HEY! Here is the (not very) long anticipated Snarry sequel for Son of Salazar!

I thank the person who gave suggestions for better titles, I used your opinion for the Harrymort sequel, but not for this one…Sorry, I guess…? Geez, I reading through my reviews and NOBODY likes my title names….BLEEEH! So I found my weak spot!...*sigh* alright, if any of you have better title names go ahead and tell me. If I find one I like I'll use it instead! Happy now? *whispers* all yall are mean…..

Looking forward to your reviews! (though updates might be a tad slower both because I'm doing two stories at once, as well as the fact that end of term finals are coming up and I've gots to study…)

Also, for those who asked, Harry's Magical Association will be Grey leaning towards Light. Furthermore, everything in Artemis' life is moved back a year: so he would have kidnapped Holly when he was ten. Though he won't show up for a few chapters yet…

One last thing: This IS a sequel for the people who randomly picked this up. So if you haven't already, I suggest reading through my other story "The Son of Salazar" so that you can get a good idea of what's going on. Don't worry, it's not that long, only 10 chapters. Thanks to all of you who followed the story so far, and HELLO to the new peoples!

May the gods be ever in your favor,

-James

One moment, it had been a dismal, dark winter night. The next it was summer. The sun was shining hotly through the window. Sammael was lying flat on his back, his head resting on thick carpet. He was confused for several moments as he looked around. Everything looked so strange. Artificial. Plastic.

Plastic? The word was familiar, easily brought up to the forefront of his mind. And yet, he couldn't quite remember what it meant. Plastic…P…l…a…s…t…i…c…Then he sat up, running his fingers through his hair, which was tied back in a long tail. It took him several moments before he remembered where he was.

A shiver ran up his spine. He wanted to slap himself, for still being afraid after all these years…and yet, he was. His eyes flicked over, almost involuntarily, to a dingy little cupboard under the stairs. He wondered if his old blanket was still there, and the books he'd hidden under the floor boards. Sammael clutched the amulet the was hung around his neck, the Time Turner, Auntie Rowena had decided to call it. Sammael got to his feet. Besnik shifted under his robes. "That was…uncomfortable. I ask that we never do that again."

"I concur" said Kai from where he was sitting on the back of a plush couch. Sammael rolled his eyes at them as he softly tread across the carpet towards the cupboard. Petunia was in the kitchen, he realized as his brain caught up with the fact that a radio was playing, loudly, on the classical station. The sound of running water and the splashing of hands washing dishes could also be heard. The smell of beef stew wafted through the house. Besnik, who was fond of human food, stuck his tongue out, tasting the air.

"I'm hungry" he whined.

"We can get food later," Sammael softly hissed as Kai swooped across the room, alighting on the stair's handrail. Sammael paused in front of the cupboard, then he knelt. He hadn't before realized just how small his old 'room' was. Not for the first time, he felt a rush of extreme gratitude towards Salazar, his Papa, and then a keen sense of loss. Kai and Besnik were quietly watching him as he opened the door to the cupboard. The first think that his him was the smell. It obviously hadn't been cleaned in years. It certainly smelled like someone used to live in it, Sammael thought embarrassedly. Sammael saw his old blanket, blue and ratty, laid neatly folded in a corner; it was exactly where he had left it. Sammael shrunk it and stuck it in his pocket, figuring he'd clean it later. That was all he'd really wanted; it was a connection to his past from before the Dursley's.

A thud from upstairs jerked Sammael into action, quietly closing the cupboard door. Dudley was probably upstairs. This time of day, Vernon would be at work. Making a decision, Sammael silently, but quickly, left the house, closed the door, then knocked.

***1047***

Petunia Dursley was washing the dishes she'd used to make lunch when there was a solid knock on the front door. Frowning, she dried her hands on her apron after setting down a large mixing bowl she had just finished washing. Then she bustled to the front door, thinking that it might be one of the neighbors. She almost had a heart attack when she saw who it was.

It was one of them. One of those freaks that had converted her sister to their abnormal ways. He was definitely one of those loonies, with his long braided hair and flowing dark green robes. A weird bird sat perched on his head, and a huge—Petunia blanched at this point—a huge snake sat coiled around his shoulders, it's long body trailing down into the man's clothing. Petunia shuddered at the thought of the slimy thing touching her skin. Why, it must have been at least fifteen feet long, if not, longer! A thick, brown scar ran across his face in a diagonal line from his left temple down to the right corner of his mouth. His skin was fair, his eyes a familiar eerie green.

"Who are you?" she snapped.

"An old acquaintance who would like to be admitted inside," said the man with a polite tone, but expressionless face. As loathe as Petunia was to let this freak in her home, she also feared what the neighbors would think. But then again, Marge and her husband were here. What to do, she fretted, what to do? As she was thinking, she must have absently stepped aside, because all of a sudden, she realized that the man had simply waltzed right in!

"Who are you?" she repeated, a tad angrier this time.

The man turned to look at her. "I am here, looking for a boy. I don't know his age, nor his name. However, I do know that he is like me—and you know what I am—his eyes are green his hair, black. Where is he?" Petunia grew nervous.

"I don't know," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "He ran away. Years ago."

"How many years ago?"

This gave Petunia pause. This stranger wasn't angry that she'd lost her nephew? "Four," she said. "Four years ago. He should be around nine by now."

"What was his name?"

This made Petunia even more confused. He didn't know the boy's name? The letter had said that he'd been well known in his world. "Harry James Potter" she said numbly.

***1047***

Sammael vividly recalled his old, reoccurring dream, filled with screams, and the color green, and pain. That woman screaming, she must have been his mother. And she was talking about him. His name was, was, Harry James Potter. Sammael cocked his head to the side. What a supremely ordinary, boring name. "Harry Potter" Sammael tried out on his tongue, then grimaced, once again thanking his father, this time for his taste in names.

"I understand," Sammael said. "He must have been a troublesome boy, from what I've heard." And then Sammael left. Simply left. He walked out of the house and down the street. Kai flew beside him, obviously confused. Besnik wasn't sure what was going on either, but he was too hungry to really care. He just kept moaning about getting something to eat. Sammael walked behind a house that seemed empty, then apparated, wondering if visualization would be enough, wondering if Diagon Ally was still there after all these years. The thought of spliching himself came a moment too late as he was already half way gone.

With a crack, Sammael found himself in another, dirtier, ally. He turned around, on one side was a brick wall. On the other: a pub. Sammael shrugged as he entered the small, dark, dingy building. There weren't many people there, the few that were sat at the low tables, nursing some kind of bottled drink, speaking in low tones. A man behind the bar leaned on the counter, muttered to himself as he swiped at the wood with a cloth.

"Begging your pardon, sir," Sammael said respectfully as he approached. "I haven't been in these parts before, and I wonder if you could tell me where Diagon Ally is?" The man looked up at him in surprise. Sammael's robes were made of the finest materials, his whole aura screamed wealth! After all, he had a bloody phoenix perched on his head. The man straightened and held out a hand, which Sammael readily shook, much to the bartender's delight.

"The name's Tom," Tom said with a toothy smile. "Diagon Ally's just right outside, I can show ya how to get in if you like? And if you need a place to stay, I've got plen'y of room available!" Sammael considered this for a moment.

"I'll take a room," Sammael decided, drawing out his money bag. "And then if you can wait a moment, I'd appreciate it if you guide me to the Ally." Tom nodded several times.

"How many beds will you need?"

"Just one, a good medium size room is all I'll need; I'll only be sleeping here."

Tom continued to bob his head as he drew a large brass key out of his pocket and set it on the counter. Then he drew out a scroll of parchment and a quill and inkwell. "Just sign your name here," Tom pointed at a line. "And that'll be 12 sickles a night. How long will you be staying?" Tom asked.

"Depends," Sammael said thoughtfully. "I'll be buying a house, shortly. I supposed three nights for now, and I'll extend it later should I need to." He pulled out the necessary coinage, all the while mentally gasping in pain at the horrible inflation that had gone about in the last nine hundred years. Back in his old time, three nights at a third rate place like this would have cost maybe two sickles a night. Some even as low as five knuts! Nevertheless, Sammael let none of his displeasure show as he handed over the money.

He then picked up his quill, Tom stopped him saying "You'll need your full name, else it won't stay on the parchment." Sammael frowned, enchanted parchment for something as trivial as renting a room? Then he shrugged.

"Very well," he said. He had been going to use a false name, so as to not attract attention. After all, the line of Slytherin MUST have lasted through the centuries. But Sammael simply wrote down his full name, feeling a small surge of affection arise inside him at the sight of the familiar words that had been gifted to him so long ago.

He handed the paper back and was about to take the room key when Tom grasped the sleeve of his robes. "You're kidding?" he asked in disbelief. Sammael frowned. "You're not kidding?" Tom seemed to be torn between awe and fear as he released Sammael as though he'd been burned. "Your name, your real name, is" Tom looked down at the parchment and slowly, carefully read his full name. "Sammael Astarot Nathrach Slytherin"

"Yes" Sammael said. "Is that a problem?"

Tom paled. "N-No! My Lord, none at all!" he practically yelped. "May I show you to your room?" he asked, his voice considerably higher than it had been before. Sammael gave a graceful nod, and followed the trembling bartender up a low flight of stairs. So, he thought to himself, the Slytherin line has survived. Sammael smiled, and apparently it was feared.

***1047***

Three hours later found him wandering about Diagon Ally on his own. Kai was flying around, stretching his wings and hunting for mice or small birds. Besnik, Sammael had apparated to the edge of the Dark Forest, just beyond the warding line of Hogwarts, so that Besnik would be able to find a suitable sized deer for his meal. Sammael had lingered there, long after Besnik had slithered away, just looking at Hogwarts with a strange sense of longing. It hadn't changed at all, he thought with a sweet sort of pain, not at all in 900 years.

It took a great deal of self-control to apparate back to Diagon Ally.

Now he was looking for an apothecary that would suit him. So far, he'd only found a few of the ingredients he was needing in the large apothecary that sat on the main street. So Sammael instead headed down into Knockturn Ally. It was as dark and dreary as ever, to suit the vampires that made a living there.

Sammael had brought everything he'd owned with him: He'd basically shrunk his entire room down and stuffed it in his trunk, he'd brought all of his clothes, he'd even brought the broom Uncle God had enchanted for him when he was five. However, he'd put all of his inheritance and savings, save for a single bag of Galleons, into a sealed vault in Gringotts. It was unique, in that it could never be ceased, no matter how long it wasn't accessed, and no one but Sammael himself (not even relatives) could get into it. Sammael briefly wondered how much was in his vault by now.

The only thing he hadn't brought with him, had been potion ingredients, as he wasn't sure how time travel would affect them. You always had to be careful not to expose ingredients to magic, because the magic would mess with what you were trying to make in the first place, should you attempt to use the tainted ingredients in a potion or ritual.

And so Sammael hunted for an apothecary here in the dirtiest, ugliest Ally in London. "Aha…" he muttered softly to himself as he spied one such establishment. He swept in through the squeaky door. A man with long, blonde hair stood bartering with the owner.

"No more than 50 galleons," the blonde said and Sammael tried not to fall over. FIFTY GALLEONS? What in Merlin's name costs 50 galleons? The owner, however, seemed to think that this wasn't enough.

"60," said the old witch.

"I believe I said, no more than 50," the man said. "If you have hearing problems, I can always take my business elsewhere." The witch scowled, handing over a package in exchange for the money. "Good day, madam," said the man with a sneer. The sneer melted away when he saw Sammael standing there with a contemplative expression on his face. After a moment's hesitation, the man gave a small, graceful bow, which Sammael returned before extending a hand.

"Sammael Astarot Nathrach Slytherin" he said in greeting, wanting to see the man's reaction at his full name. "May I have the pleasure of knowing to whom it is I speak?" The man's pale face grew even whiter, which Sammael found slightly humorous. But the other man quickly regained his bearings and managed a small smile.

"Lucius Malfoy," said the man "Head of the House of Malfoy, at your service. May I ask if you are descended from the legendary Salazar Slytherin? Your name is the exact same as his eldest, and most favored, son. You are from that line, perhaps?"

Sammael briefly remembered his father's last words to him "…if I am remembered for nothing more than being your father, I'd be content." Sammael swallowed thickly 'most favored son of Salazar', that's what they thought of him? He smiled. "I am" he simply said. "Though I hadn't known my line was so distinguished before arriving to his area."

"And where are you from?" Lucius asked.

"That, Lord Malfoy," Sammael said with a coy smirk that made the man blush ever so slightly "is a secret." With a final bow, Sammael swept past, ignoring Lucius' eyes that were trained on his back, instead quietly listing his needed ingredients to the witch behind the counter. So, the House of Slytherin was so renown that even the Malfoy's—who, if Sammael was remembering correctly, was a House as old as the Gryffindor's from France—respected them, he wondered who the current Head of House was…