazar stops in front of her. "If he wants them, he will have them." He cocks his head. "Unless, of course, you want to answer to me?"

She deflates, then straightens her back, scowling. "Fine," she says. "But let it be known I oppose this."

And then she dismisses herself to collect the potion for Harry. Salazar sits in the chair beside his bed as Harry relaxes into his bed. "Thanks for that," he says.

"Of course," says Salazar. "I did say that I would take care of your needs here, did I not? But... it is not for free."

Harry guesses at his thought. "You want me to tell you why I want a potion I don't need," he supplies.

Clever boy. Is Salazar sure he is not a Slytherin? "Exactly," says Salazar. "I'm curious."

Harry sighs and turns his head over, looking away. His fingers trace the lines of his bandages absently. "I'm... dependent, is how I'd put it."

"You mean you're a potions addict."

Harry flushes red, and the flush penetrates into his neck and chest. Salazar forces himself not to stare. "I'm not addicted," he says, hurriedly. "I'm just -- I just need them to function. It's not my fault."

"Right," says Salazar. Interesting. Salazar's never met a bonafide, real life potions addict. The boy must be from a rich family, even if it is clear he is no Pureblood. Only the elite can afford to keep up a potions addiction. "Tell me whose fault it is, then, and I'll get you those other potions you were talking about."

"You wouldn't know him," says Harry, hesitantly.

"Try me."

"Alright. Fine. Since it doesn't matter anyway." Salazar shares a smile with him, pleased.

"Who, then?" prompts Salazar.

Harry smiles an odd, pained smile, a dazed look overtaking his eyes. "A man named Gellert Grindelwald."

Harry Evans is not a Pureblood.

It's clear not only from his last name, but in the way he holds himself, the way he fails to. Purebloods have a rule and it is that Men Never Cry -- Harry holds no such restraint. He is emotional and open and strange, not at all like a Pureblood raised boy.

It is clear in his robes, which while fake and fanboyish, are also clearly hand-me-downs, or at the very least old. It is clear in the way he ats his meals -- like he is afraid if he eats too much, too quickly, he'll simply die.

Harry Evans, the non-Pureblood boy, who is on the run from someone, who eats like a rabbit might, who is addicted to potions because of a man named Gellert Grindelwald... Harry Evans, who looks exactly like Hogwarts student Odair Peverell. Salazar spots the boy, Odair, in the Great Hall and feels like he's seeing double.

How queer, all of it. There is something not adding up here. Especially with the "non-Pueblood" aspect and the "looks like a Peverell" aspect.

Harry gives no verbal, direct confirmation of his bloodline... but from the way he opposed being Sorted into Slytherin at the beginning, he literally cannot be a Pureblood, or at the very least not a proper one. This begs the question -- nature? Or nurture?

So Salazar has a few theories. He's always spectating; it is part of his nature, and it's what makes a Slytherin and Slytherin.

One: this is a Pureblood, with clear relation to the Peverell family, and he is somehow estranged. He's gone off on his own, and so wears dirtied clothes, and so cannot ask for refuge from anywhere else but Hogwarts.

Or two: this boy is a Half-blood, or a Pureblood, either way, raised Muggle. This would explain his aversion to Pureblood supremacy, and to Salazar.

Salazar wonders what such a boy will do in his House of purity. He is excited to see, like a man sending his son off to war.