The Son of Salazar

Chapter Two

May the gods be ever in your favour

-James (A/N: The original author!)

Freak was sure that Vernon had finally killed him. He was surrounded by so much white. But it wasn't blinding, it was comforting. Plus, he was laying on what he was sure must have been a cloud, with a smaller cloud under his head. A fluffy white comforter made out of what must be angel feathers covered him. This must be heaven, he realized. He smiled. Maybe his Mummy and Daddy was here? If he wasn't so comfy where he was, he'd have jumped right up and gone running in search of them. But as it was, he felt better than he ever had.

He must be dead, because he didn't hurt anywhere. In fact, he hadn't not hurt like this in a long time. He was a little hungry, but he'd heard the Dursleys talking about eating in heaven, so Freak wasn't overly worried about that. But, he could SEE! His eyes were fixed! Further evidence that he was dead. After all, surely you didn't have to deal with stupid things like broken eyes in heaven. He was so warm, he snuggled up under his blankets. Maybe he'd ask a nice angel for some ice cream later. He'd never had any, but he'd seen Dudley eat some. He was certain that they had something that yummy in heaven.

"Are you well now, young one? Is there pain anywhere?" asked a kind voice. Freak froze, an irrational fear coming over him. What if they kicked him out! Then Freak decided he'd be as polite as possible, so they wouldn't even THINK about it. Freak sat up at once, sending a smile at the man who was walking closer. The man was handsome. He was tall, with long black hair tied back in a long braid that swished back and forth as he walked. His face was long and slightly gaunt, but not unpleasantly so. His skin looked like it might once have been tan, but was pale from many long hours indoors. His eyes were large and deep set, the colour was a startling dark blue, almost violet. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. Freak straightened, thinking that this was a man who respected well-behaved "proper people" as Petunia would say.

"No, sir," he said. "I'm fine."

***1047***

(Several minutes before)

Helga was bustling about the mediward, organizing potions that the child would need upon waking. Salazar was watching the boy as he slept. Godric had cooed over how "adorable" the boy was, before dragging Rowena out of the mediward to show her a new trick he'd learned on that infernal broom of his. Salazar shook his head, remembering his best friend's antics. At first, he'd been upset that Godric had brushed off the babe's injuries so quickly, but had soon realized that Godric only meant that he had absolute faith in Helga and Salazar's abilities. He had no doubt the baby would soon be up and running about with him soon.

If only Salazar was that certain. It had been nearly three days, and the little one was yet to wake up. The reason for it made Salazar's blood boil. Helga had burst into tears at her revelations after scanning the child—who he'd secretly taken to calling Little Snake in the privacy of his own mind—and it had taken a good while to calm her down enough for her to even tell Salazar what was wrong.

And once she did, he wanted to find whoever had harmed this beautiful child and turn their filthy Mundane bodies inside out. The boy had been starved, possibly since he was very, very young. An infant, even. He had been beaten horribly and there was no chance that it was simply an accident. There was damage to the eyes, his internal organs, his windpipe. The boy was dehydrated as well as malnourished. Many, many bones were either fractured or shattered—no clean breaks. There was bruising and bleeding inside and out. And to make matters even worse… there were magical blocks on the boy's core.