Chapter Text
Thirteen-year-old Harry Potter was pouting. Sure, it wasn’t very fitting of a young teenager to pout, but could you really blame him? He’d been so sure he’d finally be allowed to stay somewhere other than with his aunt and uncle over the summer, but here he was. Locked in his room by no less than seven locks, only a cat-flap and his window connecting him to the outside world.
At least he wasn’t being asked to do all the chores in the house yet. He just had to wait in his room, and hope his aunt chose to put some soup through the cat-flap, and that his uncle would stay away.
He never liked it when his uncle came into the room. He still tried to beat the ‘freakishness’ out of Harry, even though he really should know better by now. As if Harry’s magic would go away just because his uncle took a belt to him.
Of course, Harry hated thinking about all this, but it was hard not to when he needed the restroom but only had a bucket in the corner. When he was both very thirsty and quite hungry, as he could only really get water when he was taken to the bathroom once per day in the morning and drank straight from the sink, and only got small amounts of food once a day or so.
His stomach was not happy with him. He had only been back in this house for two weeks, so he wasn’t used to the lack of food yet. It didn’t help that he hadn’t been fed more than a single small can of cold soup in three days.
When Marge came, things went from bad to worse. Harry had tried to use her visit to his advantage, like the Slytherin he hadn’t allowed himself to become. Instead, he got insult after insult after insult. And eventually, he just snapped and that was the worst thing he could have done. Even if he hadn’t actually meant to blow Marge up like a balloon.
Trying to run only made things worse. He’d almost made it out the door when he’d been grabbed by the neck. He could hardly breathe while his uncle dragged him around. He hazily noticed a cane being grabbed, and he had to hide his sudden spike of fear.
As it turned out, Harry was a teenager now. And according to his uncle, teenage ‘freaks’ needed to be punished more harshly than younger ‘freaks’. So, a cane instead of a belt.
Harry tried to bear it. Crying just made the punishment worse. But even the fear of the cane had a tear ready to slip from his eyes, and when he felt his uncle actually bring it down on his back, he screamed in pain.
His uncle bellowed out in rage. “You will take your punishment in silence! If you make so much as a peep, the lash won’t count, Freak!”
This punishment was the worst Harry had ever felt. The beltings he’d had in the past were maybe a little extreme for corporal punishment, but they never left anything worse than a few minor welts.
Harry hadn’t known that it was because his uncle was holding back. The cane was very sturdy, and his uncle was a very large man, who didn’t believe that holding back against Harry would do well here.
The oaf of a man didn’t realize that part of why Harry was screaming despite the threat of the punishment lasting longer was that by not holding back his strength, he was actually seriously harming the boy in front of him. He was willfully blind to the blood from gashes being sorned into the flesh, to the cracks of bones actually breaking.
He told himself that the cane would break before the boy did. He didn’t realize that starving a boy for most of his childhood weakened bones and that his cane had a metal core.
By the time he gave up on the punishment, Harry’s uncle had done far too much damage. He’d stopped limiting himself to the bum, so now many of the boy’s ribs were broken, and his organs injured.
Harry had only gone silent because he had passed out from the pain. His magic washed over him, trying to find a way to preserve itself. It knew that its host was dying.
His magic core wasn’t sentient, not exactly. It was more like a second part of his brain, unconnected to the physical brain. Only the strongest of mages could properly connect to their cores. As such, his core was on its own in its quest to save him.
Harry had wished so desperately to be young again because his uncle had only hurt him so badly for being a teenager. His magic took that wish, warping it to think that if it de-aged him, he’d be safer. His body started to shrink and pull in on itself, only stopping when it was finally healthy again. He now appeared to be the same age as when he first came to live with his aunt and uncle.
But there were still two dangers to his health. He was still with his aunt and uncle, and he still had a connection to the being that was trying to kill him in the form of a part of said being’s soul in his forehead.
His magic decided to use the evil soul fragment to fuel a sort of travel that would get the boy far enough away that no one could send him back to his uncle.
The fragment of the evil soul was stronger than expected, but that was just fine. By the time the sun rose, the boy was missing from his room, instead a good thousand years in the past.
~~~~
Salazar Slytherin was walking between two small towns on his usual summer quest to find new students for Hogwarts. As he was one of the rare few people who had fully connected to his magical core, he could see the magic in the world- and people- around him. This made him the ideal person to go from Mundane village to Mundane village, searching out the sparks of magic that came from such places.
He didn’t expect to see a small child, hardly more than an infant, sitting just off the path and looking quite dazed. The boy was wearing rags that seemed far too large to be considered clothing, coated with both dirt and blood.
The child seemed too young for Salazar to be able to get any information out of by normal means, not to mention the concerning haze to his eyes. While normally Salazar wouldn’t resort to Mind Magic on anyone but those willing or Dark Mages, it seemed the best way to evaluate the boy in this case.
What he found stunned him. This was no infant. He was a child, maybe even a teenager in an infant body. How had that happened? Not to mention the language in his memory was nothing Salazar could make sense of, only a few words familiar at all.
He reeled back a little, then reached for his staff so he could cast a translation charm. “Can you understand me now?”
The boy nodded. His eyes were still glazed over, likely from the trauma of the last memory Salazar had seen in his mind. “I am sorry for reaching into your mind. While useful for ones of your apparent age, I would not have done so if I’d realized you were not so young.”
The boy blinked and looked down at himself. He stared at his hands, seeming unfamiliar with their size. “Oh. How’d that happen?”
Salazar used his connection to his magic to observe the boy, and nearly cursed when he realized just how drained his core was. “With how drained your core is, most likely powerful Wish magic. Your magic will always try to keep you safe, and until you are older and have firm control over it, it can easily act however it feels it must in order to keep you alive.”
The boy let out a small ‘oh’ as tiny hands rubbed at his eyes. “‘M sleepy.”
“I’d imagine you are, your core seems to be quite empty. Likely used every last drop to do whatever it felt it had to in order to get you safe. I need you to stay awake for me for just a little longer, though. Can you do that for me?” Salazar was worried, for if the boy fell asleep before his core started to fill itself again, it might never do so. It was always a terrible loss when wish magic ended in the loss of magic altogether.
The boy hummed, seeming to at least try to stay awake, thankfully. “Why? Thought sleep was good.”
Salazar settled into his teaching mindset, figuring the child must not have had much magical education if he still needed to ask. And Salazar was first and foremost a teacher these days. “Your magical core works as a second part of your mind. However, it requires there to be magic, just like the main part of your mind requires you to be well fed to work. If you fall asleep before you start to regain your magic, your magical core will fall asleep with you, but won’t be able to wake up again. You would lose your magic. So it is very important you stay awake.”
The boy’s eyes shot wide open at this, and it was clear this knowledge was enough to keep the boy awake. The next time he started to feel tired, it seemed he decided to ask questions to keep awake. “So my magic can think? Is that why accidental magic can’t be controlled?”
“In a fashion. While it is possible to connect with your magical core, most never do. It is still very much a part of your own mind, but it can’t connect to you on its own. It will only act to perform magic when you use spells to tell it to, or when you are so panicked that it must cast on instinct. As Wish magic, or accidental as you seem to call it, is purely based on instinct, you can not control it anymore than if I tapped your knee and your leg shot out.” The boy hummed some more, considering what he was told.
“How do you connect to your core?” The boy asked, tilting his head in a manner that was quite cute on a toddler’s face. Salazar found himself curious as to whether the child would actually manage to connect to his core. There was no harm in him trying, at the very least. And it would help the boy’s magic if he connected to it.
“You must reach for your magic with your mind, and it must reach back. There is no harm in trying, even drained as you are, as it is the core of your magic that connects to you.”
The boy closed his eyes, seeming to focus on himself for a long moment. And Salazar watched in amused shock as the boy’s depleted core reached up, up, and connected to his head. First try, the lucky little brat. “Just like that. Impressive, little one.”
The child seems about to protest the endearment, but he closes his mouth and seems thoughtful instead. Considering his mind had just expanded to envelop his magical core, it was no surprise the boy needed to think.
The words he said were still a shock.
“Oh. I was connected to Voldemort, and my magic used that connection as fuel to send me back in time so I’d be safe from both him and Uncle Vernon.” The boy’s eyes were glazed over again, and Salazar found himself at a loss.
This little teen-turned-toddler was a time traveler?
Of course, the child’s body left Salazar little time to think of the news. The boy wobbled, nearly toppling over to his side. “Dun thin’ I can stay ‘wake ‘nemore.”
Salazar carefully pulled the boy into his arms as the little one lost the fight with sleep. Thankfully, his core had started to well with fresh magic the moment he connected with it, so he would still be a mage when he woke. “Sleep. I will protect you, little traveler.”
He took a moment to transfigure the blood-stained rags the boy was wearing into something a little better fitting, before standing with the child held against his chest.
He would take the little traveler back to Hogwarts with him. It would be the best place for him, at the very least until they could figure out a little more about his situation. He only had a couple more towns to search until he could leave for home, and the boy would probably sleep most that time anyways to replenish his emptied core.
Indeed, it wasn’t until five days later that the little one woke. Salazar had held him nearly the whole time, bearing the multitude of questions as to if the little one was his, if he was alright, and what’s his name, and all number of similar questions.
It was a little embarrassing to realize he’d failed to catch the name of the little one. While admittedly it might be important to preserve the timeline and not know the child’s name, he didn’t even know how far back he’d traveled.
The child woke when Salazar was walking towards the second to last town he needed to visit. He woke slowly, with a tiny little yawn, then burrowing his face deeper in Salazar’s shoulder. He took another long moment to realize where he was and wake up enough to be embarrassed by his actions. He gave a squeak and a tiny, almost scared little apology that tugged at Salazar’s heart. He hadn’t forgotten what he’d seen in the memories he’d peaked at.
“It is quite alright.” Salazar soothed, running the hand the wasn’t supporting the boy’s bum along his back in a soothing gesture. He didn’t know if the child’s true age made his reaction more or less heartbreaking- the boy relaxed ever so slowly as if expecting to be harmed just for seeking physical comfort. “That man can’t reach you here, you’re safe.”
It seemed those final words were enough to break the dam. The boy’s breath hitched, then he started to let out little pitiful wails, poorly choked off by his young body. When he spoke, his emotions had him sounding far closer to his current physical age. “I was so scawd! He swaid if I cwied it und’nt count but it hurt so bad! An’ then my body was giving out and my magic had to save me, and it was so scary! I thought I was ‘onna die.”
After his outburst, the boy couldn’t seem to manage any other words over his sobbing. Salazar rocked him in his arms, whispering soothing words. He could tell this was the sort of cry that needed to happen. “You’re safe now, just let it out.”
By the time the tears were dried up, the boy had quit clinging to any embarrassment over seeking comfort and was clinging to Salazar like a little leech. He waited it out patiently, even when the little one fell half-asleep. He just kept walking, the boy held close.
Maybe an hour later, the boy finally spoke. “Sorry for crying all over you.”
Salazar sighed. “You nearly died and were de-aged to a toddle in one fell swoop. I think at least one breakdown is expected.”
The boy didn’t seem to know how to respond, just hiding his face again. Salazar let the silence linger for only a couple minutes longer before finally asking one of the looming questions he had. “Do you know how far into the past you’ve gone?”
The boy took a moment to answer. “I think I ended up further in the past than my magic expected. I had some sort of connection to a man who tried to kill me when I was actually this age, and my magic used that as fuel to send me back. It was like it got stronger after I started, so I had to go a lot further back, but that just meant safer.”
Salazar hummed, considering this. “Do you know of any old landmarks or such we might be able to use as a reference to try and decide how far?”
The boy thought for a moment. “Well, I know Hogwarts is just over a thousand years old?”
Salazar stopped in his tracks.
Hogwarts was a thousand years old to this boy.
A thousand years.
When he spoke, Salzar’s voice was rough, with an undercurrent of awe. “A thousand years... This year will mark the third year we’ll have students. You traveled a thousand years, is Hogwarts still teaching?”
The boy nodded into his shoulder, seeming a little awed himself. “Yeah, I just finished my second year there.”
Salazar beamed at this knowledge, showing far more emotion than he normally allowed himself. “We actually did it. We made a school that lasted .”
The boy tilted his head, something seeming to dawn to him. He sat back in Salazar’s hold just enough to examine his face. “You’re one of the founders? Slytherin?”
Salazar nodded, but his jovial mood quickly lowered when he saw how the little one instantly stiffened, on guard. Why would knowing his name get such a reaction? “Is there something wrong with that?”
The child seemed to think about the question for a long, long moment. It honestly was quite unnerving. Why would his name be offputting to a student of Hogwarts? Did he fail his duty as founder and teacher?
He was broken out of his thoughts by the child’s voice. “It’s... Lots of things can happen in a thousand years, I guess, but why a basilisk? Why would you put a basilisk in a school with children?”
“Aspin? I’ve kept her in quarters that only I can get to. There’s only one entrance to the rest of the castle from my chambers, and I made sure she wouldn’t be able to leave them on her own. I don’t intend on having any children of my own, either, only through adoption, so it’s not like they could inherit my gift. I know it is dangerous, but she is my dearest familiar. She knows to leave Hogwarts when I do.”
The boy responded in a shocking manner; he spoke in parseltongue. “Well, you were mistaken!”
Salazar pursed his lips, feeling like he would not like this conversation one bit. Still, he had to ask. “Please explain.”
“A vile, awful boy opened the entrance to your chambers fifty years before my time. He had to seal it again when the basilisk killed a muggle-born girl instead of petrifying like he had the others. He had a plan, though, and he put part of himself in a journal. A memory, he called it.
“And he used that memory to possess the younger sister of my best friend! He used her to petrify even more muggle-born students, including my other best friend. Then he was going to steal her soul, killing her so he could have his own body. When I tried to stop him, he turned the basilisk on me! If the headmaster’s phoenix hadn’t been there, I would have died killing it!”
Salazar’s world shattered. His knees went weak, and he could barely manage not to give the child still in his arms a jolt as he fell to the emotions the words had laid in him. He only vaguely noticed as the child pulled away from his arms and sat nearby to watch his reaction.
He failed. He had dedicated himself to creating the safest possible place for magical children to learn, had sworn he’d do everything he could for them, and he’d failed. Indeed, it was his own familiar, and his own magical gift that he had no idea how had spread that had done the damage.
His magic shuddered and twisted repulsively, reminding Salazar plainly of the Vow he had taken to protect all young magical children. He twisted to face the opposite direction of the child and was promptly sick into a bush.
“Wh-what?” The boy’s uneasy cry reminded Salazar that he’d connected to his core, and would thus have the mage-sight that would have shown him the twisting of the Vow. He took a moment to compose himself before turning back.
“I’m very sorry to have wronged you in such a way. I swore a Vow to never harm magical children, and yet my own familiar...” Salazar knew that he was failing quite well at holding his composure but by the stars...
He’d failed at his duty. He’d sworn that he’d make Hogwarts a safe place so every child would have a safe place to learn, and none would have to go through what he did. Tears fell from his eyes at the thought that his Aspen had been used as a horror to terrify, injure, and even kill the students he’d sworn to protect.
“So you really didn’t mean for any students to get hurt?”
Salazar shook his head, ashamed that the question even needed to be asked. “No. I’d never wish harm on a child, much less one with magic.”
Then the boy did something Salazar couldn’t have predicted. Something he never would have been able to do himself, not if he’d learned that someone had failed as he had. The boy hugged him, speaking words that soothed an ache before it could settle. “It’s okay then. A lot can happen in a thousand years. If you took a vow, then I’ll trust that you weren’t the one at fault and that it really was someone else in that thousand years.”
Salazar took a deep breath, smiled down at the boy. “You are far too forgiving, child.”
The boy grumbled a bit at the word child. “My name is Harry, not child.”
Salazar chuckled, suddenly feeling quite fond. Seems it only took calling the boy, for he really was only a boy, real age included, to suss out his real name. “Very well, Harry.”