Author notes: Okay, first of all, lesson learned about uploading chapters when I'm too tired to go over them and look up editing problems and typos! I've updated both the prologue and the first chapter. A lot of italics got lost when I uploaded them, and they add to the atmosphere, not to mention that all thoughts are in italic. If you still notice any grammatical errors, point them out to me. English isn't my first language. Oh, and before we start, mandatory disclaimer that I do not own neither Harry Potter nor The Witcher IPs. I'm only posting this for fun, and I hope you will like it.

995 AD, Bavaria

"I wish we could do more." said the old man.

"We did all that was possible."

The old man fidgeted his reddish wand while taking in his surroundings. To one that did not know him, his posture might have come across as merely cautious, perhaps even bored and most surely calm. To one that did know him however, such gestures and stiffness meant only one thing. The man was scared. And that was surely something none of his friends or acquaintances were used to seeing from him. Oh, sure, he has been worried before. He has been scared for others before. But when faced with situations that would strike panic in most others, he merely let out a slew of curses (the more perilous the situation, the more languages he would use to curse in), take a deep breath, and then go into a careful planning mode, assessing his options. He never truly felt fear before. Not in his youth, and most surely not in his later years. Between him and his brother in all but blood, there was nothing the world threw at him which they could not tackle. And to quote his brother, they did so in style. He absently drew his finger over his right forearm, where even decades later, his skin did not fully recover from that dragon's fiery breath. One of the many such testaments to his adventures. He always smiled when tracing the figure of one of his scars, remembering the good old days when he and his brother would travel across Britannia and face evil Goblins, dragons, trolls, Witch hunters and other such perils. It was a testament of his current mood that he was not even aware that he was tracing his scar, his eyes remaining fixated upon the heavy darkness that seemed to spread as a veil only a few meters away from him and his companion. It was odd. He has traveled that forest many times before. Taken in its trees, its springs, its creatures, and many forgotten trails. He has always found it calming. Soothing. Beautiful. Now however, it seemed… evil. As if the darkness itself was not mere darkness, but a sinister demon, spreading itself like a veil over the trees. Seeping through their cracks and twisting them. Poisoning them. They all seemed ugly now. Tainted, and unnatural. The whole forest seemed like one malevolent being, whispering. Sometimes, he even had the feeling he caught glimpses of its words, and how malicious they seemed! As if the forest knew something they did not, and was laughing at how deeply into its grasp the two wizards were going.

This is just my imagination. This is not real!

As if reading his mind and wanting to prove just how real everything was, some branches let out a weird crackling noise, to which he immediately reacted by strengthening his grip on his wand and pointing it towards the source of the noise. If one asked him later, he could not, even through the most advanced methods of Occlumency, recall what spell he thought of, but what was clear was that a jet of orange light with feint, dark green inflections darted out of his wand, making a screeching sound into the complete silence of the night and disappearing once it hit the guilty branch, severing it from the tree and tearing it to shreds. When he saw his victim was but a simple branch, he lowered his wand and let out a breath, disappointed in his own lack of composure. A few steps ahead of him, his companion stopped and turned towards him.

"We must hurry. We should finish by midnight."

The old man turned towards him, wand still in his hand. Even though he knew this man for almost a year now, he still felt a small revulsion each time he looked at him. He was well traveled, and the gods allowed him to see more things in his life than any Wizard or Muggle of that time, but never has he felt more uncomfortable than when he was in… his presence. The wizard in front of him peered back at him, the white light from his Lumos spell making his eerie features even more uncomfortable. His large, white eyes felt dead, and made him look either blind, or like a very well glamored Inferius. His olive skin was smooth, with the exceptions of his eyes, where he had the beginnings of a few wrinkles. The man lacked eyebrows, which was perhaps what added the most to his bizarre look. In fact, he seemed to lack any kind of hair on his body. He had thin lips, and looked like a very frail man, even though, by outward appearance alone, he could not have been more than fifty years old. His wand was strange also. Like a square stick, with some strange runes the old man could not properly place, but which he was pretty sure were etched in blood. It was suspiciously short, and if he was to hazard a guess, the wood was cedar. The… man simply stood there, his large eyes fixated on his companion and waiting for him to regain his wits.

"We must hurry" he repeated in the same ethereal tone, as if his voice came from great distance.

The old man took one more look at the tall trees around him, before giving a short nod to his companion and signaling him to continue. They went on in silence, and he noticed yet another odd feature to their little midnight stroll. The silence. This forest was usually filled with life! Even a few magical animals dwell here! Yet now, everything seemed… dead. He was no stranger to death. He has walked across plenty of battlefields, taking in the pools of blood, the butchered bodies and the barrenness of a scorched field. This forest did not feel like that. It felt… hollow. Empty of all that was familiar and comforting. He has faced evil before. This felt so much more. Deeper. Hungry. Alien. Yes. It was fair to say that for the first time in his life, he was absolutely terrified. And that fact alone made him almost as scared as the forest did so in the first place.

"Are you truly sure we could not do more?" he asked more to comfort himself with a noise, rather than wanting to engage his companion in conversation. If the other man realized that or not, he did not show it, rather he answered in his dead and apathetic tone.

"I have told you. Containing it was the most we could do."

He felt slightly irritated. Yes, he always said that actually destroying it was impossible, but never had the common decency to actually begin explaining why! But then again, it was a battle of quite some proportion to rip out even the most basic explanations out of the man in front of him, who surely appeared to be a believer in less is more. The old man was not the most talkative of persons either, but this was just ridiculous! He straightened his dark, green robes, taking the brief moment to compose himself, before replying.

"I have yet to encounter anything that could not be destroyed if you blast enough power at it. We have it trapped! We should hold onto it and figure out a way to destroy it!"

The man stopped dead in his tracks and looked back at his companion. His face betrays no emotion, and the old man was proud of himself that he did not flinch at the sight in front of him.

"You were supposed to be the most sensible one, Salazar. Even now, you are feeling it's evil. It is seeping in the trees. It is digging in the dirt. It is suffocating the air. It tries to release itself. Surely, you are sensing it."

Salazar Slytherin looked around at the impenetrable darkness which seemed to move ever bit so closer to him in the fractions of a second it took him to blink. With a lazy flick of his wand, he cast a silent Lumos as well, then turned towards his companion. Green eyes met white ones, and he gave a reproachful look, as if the mere questioning of his common sense was an affront. He enjoyed the playful banter with his brother, Godric Gryffindor, but he did not like the idea of accepting even the tiniest display of insolence from some eccentric… whatever this man was! Once more he made a mental note of the fact that he failed to place the strange accent his companion had.

"I am merely saying! It is clearly nothing Wizardkind has any proper knowledge on! I find the idea of dropping it off and leaving it to chance too much of a gamble! Someone will find it! Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even the next century, but some day, someone will find it! Surely, you are seeing it!"

The last sentence he spoke was in Parseltongue, the language of serpents. The language which so very few wizards and witches in Europe could speak. It was something he took great pride in, and even performed many rituals to ensure that he binds such a precious gift to his very blood, passing it down to any that will have him as his ancestor. It was not the first time he tried to test whether or not his companion also carried The Gift, or The Noble Tongue, as Parseltongue was sometimes referred as, but he never managed to get a conclusive answer to that question. The man never actually answered to it, but Salazar always had the impression that he, at the very least, understood it, if not fully spoke it. It was hard to tell, since he simply never seemed to display any emotion, either on his face, nor in his voice. What a mystery this man was! And one that put Salazar on edge, more than spur his curiosity.

"Even if that happens, and it is found, It won't know how to untangle the wards you and I placed on the cage. The only loss will be whoever is foolish enough to stare at It for long enough for their mind to be overtaken. And you placed no short amount of fail safes in Parseltongue. It would take another Speaker to untangle them. Given that there are less than one hundred carriers of your ability on the continent at any given time, it makes it quite a long shot for one to be ensnared by our little friend here."

Salazar looked at the black cloth that his companion held, and quickly averted his gaze. He knew it was silly, that it took direct contact for the blasted thing to pose any threat, but once he actually faced it, his faith in the skimpy cloth vanished.

"Well… I still don't like this. I think there are more remote places we could hide it. But fine, let's get this over with!"

His companion tilted his head strangely, in what Slytherin only assumed was a nod, before turning his back to him and continuing his journey to the heart of the woods. Salazar silently let out a Beacon Charm, a rather handy bit of Parselmagic that send a message to any nearby snake or serpent of any kind, calling it towards the caster. The spell was only visible as flashes of green ripples in the white orb of the Lumos spell he was holding on the tip of his wand. He kept the beacon up for over five minutes, his face growing increasingly concerned at the complete lack of response he got. He knew that forest. He knew there were quite a few snakes there, by the gods, he talked to them! It was eerie enough that he had to deal with the pressing feeling that life itself had been ripped out of the forest, but seeing some actual evidence of it was outright alarming. His gaze fixated on the package his companion was carrying, then slowly moved on the rather bizarre ring he was wearing. He suspected there was more at play here than he knew, but the deed had to be done. As he felt a chill ran down his spine while contemplating the man in front of him, he tightened his grip on his wand. He may have been an old man now, but he was still the most skilled fighter in Europe. He felt a small smile cross his face when he imagined the indignant face Godric would have made if he heard his previous thought. He sure would have enjoyed his sword and dry humor next to him at the moment.

"The Beacon isn't working."

"Animals sense it too. They must be too afraid to come near us at the moment."

Salazar let out a small curse in Parseltongue as he looked at the man in front of him, then spoke, annoyance clear in his voice.

"I hope we won't be turning this forest into a wasteland!"

"No… Though, I find it interesting that you would be offended by the sacrifice of one forest for the sake of finally getting rid of It."

Slytherin instinctively grasped his gold necklace in his hand. It had an emerald serpent on one side and a tree on the other. A gift from his father, one he received oh so many years ago, in his youth. When he first left his village and went on the road with Godric, at the behest of the King of Camelot.

"Idiot Muggles only see value in nature if they can exploit it. Wizards should know better."

The man let out a short sound, with no telling if he agreed or not, and for a while they continued their journey in silence.

"Your daughter married, didn't she?"

Salazar was initially thrown off balance by seemingly random and casual question but then his thoughts quickly turned into annoyance when he remembered his new son-in-law.

"Yes" he said, trying to conceal his feelings. The slightly prolonged s at the end of the word was testament of his failure, as such a Parseltongue inflection in regular speech only took place when a Speaker experienced strong emotion. "Good boy, I suppose. Eógan Gaunt. Decent enough family from Ireland. I just wish he took more heed of the old ways." Salazar decided not to go into how he would wring the boy's neck when he started talking about the benefits of so-called Frankish culture, nor how he almost had an apoplexy when he found out the boy barely spoke Gaelic at all! At least his daughter loved him, and he clearly loved her in return.

In front of him, the man let out one of those bizarre sounds which Slytherin could only assume was supposed to be a laugh. An eerie, emotionless laugh which only send shivers down his spine.

"You may not have noticed Salazar, but the ways of the Druids have been on the outs for centuries now. I reckon you are the last of what's left of their ancient religion."

And with me, it will all die, he thought bitterly. Millennia of heritage, of hopes, dreams, accomplishments and failures, all that the old Celts accomplished, it was all ending with him. He tried teaching his children as much as he could, but his daughter never was all that interested in learning the beauty and intricacies of such ancient Magic. It broke his heart every time he thought about it. At least she was quite dedicated to learning Parselmagic, which she always found fascinating. If his own family was indicative of things, Salazar reckoned it would take about two generations before the Gaunts would use Parseltongue as a native language among themselves. Slytherins always did, and even in his old age, he still retained an accent. A weird mixture of Gaelic and Parseltongue accents riddled his Latin and Old English. He felt his chest tighten as these thoughts inevitably led him to his son. His beloved fool of a son. The young boy that took to heart every lesson Salazar had to teach. The boy that looked with such wonder at every bit of Magic he saw, and whose wonder at seeing it never diminished even as he aged. He aged, and then he died. How ironic, the son of a man so known for his composure and common sense, dead because he could not handle his own emotions. Itzal. Poor young fool, Itzal Slytherin. How much the boy loved learning of the old Druid ways, and how much he admired his father, wanting to grow up to be just like him. And yet he died so young, in his twenties. And to make his tragedy worse, he took with him the daughter of one of his best friends as well. Little Helena Ravenclaw. How fondly he remembered holding her on his knees while he summoned various birds and faeries made of pure light to dance around her. She would laugh for hours, stretching her little hands towards them. Neither he nor Rowena ever recovered when their two children died, one at the hand of another. And it was like all the joy and enthusiasm they had while building their beloved school died with those two. Both Godric and Helga saw this, and both struggled to support their friends as best they could. Godric was especially shaken himself, as the bond he had with Salazar was one stronger than most had even among their own family, and losing Itzal felt like losing his own son.

"I hear there is trouble in Britannia?"

Salazar knew the man simply tried to redirect his thoughts. He tightened his Occlumency shields and looked up, rather suspiciously.

"Hogwarts business does not concern you! It's between me and Godric!"

The man stopped and looked back over his shoulder, his white dead eyes peering right into Salazar. But for the first time that night, Slytherin did not flinch, nor fear. How dare this fool pry his abnormal nose into his disagreement with his brother?! In that silent forest, the old Celt looked every bit like the most renowned and feared wizard in Europe, his green eyes dripping with venom and wand pointed toward his companion. Companion which, remained silent and still for a moment, before slowly bowing his head and speaking.

"I meant no offence, Salazar. I was speaking of Avalon."

Ah. Yet another element of great disturbance to the old wizard. Trouble was brewing in the old kingdom. The last kingdom ruled by Wizardkind where Muggles and Wizards lived together in the open, and were quite aware of one another. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Pendragon took great pride in being the last Magicals to rule in such manner. The succession crisis was imminent, and knowing that two of his best students and personal apprentices were poised to fight one another, unless things changed drastically and fast, was quite heartbreaking for Salazar. Merlin and Morgana were by far the best Magicals he ever saw, and was sure both were going to surpass him once they reached the peak of their lives. He was quite glad that Godric's abomination of a Hat declared both of them to become his students. He was never a fan of that whole sorting compromise. They did well without it, for a few years Hogwarts functioning perfectly fine without that foolish house system. And if Godric were not so stubborn and saw the benefits of Salazar's reasoning, it would have continued so. But alas, now was not the time for that.

"The king demoted Morgana from succession. Plans to leave the throne to that boy, Arthur."

The man pondered over that bit of information, before continuing his query.

"The estranged Squib son? I see the prodigal heir's return made quite a mess of things."

"Quite indeed. Merlin has taken quite a liking to him. And he rounded up a small clique in Hogwarts that supports him. Mostly Gryffindor boys from important families. Some of my Serpents seem to be in on it as well. Morgana… she… We shall see what she will do next, I suppose."

How it pained him to see his beloved school turned into a recruiting ground for his two favorite students to smite against one another. If it was his call alone, he would have expelled all involved and locked them up in a tower until they sort out their petty squabbles. Pay a visit to that insolent Pendragon in Camelot too, show him what the true meaning of power was. But both Helga and Rowena thought it sets a bad precedent to expel them for their beliefs, as they technically did not break any school rules. And Godric's family name carried a lot of weight in Camelot, so drawing the ire of so many families by expelling their scions was not something we was eager to do.

"Is the boy… adequate?"

"I only met him briefly. Merlin likes him, as I said, so I assume he must be. I'd say he overcompensates a bit, trying to pander as much as he can to Magicals, so we forget he is but a Squib."

He did not mention how he thought Morgana should have been the next Queen, as the entire kingdom thought, and the girl herself was told since birth. The man in front of him had no business in knowing Salazar's inner feelings.

The two walked a little more, until they reached a small clearing in the forest. The man turned around to face Salazar, whose heart was beating faster and faster, and tilted his head in his usual manner. Slytherin's green eyes narrowed on the concealed object, before taking a step back and pointing his wand at the ground and slowly turning his wrist clockwise. In that moment a large pile of dirt rose in the air and the wizard gently moved it to his side, leaving in its wake a deep hole in the ground. He pointed his wand towards it, increasing the power of his Lumos by a little bit, and yet still not seeing the bottom. He looked up at his companion and signaled him to proceed. He pointed his short wand at the package he was carrying with his other hand and levitated in the air above the new made pit, while Slytherin pointed his and cancelled the Shrinking Charm his companion placed on it. The moment the spell was gone they both felt a ripple in the air, as if someone punched the very fabric of reality so hard that everything around them vibrated and now needed some moments to rearrange itself back to normal. The wizards almost lost control of their spells, and took all their power and control to maintain control over themselves. Salazar felt like he wanted to vomit, and his knees started to shake. How he wanted to blast that damned thing to bits, but he knew it would have done no good. It was inside of it, not the actual object. Destroying it would have only set it free once more. The two wizards eyed the now large rectangle shape and nodded at one another. In the next moment, they both released their spells, and the lifeless object fell in the pit. The wizards quickly took a few steps back, as if expecting some great monster to drag itself out of the grave-like pit and attack them. Not waiting a second more, Salazar pointed his wand at the pile of dirt at his side and levitated it back into the hole, filling it right back up. He then conjured a thick layer of grass over it, to fully mask it, but much to his dismay, his conjuration vanished the second he released pushing out his magic. He frowned and tried again, but the same strange occurrence happened again. This was not good! This was not good at all! Have their wards not been strong enough? He looked up at his companion, which seemed to share the same dilemma. For the first time since he met him, Slytherin finally read an emotion on him. And it was concern!

"Don't tell me It broke out!"

The man paused and holstered his weird wand in a leather scabbard, before looking up.

"No… We… we definitely would have known if our wards fell. That fiend would have attacked us for sure. But it seems like his evil won't allow life to grow over the cage."

Salazar appeared thoughtful and kept his wand at a ready.

"That blasted mirror is one of the most dangerous magical artifacts in the world right now."

The companion tilted his head in agreement.

"It would be best if it remains lost forever. And may the Fates have mercy on whoever gazes into it for too long."

"More like, may the Fates have mercy on us, for what will be released is pure evil!"

"It will show what one desires the most. Trust me, Salazar. He is nothing if not persuasive. Let us hope the mirror we trapped him in remains forever lost."

Slytherin nodded.

"Let us hope. And at the very least, I hope it will never worm its way into Hogwarts. Its lures would be all too easy a trap to fall in for a child."

The two remained silent for a moment, looking at the dead spot on the ground, and then the companion looked up once more.

"I am truly grateful to you, Salazar. Ridding the world of that fiend has been one of the very few failures me and my brothers have ever faced. It will be a great relief to them to hear the deed has been done."

"Well, I am surely pleased I managed to help, though I wish we could have learned more about this whole thing."

And then, the man did something the wizard never seen him do before, nor thought him capable of doing. He shook his head in the most normal and human way possible. It was telling how bizarre he was if such a normal gesture made that much of an impression on Slytherin.

"No, Salazar. Some things are better off never known."

The wizard nodded tiredly, clearly not agreeing, but not wanting to go over that argument again.

"So, what now?" he asked.

"Now, we part ways. But rest assured, we shall meet before long. My brothers and I intend to travel once more. We have set our gaze towards Britannia. I trust we will find you in good health once we arrive. I know my brothers are eager to meet you after the tales I told them of the last of the Druids, Founder of Hogwarts and Speaker of the Noble Tongue."

Slytherin fixed the man with a stare that could have made flowers wither, while he spoke his next words with unhidden venom.

"I do wonder what will it be this time, Cadmus."

The man by the name of Cadmus remained unresponsive, before speaking slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I think you know what I mean, Cadmus Pevelrich. Or should I call you Pavarallio? Or is it Al-Bawareel? Pavarios? Tell me, Cadmus, do you ever lose track of your own lies, or do they all come natural to you? I was merely wondering what name you will take this time. You seem to change them every few centuries or so."

Cadmus did not even need to display any emotion. Slytherin knew he surprised him. What he did not know was how the man will react. The Celt silently performed the Beacon Charm, and this time, the ripples of the spell's magic returned to him with more answers than he hoped for. He sensed through his wand the snakes of the forest hurrying to him, ready to aid him in battle. He pointed his reddish wand at Pevelrich, ready to fire a barrage of spells. But the eerie wizard remained unmoved, even as a small army of snakes started surrounding him, all hissing at once. Slytherin's wand started to glow a sickly, yellowish light at its tip, some powerful curse clearly ready to be fired the moment he so willed it. But Pevelrich only tilted his head in his annoyingly strange fashion and spoke.

"Always too smart for your own good, Salazar."

The wizard grinned and made a subtle gesture with his head.

"They'll put that on my tombstone. So, what will it be?"

"Peverell. Cadmus Peverell. That is how we shall be named. I am not your enemy, Salazar. Nor are my brothers. We do not seek to stir any trouble in your home."

"What do you want in Britannia then? What are you, Cadmus Peverell?! Why are there mentions of you and your creepy brothers dating more than two thousand years back?!"

His Parseltongue started slipping more and more into his speech, while the man in front of him looked wholly unperturbed.

"We… simply are, Salazar." Cadmus sighed, deep in thought. "We shall speak more on this once we meet again, in Britannia. You have… impressed me. I will have something for you, before it's over."

"Speak plainly! Before what's over?! And whatever you want to give me, I want nothing from you!"

Cadmus grinned, for the first time since Slytherin met him, he actually grinned!

"They will need safekeeping before one of our blood regains them all. You will accept this gift, Salazar, trust me." He glanced at his ring, his gold ring with a strange, pitch black stone attached to it. "And speaking of safekeeping. Do not ward this place. Magic leaves traces. This place must be as unremarkable as possible. The mirror draws enough attention as it is. Let it get lost. We have done our part."

Slytherin had enough of idle chatter and was about to fire a restraining spell when Cadmus Apparated away from the forest with a loud noise. Salazar let out a few creative insults and lowered his wand, pinching the bridge of his nose, his thoughts alternating between Cadmus and that blasted mirror they buried. At least he found some solace in the irony of sealing Master Mirror in an actual mirror. He was not going to let this whole situation drop, however. Something was off about the Peverell Brothers, or whatever their name was. And he was going to discover it. With one last look around, Salazar Slytherin Apparated away from that accursed place, hoping that the mirror will forever remain lost.