By: Saffyre
Disclaimer: Setting, characters and all related ideas are copyright to Joanne Kathleen Rowling. I do not own them, nor do I claim to (as you can see). All I own is the plot and the characters that I made up (Serena, Alisha, Narcissa and Priscilla and Jason).
Summary: It is after the downfall of Voldemort. Harry Potter has become the Headmaster at Hogwarts after completing his aurorship and defeating the Dark Lord, and his two best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, stand proudly at his side. All seems calm, but new complications arise as four seemingly ordinary girls find themselves wrapped up in yet another prophecy and the wizarding world once again finds itself fearing the prosperity of evil. These four girls arrive at Hogwarts, completely unaware of the dangers that will arise and the adventures they will face. The only hope for renewed peace and happiness lies in the past; will the girls know where to look? Or will evil persist and dominate once more?
Author's Note: If you're going to read it, at least read all of the first chapter (and the prologue, if you want) before you decide you don't like it! The prologue is a bit dramatic, and unfortunately, I'm not sure everyone will like it. It may be best if you skip it and persist to the first chapter; it's not really important, it's just there to give you a bit of a 'clue', like a piece of the puzzle. Also… This is my first fan fic ever. I'm not sure if it's worth continuing or even good enough to publish, so please review giving me constructive criticism to improve and continue or to stop and forget about it. Just so you all know, if I ever do finish it, it will be very long. I'd really appreciate it if, should you guys like it, you add it either to your favourites or one of your alert lists so that you're not always checking on the story. I may not update as often as some of you may like (sorry, but I have a tight schedule). Thanks,
-Saff
Prologue: Sapphires and Secrecy
Creeping through the darkness, a jet-black cat with startlingly blue eyes resembling pools of sapphires snuck through the shadows. Around her neck, a blue collar (which matched her eyes perfectly) bore real, sterling silver letters, which spelled a single word. Arowen.
Hogwarts was very quiet at night, and empty. It was far from the bustling school it would soon become. The cat was careful not to break the silence, her soft, padded feet moving soundlessly across the stone floor.
Moonlight poured in through the windows like unicorn blood. She stared at it, longing to admire the beautiful sight, but knowing she must not linger. Time was short; she quickened her pace, still in the shadows. Her keen, cat eyes helped her distinguish the many shadows, finding it easy to slip undetected through the immense, endless castle.
Bathed in blackness, the castle was exactly as it should have been. Silent. Deserted. Exactly as she wanted it. Not a student was out of bed, there was nobody to catch her, nobody—she froze. A sound penetrated the silence, like a human footfall. She looked around desperately, searching for the source of the sound. Surely…surely none of the founders were out of bed? Surely it was just a student…it couldn't be…
Her heart fluttered wildly. She felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, and somehow, she knew the impossible was true. Sure enough, she saw a single pair of glittering emerald green eyes. Salazar Slytherin stood in front of a white, wooden, girls' bathroom door. "NO!" she almost screamed, forgetting that she had no voice. A low hiss emerged from her throat instead. For a moment, time seemed to stop as she stood, petrified, at the corner, her back arched, watching in horror as the sandy-blonde-haired man in front of her turned. It didn't take him long to recognize those sapphire blue eyes. Hatred crossed his face.
"Why, hello, there," he said, his voice no more than a malicious snarl, "Arowen." He spoke the word as though it were a curse, with a touch of mock and a slip of hatred.
Before she could act any further, he had knelt down and picked her up. Trapped in his arms, she struggled about desperately, but he had a strong, firm hold on her small form. "I wondered when I would at last be able to hold you," he told her in a tone of mock-passion.
Furiously, she bore her claws in an attempt to scare him away, but it was to no avail. With a mutter of an incantation and a swish of his wand, they had become nothing more than blunt, round silver spheres that couldn't hurt a fly.
As he pushed open the door, she gave a hiss of astonishment and he muttered, "Transfiguration always was your solution to everything. I thought I ought to take a leaf out of your book, my dear." The last two words he spoke with an edge of anger, of hatred. But the rest of him seemed to speak in a tone that was of mock-happiness and pleasure.
He closed the door behind him and stood in the bathroom, a cylindrical and carefully architectured structure of sinks before him. He smiled, and set her down. Immediately, she bolted towards the door, but he barred it with a wave of his wand. "No," he hissed angrily, "I want you to see what I have done before you meet your fate. He laughed evilly, the cackle echoing loudly through the room.
Once again, she hissed, clawing at the door, but her claws—her only weapon—were no longer sharp. "Come," he commanded, and an invisible force resulted in her having no choice. She felt herself being dragged forward until she stood at his feet. "Now," he continued cruelly, "show yourself."
The cat let out a low hiss of protest, but once again she had no choice. Sparks swirled around her, and a few moments later, a young woman in her mid-thirties sat kneeling before him, tears shining in her dark brown eyes, trailing slowly down her olive-toned cheeks. Her long, rich, brown, wavy and slightly curly hair was hidden behind the baby blue hood of a long silk robe.
The man grinned. "Look at me," he commanded, "look into the face of me, your superior."
She shook her head furiously, soft sobs coming from her throat. Her tall, slender figure sat crumpled in a heap at the man's feet, fearful and even a little panicked.
Mercilessly, the man scowled. "Must I force you, my dear friend? Are you really that cowardly? Very well—"
"NO!" she snapped, rising to her feet and glaring up at him. She was only a little shorter than her companion, but his tall, broad figure towered over her. "You are not my superior. You cannot accept rejection and you are foreign both to the bonds of friendship and to love."
The man's face twisted in anger. Furiously, he snatched her by the collar and pulled her so close to him that she could feel his breath on her face. "You will regret those words," he growled, "when you find yourself a 'victim' of my passion."
Her face paled. "That is your plan, is it? To torture me now that I am wandless and alone? That is your plot for revenge?"
"No,"
he hissed, "that is only half my plan. You will not be tortured by
magic. Your fate will be by other methods. But first, my dear,
you will watch and learn of my plot to destroy all the hard work you
have put into this school."
"You would really do that?" she
whispered, "when originally it was your brilliant idea?"
"Had I known the extent to which you would butcher my plan, I never would have done it," he growled.
"But you did. You would really waste that much of your life doing something so noble, only to destroy your hard work parce que ce n'est pas pur?" she asked, her words sharp and cutting.
"You brought filth into my idea. You and the others."
She scowled. "We did the right thing. Our population would have died out if we hadn't done it. It was a risk we were not willing to take."
"I would rather we die honourable," he hissed, "than die a shameful and filthy group. Mudbloods!" he thundered, "that is what they are! MUDBLOODS!" His voice echoed in the dark, empty bathroom.
"No!" she cried, snatching him by the collar, "they are not mudbloods. They are no different from us, and they are in your relations as well as mine. You know that magic all started because of them!"
The man's face twisted in anger. "Get—your—hands—off—of—me!" he screamed. Immediately he whipped out his wand. It only took a simple swish for the witch to find herself glued to the wall, ropes binding her. She struggled to move but they only coiled about her harder. Another wave and a gag was placed over her mouth.
He grinned happily. "Now," he continued, "where were we? Ah, yes, my plan to destroy. Here we go."
Smiling, he walked up to one of the sinks and rubbed his hands around the tap. "Lumos!" he whispered. A light sprung from his wandtip, revealing a tiny serpent engraved into the metal tap. He turned to her and smiled. "Do you know what this is?"
Without waiting for an answer, he whispered something. But his words were not English, they were a foreign language the woman had seldom heard before. It was a combination of hisses and snarls, like what a snake speaks. Her heart caught in her throat as she realized that it must be parseltongue. Understanding filled her.
"Yes," he whispered softly, turning to her and watching as her eyes widened in comprehension, "it is true. This is the entrance to the Chamber. My Chamber. The Chamber of Secrets."
In a moment's time, the top of the sink structure had risen to the ceiling and the sinks were steadily dispersing themselves. Before long, the man stood at the entrance of what looked to be a very large pipe. He then walked over to her and ripped off her gag, slicing the ropes off with his wand and not bothering to prevent giving her a nasty gash along her ribs as well. Blood seeped into her robe as she tumbled to the floor.
"Come!" he commanded, and once again, an invisible force pushed her forward. She stood in front of him, so close she could feel his breath in her hair. The hair on the back of her neck tingled, standing on end.
He carefully ran his hands along her shoulders, his fingers lingering and descending lower and lower, passing over her chest, her ribs, and coming to rest on her hips. She bristled, bracing herself. She made to move but his grip tightened and he held her firm. Slowly, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on the back of her neck.
Furiously, she kicked him from behind and broke free of his grasp. She turned to glare at him. "Do not!" she said simply, "all these years and I would have hoped you could have taken my rejection properly."
"Alas," he said, his grin broad, "I do not take rejection. You listen to me because I am your superior." He grinned evilly, touching her once more, then pushing her towards the entrance of the pipe. "More of that will come later. Now, go!"
With a final shove from her companion, the woman was forced downwards. The pipe was like a long slide, and at the end, she collided head first with the ground, groaning audibly. She quickly slipped out of the way just in time for the man to fall along beside her.
"Come," he whispered, taking her hand and stroking it passionately. She tried to pull away but he smiled and squeezed her tighter. "There is no point resisting," he scolded, "not anymore. It is time I got what I wanted. I will use force if I must, but you know I am armed and you are not."
She scowled, and turned to glare at him with her dark brown eyes. The stare was piercing, and she succeeded in intimidating him, but only for a moment. "Your defiance," he began firecely, "will only cause you more pain later. Don't test my tolerance."
She sighed and said, "what is your problem? Let me go already!" His hand was icy cold and his grip on hers was steely. She tried to wriggle her sweaty palm free but it was to no avail. Salazar merely ignored her comment, but he shot her a warning glare.
They continued to walk until at last as they stopped in front of a large, circular doorway that reminded her of her vault at Gringotts. The sole difference was that there was a stone snake all around the perimeter of the door and five other stone snakes, all slithering in different directions, across the middle.
Once again, he whispered something in parseltongue, and once again, the hidden entrance was revealed. Immediately, the snakes sprung to life. The one on the outside slithered all around the perimeter, knocking off the snakes in the middle. As each snake slid off and recoiled backwards, a loud click was heard. When at last all of the snakes had stopped moving, the door burst open. He turned to smile at her. "Ladies first," he said mockingly.
She scowled, which only made him grin more broadly still. "Can you guess what I said to make the door open for me—" he paused, then continued, "or should I say, for us?" he laughed a cold, hard laugh and stroked her hand, his lips brushing it. When he turned to look at her, his gaze was one of passion—passion for power, that was. She could tell that he was enjoying having so much control over her and seeing her so helpless. What a stupid jerk! She thought bitterly, knowing her only choice was to give into his demands.
"No, and I don't care what you—" she started, but was cut off by his soft hissing voice.
"Enemies of the heir beware…may this Chamber always remain fair…no blood traitor shall enter, no one of non-magical parentage will dare…long live Salazar Slytherin and may the mudbloods die the filthy death that they deserve."
"You bloody bastard!" she exploded at last, "what do you think you're doing, prancing around like you're so much better than everyone else! What is your problem? I thought you were my friend, what happened to—" once again, she was cut off, and a penetrating silence fell over them. Her heart caught in her throat as fear surged through her, and she realized that she had gone too far.
His grip on her hand tightened and she winced, biting her lip. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his wand. The plain, black tip of the wooden stick prodded at her throat. She waited for Salazar to stop it and was alarmed to see him persist to the extent that she nearly choked. At last, she extended her hand and shoved the stick away from herself. He merely laughed, but the message was clear: don't mess with me, don't test my patience, and don't go there. You'll only make it harder for yourself later on.
Seeing that she had relented, he smiled, loosening the steel grip on her clammy hand. "Shall we proceed?" he asked.
The witch knew that he was trying to pretend that he was her lover. She scowled. "Whatever," she muttered, "it's not like I actually have a say in the matter!"
He smiled. "Come now," he said comfortingly, putting his other, free arm around her, "it's only bad if you want it to be." He pulled her in further, and then, at last, she took a step through the door.
The moment she entered the room, she was completely speechless; what was there to say? She found it magnificent, yet at the same time, it was a plot to destroy her and her closest friends' life purposes. All around her were magnificent, beautifully carved stone statues. They were all of a human head, with a large beard and long hair, and each one's mouth opened wide to reveal a small doorway. She figured the statues must represent something, perhaps…yes…as she looked at Salazar, she figured it was possible that the thirty-five-year-old had attempted to depict his older self. Each statue was the same, but she knew that they all led to a different place.
She also noticed that every statue—or doorway, rather—had a different bit of writing above it. The one directly across from her, in the center, was particularly big and it read, To Destroy. Other doorways said various things, but her eyes caught the large ones directly to her left and right, which said exactly the same thing: To Victimize. These doorways were not sealed; they simply led to a long, dark tunnel from what she could see of them.
Beside her, Salazar laughed, clearly pleased. "So," he began triumphantly, "how do you like it?"
She scowled. Immediately, her behaviour changed, and she assumed an expression, which hid how impressed she really was. "I hate it!" she spat.
"Is that so?" Slytherin asked in a tone of mock-surprise. She knew that he knew that she was lying, but she didn't care.
"Shall I give you a tour?" he continued happily. Without waiting for an answer, he pointed to the large doorway up ahead of them. "This," he said, "this leads to the monster's lair." He smiled as he waited for the fact to sink in.
"The—the monster?" she asked in alarm, "what do you mean, the monster?"
"Well," he continued, grin broad, "I managed to lay my hands on a very, very rare creature. Have you heard of the Basilisk?" He already knew the answer, but he spoke anyway, just to watch her face whiten even more. "It is a—"
"I know what it is! But how did you get it and why would you want to get it?"
He laughed. "I hatched it myself. Thankfully, Basilisks don't need special eggs—indeed it was hard to get a frog to hatch a chicken egg, but after several attempts, I managed. No, the difficult part was training it. But at last, I managed to get it to understand not to attack me or any of my descendents."
"Your what?" she asked, baffled. The witch stood confused, trying to figure out where this was going. Unfortunately, usually when Salazar's plans made no sense to her at first, they turned out to be startlingly brilliant and flawless. She had learned that the hard way.
"My descendents, didn't you hear me the first time? Or should I say, my heirs?"
"Please explain," the witch requested, shaking her head in confusion.
"Yes, I'm getting to that!" Slytherin snapped, and the witch felt he'd lost a bit of his touch. No longer did he seem quite so threatening or villainous. "Alright," he continued, indicating to the two doors directly to their left and right. "These two doors lead nowhere. Basically, they go through a bunch of pipes and everything; if you get far enough, they're dead ends. I recommend that you avoid going through there, because it's just wet and grimy, there's really no point." He continued indicating to many of the doors, at last pointing to one final door next to the monster's cave that read, To Gloat. "And that," he finished, "is my throne room."
The witch noticed that there was one door he had forgotten, the one next to his throne room, but she didn't bother to inform him. She frowned, squinting at the words etched into the stone, which spelled, To Imprison. Shrugging it off, she listened closely as he began to explain his 'marvelous plot.'
Salazar grinned. "And now," he began, "we get down to it all." With a point of his finger, the entrance through which they had come creaked closed, and up above them, the witch was sure that the same could be said for the secret bathroom entrance. With another snap, a luxurious, emerald green couch sat before them.
"So," he started, placing his arm around her and leading her towards the couch. She sat down beside him, knowing she had no choice and could do nothing to prevent his fingers lingering. He smiled, continuing. "I had this idea so that I could cast my revenge on Hogwarts and my three 'friends.'" He laughed, and pulled the witch closer towards him, grinning as he saw her flinch. "I decided that I could not go on forever, and I had to make a decision quick, something that would make them regret the crazy idea of letting those filthy mudbloods into the school. I wanted to do something that would last forever, even after I had died, even after they had died. So, I built this chamber. Once it has matured enough, my Basilisk will be ready. It will attack the mudbloods and obey my heir's commands. Additionally, I am convinced that they will be the only people in the entire school who possess the art of parseltongue, which helps, because the Basilisk is a great serpent. So, my plan was, to build a chamber—which I have so cleverly done—that would be hidden, but something my descendents could still open when they went to school. They could use the chamber for various things; to gloat," he began, indicating to his throne room, "to preserve our loyal bloodline," he continued, his finger pointing in the direction of a doorway that said, To Preserve, which he had explained would be where all the corpses of his and his families' dead bodies would be saved, "to imprison those who do us wrong or those upon whom we wish to revenge," he continued, indicating to the room that said, To Imprison, and the witch felt chills course through her spine, realizing he hadn't forgotten about it, "to victimize one particular person through which one lures into the chamber," he continued, pointing to the pipes, "but most importantly, to destroy," he finished, at last indicating to the room in which the Basilisk was kept. "To destroy your 'noble' work, to destroy integrated magical education at this school!"
His final words echoed loudly in the chamber, and the woman shuddered involuntarily. He only wrapped his arms around her tighter, pulling her in closer to him and planting another kiss on her head. Holding her firmly in place, he continued, "my heirs will open the chamber and they may use the Basilisk to perform attacks on the mudbloods. The chamber is so cleverly hidden I am convinced that the culprit will never be determined, nor that the chamber will ever be found. The tradition will be passed down, from generation to generation, and it is positively foolproof."
The witch sighed, not wanting to agree, though she knew he was right. Then, she realized something. Frowning, she felt his arms loosen around her and took advantage of the time to rise to her feet, and turn to face him triumphantly. "No, it's not!" she told him, "not anymore! You see, when I leave, I'm going straight to the other Founders to tell them about this."
She waited for the words to sink in, for Slytherin to frown in fear, but to her horror, he didn't. Her face grew ghostly pale as his final words were spoken, and she realized that he was right. "But that's the thing," he began, his cold, cruel voice echoing in the empty stone walls, "you're not going anywhere."
Those words were true. The witch was kept in a luxurious room, but it was still a prison. She slept in a large, queen-size, emerald green and silver bed with heaps of cushions. Her food was brought to her on silver platters, with snakes engraved in the sides. She was able to eat whatever she wanted, but he monitored everything she did. There was only one secret she had that he didn't know about: her journal.
She titled it Sapphires and Secrecy, and in it, she recorded every chapter of her miserable life as a prisoner. She had managed to bring it into his 'Chamber of Secrets' with her; it had been quite a coincidence that on particular midnight stroll she had slipped it into her pocket and decided she would find writing inspiration in the moonlit grounds. Unfortunately, she had never gotten the chance to so much as leave the castle prior to her ambush.
Every night, she wrote in her journal. And two years later, she had his child. That night, she was brutally murdered. Her husband and her two sleeping children upstairs sensed it, but there was nothing they could do. After all, she had been missing for two years now, and they had had to go on without her. Her husband would have come after Salazar if he had known, but it was far too late for that. So, he went on without a wife. His children grew up without a mother.
Meanwhile, that very night, the witch was in the midst of a deep sleep, her breathing laboured after a smooth delivery, when she felt something cold and smooth rub against her cheek. It was a knife. Salazar's last words to her were that he was going to kill her the Muggle way, slow and painful. And so it was. The Basilisk had a wholesome feast that night, and Salazar Slytherin took his child and locked the chamber, leaving the school forever, without a trace. There was no evidence that the imprisonment of that woman had ever taken place. No evidence, except her journal.