A Thousand Splendid Suns

There Is Discord In The Garden, Tonight

Godric starts spending time with Harry, too. In the gaps betweens Salazar's visits, there he is, being kind and loving and not prying at his secrets like Salazar is. They bond over Quidditch and Godric tells tales of his adventures, and Harry matches each tale with an even more extravagant one, none of it believable but all of the truth.

The morning that Harry's bandages are removed and he is released from the medical wing and back into the real world, Salazar is there. He's nearly always there, by Harry's side, like the two of them are locked at the hip. Salazar is always talking, trying to get Harry to spill his secrets, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

Godric notes with contempt that he's talking more with Harry than he ever has with his fellow Founders during the five years they've run this place together. "Once you're through with him," remarks Godric, "you're just going to abandon him. Getting him attached isn't fair."

"I am not 'getting him attached,' as you so kindly put it," argues Salazar. "He is well aware of what I want from him." Harry even acknowledged it on the day with the potions -- 'if you give me what I want, I'll give you what you want, and that is knowledge about me.' Salazar is not worried about Harry growing so called fond of him. He's not a very likable person unless he tries to be, and he isn't.

"Getting attached does not happen through conscious means," says Godric. "You're setting him up for failure. Forget about his secrets. Leave the boy alone."

"Why?" coos Salazar. "So you can swoop in and steal his heart?"

Godric flushes red but says, bravely, "I am not trying to woo him. I just want the best for him."

"You're saying that because he is a Gryffindor and you think you've found your soulmate."

Godric smiles a little bit. "So you admit he is a Gryffindor at heart," he says, softly.

Salazar sighs. He wonders what to say. He settles in the truth: "There was hardly any doubt in my mind otherwise, Godric," he says. "But you are missing the point. The boy is seventeen. He is a student. You cannot fall in love with him, Godric."

Godric is unperturbed. "I'm twenty-one. That's hardly any difference."

"Need I repeat that he is a student?"

"You're only saying this all because you want to get to him first. You think that if you seduce him, you can easier coerce all of his secrets out of him."

Salazar raises an eyebrow. "Tell me, does that sound like something I would do?"

"Yes, Salazar! A thousand times yes!" He scowls. "You need to leave him alone. I will protect him like he is my own blood, like he is of my own House. Mess with him... and you will mess with me."

Salazar recognizes this warning, this threat... and he does not heed to it. He says, "Protect him like he is your blood? No wonder he's not a Pureblood; you've both got something dirty in you."

Godric Gryffindor scowls. "You'll regret that," he promises.

He turns on his heel to leave and Salazar is unaware that that promise is one he intends to keep.

"I heard from Godric that you called my blood dirty."

Salazar pauses as he sits down in the chair beside Harry's bed. "Oh," he says.

Harry tilts his head. "I should have known," he mutters, but he doesn't sound that sad about it. "You're Salazar Slytherin, after all. You and your pure blood."

"You're not offended?" Mostly, he is worried that Godric running his mouth might have put his "relationship" with Harry at risk... though it seems now that is not the case.

"I've put up with worse for less," says Harry, shrugging, his hair hung over his eyes. "So this is nothing, really."

"What have you put up with before?" asks Salazar. All key to Harry's past is of interest to Salazar.

Harry lays his head against his pillow and sticks out his tongue. "You with your questions. Why don't you ever just talk to talk, Salazar? Ask me how my day was. Go on, ask me."

Salazar stares at him, blinking. When he is sure that Harry is not joking, he sighs. "How was your day, Harry?"

"Why, thank you for asking! It was wonderful. My potions hit just right, and Madame Conneta didn't even threaten to cut me off today, and I had a delicious breakfast. And," he says, proudly, lifting up his shirt to reveal his stomach, which for reasons Salazar cannot really understand makes his mouth water, "my bandages are finally off. I'm a free man."

Salazar releases he's staring and glances away. "It's a gnarly scar," he says.

"I'm the king of gnarly scars," Harry says, and he laughs. He clears his bangs so that Salazar can see the lighting bolt on his forehead. "I wouldn't call any of my other scars exactly dainty."

"You've lived quite the life."

Harry's gaze darkens. "You could say that. But so has Godric. Did you know he once fought a Narbeast with only his two hands? And a sword, I guess."

"Godric is a man of many feats," says Salazar, tiredly, "but half of those he mentions are fabricated. I wouldn't trust everything he says, Harry."

"People have said that about me, too."

"I assume you're saying it isn't a fair assumption, to presume he lies."

Harry sticks out his chin. "Godric's as much of a liar and an attention seeker as I am."

"Please, do not compare yourself to him," says Salazar, exasperated, rubbing his temple. "Do not do yourself such an injustice."

Harry smiles. Salazar thinks it is beautiful.

"Tell me some of your stories. The ones you tell Godric."

"Why?" teases Harry. "Are you jealous I tell him things I don't tell you?"

"No," says Salazar, too quickly. But now that he thinks about it, jealous really is the right word for it.