A Thousand Splendid Suns

Unconstituted Displacement

Harry Evans says such strange things. Like, "Do you know what it's like to die? It's unwelcomed, always. But not always unpleasant." And, "I'm not sure this is my home. I'm quite sure I'm displaced. Displaced, yes, like war refugees, like the homeless. Because this is not my home." And, of course, his welcoming line, "I am being chased through time. And he will find me."

Harry goes on to explain that, no, he will not be answering any further questions, but that, yes, he needs their help. Salazar finds himself jumping at the opportunity. "We will provide whatever you need," says Salazar, and Rowena shoots him a harsh glare. They haven't talked this through and discussed it as a group yet, and the decision is not Salazar's alone to make... but, he decides, Salazar rarely asks for anything and he is sure that his fellow Founders will come around soon enough.

Besides, Hufflepuff, from the dotting expression she is giving the boy, is already on board, and that's a good sign as it is.

"I need refuge," says Harry, simply. "I need a place to stay -- some clothes, some food while I research how to get home. I have been away long enough. And," he adds, sheepishly, "I'll need a wand."

"Hogwarts can provide most of that," says Helga.

"And the rest?" prompts Harry, sadly.

Salazar steps up. "Will be provided by me. I can buy you whatever you are in need of."

Harry eyes him with gratitude -- but with obvious apprehension. "Thank you," he says, quietly. "I don't know why you would do that for me, but thank you."

Godric places a hand on Salazar's shoulder. "Perhaps we should talk about this, Salazar."

Salaar slips out from his grip. "Perhaps not." he straightens hi back. "I will take care of all of his school supplies."

"School supplies?" asks Harry, confused. "I don't need anything other than some robes and hygiene supplies. And, sure, a wand. But that's it."

"Nonsense," dismisses Salazar, flippantly. "You'll be attending Hogwarts, after all." A pause. "How old are you?"

Harry blinks, like this is a hard question to answer. "I'm seventeen," he says after a moment of silence.

And that hesitation... it is unusual, and only makes Salaar all the more interested. He will look into it later but, for now, seventeen will suit his purposes.

Helga claps her hands together. "Perfect, then. You'll be introduced to the other seventh years shortly -- I'm sure my Puffs will take to you with pleasure."

Rowena scowls. "Your Puffs? Disregarding the fact that we have no talked this through, and nothing is set in stone... The boy is an obvious Ravenclaw -- he survived three days impaled upon a rock in the middle of the Forest, and to do that, he must demonstrate some tactical survival skills."

"You mean bravery," says Godric, proudly. "Harry here is a Gryffindor -- clearly. He even had copies of my House's robes!"

Salaar means to interrupt and say that the boy is hiding something, a man of secrets, and that he survived because he was sly -- not brave. He is a Slytherin, definitely. However, he doesn't say this. He's not one to partake in petty squabbling.

And, after all, it's not the Founders that will decide to whom the boy goes.

It's the Headmaster.

The Headmaster holds up a hand, and everyone quiets instantly. The Headmaster smiles. "I believe that, Salazar, this boy is yours."

Salazar raises an eyebrow. He wants to ask why. What is it you are planning? Do you suspect him of hiding something like I do? I suppose you want an eye kept on him, and think that I can do the job best.

Is that it, Headmaster? Is that what's happening? Salzar can only assume.

"But of course," says Salazar. Harry sputters out protests, none of it legible. Salazar gives a wry grin and Harry shuts up.

But then, a Gryffidnor at heart, he dares: "I'd rather be with Godric."

The Headmaster sighs. "This will do for now. After all, it's not like you plan staying long, is it?"

Harry matches his gaze with narrowed eyes. Salazar thinks it is interesting, the way the Headmaster worded that. As if what Harry is planning will not be the reality. Then Harry ducks his head. "I suppose," he mutters, and it is clear that he believes he won't be here for long, no matter what the Headmaster says or does.

He, Salazar muses, is a Gryffindor -- Godric was right. Every note in this boy's voice is courageous. Harry's hands are curled into fists at his side as if to say I am a victory, a challenger, a hero. I will not be defeated. You cannot vanquish me.

How interesting. He is open with his emotions but not his secrets. Salazar will have fun prying the truth from him.

"Then it's settled," says the Headmaster. "Once he is off bedrest, he will be given his supplies and sent off to the Slytherin dorms." He turns around and walks out of the room, making it known with his tight body language that he is not to be followed right away. Salazar watches his back retreat and thinks that Harry is not the only one here with secrets.

Harry watches all of the remaining people surrounding him with lidded eyes. "I have a strange question," he states.

"Go on," says Rowena.

"What year is it?"

What a strange question indeed. "You don't know?" asks Salazar, unable to help himself.

Harry's head snaps toward him. "No," he says, slowly. "I don't. But I might be able to guess."

"The year is 1010," says Salazar.

His reaction, like everything about him, is misplaced.

Harry hangs his head and cries, small tear drops landing on his chest. Salazar soaks in the scene with unabashed curiosity, and he's sure he's not the only one.

Salazar thinks oddly that his tears, as well as his blood, would taste good, too. He shakes off the thought. Its presence to begin with is one of many mysterious surrounding the enigma of Harry Potter.