The Son of Salazar

Chapter Five

May the gods be ever in your favour!

-James

Helga was bored. She figured she should be trying to enjoy the silence while she could. It wasn't something that lasted long in Hogwarts, not when you have a Godric roaming around. He'd gotten even more immature, it seemed with the arrival of their darling "nephew", Sammael. Sweet little Sammael, Helga smiled over at the boy who was being taught the "proper way" to hold a quill by his Auntie Rowena. His penmanship was better than you would expect from someone his age, particularly when most adults couldn't read or write. This boy was astounding. Granted, his spelling was strange, as was his use of the language, but that wasn't something that couldn't be fixed. And, Helga decided, he was only five.

The sweetling had only been here at Hogwarts for four days now; he was almost fully healed. However, it seemed as though he was simply MEANT to be a part of their lives. Salazar had become less withdrawn, Rowena became less strict and stern, Helga had someone to mother (Godric got annoyed when she tried to baby him nowadays), and Godric had a playmate. Yes, they were all far better off with Sammael Slytherin in their lives.

"Now, Sammael," Rowena's firm tones pulled Helga out of her thoughts. "This is how to mark an essay when you must turn it in for school."

"Why?"

"So that it's easier for your teacher's to organize," she said solemnly. "We will have many students, and it will be easy to forget who-wrote-what if they forget to mark it appropriately. Now, see, put your name up in this corner—"

"My full name? I like my full name; it's pretty!"

"You can if you must," came the indulgent reply. "And now you write the name of your class and teacher below, and then the title of the piece, before adding the date."

"Mmm, kay," said the little boy, carefully dipping his quill into an inkwell, letting the excess drip off back into the pot, before lowering the tip onto a fresh scroll of parchment. He spoke out what he was writing as he went. "Sammael… Astarot… Nathrach... Slitherin…"

"Slytherin is spelled with a 'y'," Gently corrected Rowena. She waved her wand, vanishing what he had written. "Start again."

"Sammael… Astarot… Nathrach... Slytherin… Magical Theory… Auntie Rowena," Rowena rolled her eyes but said nothing. "Unicorns and faeries... June 10th, 1994!"

"What?" Helga had stood from where she'd been sitting at a small wooden desk. Rowena was gaping at the paper, her eyes wide and cheeks pale. "This… this makes sense of everything…"

"Of what, sister?" Helga asked anxiously. She noticed that Sammael was growing scared, so she picked him up and placed the tiny boy on her hip.

"Did I get the date wrong?" asked Sammael, his usually bright eyes dimmed and wet.

"Yes," said Rowena calmly to him. Then she turned to Helga "We must inform his father."

Suddenly, Sammael gasped and started writhing in Helga's grip. It took all the little witch had to not drop the boy onto the hard stone floor. "N-no please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I do better!" He started babbling incoherently, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. There was a panicked, cornered look in his eyes. Helga was at a loss, but Rowena had already sprinted over to her personal cabinets and pulled out a small vial of brown liquid: calming drought.