A Thousand Splendid Suns

Mercy Down

Salazar is released from the infirmary, no issues noted. He is reportedly fine, and even if he isn't, there's nothing Madame Conneta can do.

"I told you," says Godric. "You current state has more to do with your emotional well being than anything physical."

"I'm not emotional," says Salazar.

"I never said you were."

"You implied it."

"You know what, you're right," remarks Godric, mockingly. "You are remarkably sensitive."

Salazar turns on his heel. He is the same age as Godric, but he is decidedly more mature. He will not participate in such petty debates, especially ones fueled by emotion. Most of the time, he is above emotion. He is untouchable.

"Harry told me to tell you something," calls Godric, and that does make Salazar pause. He is above emotion... but not above Harry. His wonderful weakness; his sore Achilles heel. "Well, he told it to the both of us."

"Go on, then," says Salazar, turning back to face him.

"It's rather foreboding. I'm worried about him," admits Godric, softly, wearing his heart on his sleeve as usual. A classic Gryffindor move.

"I asked to hear his message, not your thoughts about the message," hisses Salazar. But perhaps, with its bite... Salazar, too, is wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Godrci growls, rolling his eyes, clearly wanting to drag this out, to talk to Salazar... because they once were close, toward the start of this. They were nice to one another in the name of protecting and building up Hogwarts. Five years later, and that comradery is non-existent.

What happened to all that niceness?

"He said it's only going to change from here. He said the goodness of right now is sure not to last," says Godric, and something about it sends a chill down Salazar's spine. "He said the worst of it is yet to come. And to watch our backs. And to be prepared."

Watch his back. Harry had said that before, hadn't he? "Thank you," says Salazar, blankly, muling this over, "for relaying his message."

Godric eyes him. "Are you alright? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," says Salazar, turning away. "Thank you again. I am fine." He wonders how much longer this will be true. And if it's really himself he should be worried about.

Stepping into the great hall is a man, holding his stomach, which has a gaping wound, as if he is afraid if he doesn't, all his organs will spill out. He steps with grace and poise, not at all acting like the wounded man he is.

"Hello," he says, loudly, "I am in need of minor assistance."

Minor? thinks Salazar. He is barely on his feet. He looks like he got impaled straight through...

... LIke Harry was, whenever he first arrived.

Looking over at Harry now, Salazar nearly gapes at the sight, and he is sure a lesser man would. Harry is pale, and staring at this newcomer with the same expression he gives the Headmaster: unprecedented recognition. He is shaking, but his jaw is set in a hard line, reading determination, and no large amount of surprise.

Like he knew this would happen.

Wait a minute, thinks Salazar. And he is putting things together at a pace faster than anyone in the room.

(Almost anyone. Salazar is not looking at the Headmaster. Almost anyone; he is putting things together faster than almost anyone in the room.)

I am being chased through time, Harry'd said.

The newcomer drops to his knees... but Salazar, and perhaps only Salazar and Harry, of course Harry, note that this action is fabricated. He is not weak; this should-be devastating wound has barely affected him.

Just who is this guy?

A man named Gellert Grindelwald, Harry's said, describing his chaser, the one who kills to keep him and reads his mind for fun, the oe who got hima addicted to potions in the fist place.

This man... could he be?

And his clothes... as people rush forward to help him limp to the infirmary, Salazar notes his clothes. They're not from around here.

Harry isn't either. And he says such strange things.

You wouldn't know him, Harry'd said.

What did he mean by that, by his confidence? How did he know Salazar wouldn't know him?

I am being chased through time. And he is going to find me. A man named Gellert Grindelwald. You wouldn't know him. I loved a man named Ron Weasley. And then he showed up, and prevented him from ever being born. My eternal chaser. He will kill any man, woman, and child that ever dares to love me. This Alley will fall beneath his touch.

What does this all mean? Salazar has pieces of the puzzle, but cannot find a way to put the full picture together. There's something in the tenses, the way he talks about the present as if it's already happened. There's something there... but Salazar's mind grabs at it, only for it to slip out of his grasp, like a slimy liquid, impossible to hold.

One thing is sure: this newcomer, on his way to the infirmary now, is named Gellert Grindelwald... and he is here for Harry.

For some reason, Salazar takes to Godric's side. They have much to discuss. Godric is not as bright as he is. But he is Harry's lover, and he is powerful... and so he needs to know about Harry's chaser as much as Salazar does.

The urge sweeps up on him without notice: he does not want to leave Harry to his own devices. He does not want to risk losing him, like he could not stand losing his locket; like Harry is his new, prized possession.

He wants to protect the miracle that has graced his presence... if only because looking at him makes Salazar salivate, like he is looking at a juicy rib eye steak.

He doesn't understand these feelings. It is odd, to feel, and so unlike him. But it doesn't matter. He doesn't need to understand them to feel them. Like a man bewitched, he will act under Harry's spell.

And he will do everything he can to protect him. Even fraternizing with his mortal enemy. And so he talks to Godric Gryffindor.

He finds they can finally agree on something.