Fog swirled low to the ground, engulfing the hidden cemetery in a thick haze that seemed almost impenetrable. The heavy mist made everything damp and slick, and the rains from the previous days had made the grounds soggy. As two cloaked figures slipped across the dismal place, unnoticed by anyone who might have otherwise seen them if not for the fog, the wet earth clung at their shoes making it feel as though the very dead themselves were grasping at their ankles.
The two figures came upon a massive stone tomb that even they had had trouble pinpointing; the magic webs hiding it from sight so thick that even now, standing before it, it seemed to shudder and shimmer. It was as though the tomb itself had merely been superimposed on the land, not quite gone but not quite there. Faintly glowing letters were imprinted on the large gate that kept it locked, shifting and changing from one language to another. It was a warning; he who doth open the tomb shall unleash a thousand curses upon himself.
"Are you sure this is such a good idea, Rudolphus?" said the shorter figure, drawing back his hooded cloak and revealing a rail-thin man with a black shadow of stubble covering his jaw. His cheeks were gaunt and his black hair was long and matted from years on the run. He looked to be in desperate need of a good scrubbing.
The second figure, larger and muscled, ripped his hood off with force. His face, pale but fierce, glared at the shorter man. Though he had been in quite the same situation as his companion, he was less worse for wear because of it. His dark hair was groomed and cut short, his face clear of stubble and his skin free of dirt.
"Don't be a coward, Rabastan," Rudolphus snarled at his younger brother, grabbing him by the collar. "Would you back out now when we are so close?"
"N-no, of course not," Rabastan stuttered, paling at the ferocious look his brother was giving him. Rudolphus was completely mad, and Rabastan suspected that he, too, was mad for even entertaining his brother's plan. But what was he to do? Rudolphus would likely kill him if he attempted to stop his brother's mad endeavour. Rabastan could only hope that perhaps nothing would happen; that Rudolphus' plan would fail and they would go back to living in caves in the Russian north. It was a bleak life, but it was living.
"Good," Rudolphus spat, releasing his hold on Rabastan's robes. "Once He has risen, we will be treated as Gods. Better than. He will raise our Lord. I will have my wife come back to me. Mudbloods and their filth will be wiped out of existence and men will grovel for our mercy."
Rabastan watched as his brother moved forward toward the gate of the tomb. Even as Rudolphus passed his hand through the air in front of it, they could see the dark green barriers glow to life at his invading presence. This truly was insanity. Even if they managed to conquer the imposing barrier that kept intruders out, even if they avoided the plague of curses that threatened to descend on them as soon as the gate was open, even if somehow they managed to get inside the tomb, what was to say they even had enough power to raise Him? Raising the dead was a formidable Dark Art that none had conquered in centuries. Even combining their powers, as they would have to, was likely not enough. The effort could kill them.
And for what? A reign of darkness? God-like status? A long-lost wife that Rabastan knew did not even love her husband as he loved her? Madness. It was Rudolphus final descent into the dark abyss of his mind. Should this fail, as Rabastan was sure that it would, his brother would likely succumb completely to it and die. It was strange of him to hope something like that of a brother who was so close to him, but Rabastan tired of his Rudolphus' ways; of his mad ramblings of a greater era.
He followed only in the desperate hope that this would end everything and Rabastan would finally have some peace; whether it was because he was to die here or otherwise move on without Rudolphus.
Rudolphus pressed closer to the green barrier, drawing a wand stolen from the heart of another ancient tomb. The wand itself was in bad-shape. It was gnarled and nicked, damaged from centuries of neglect. Only the intense magic that it had once channelled kept it from dissolving into dust. It was Rudolphus' hope that the greatness of its former master would have instilled just that extra bit of magic they would need to complete their dark mission.
"Duro," Rudolphus hissed in a low voice, tapping the wand once in the air against the barrier. Immediately extending from where his wand produced the dark green glow, the barrier began to solidify. Though when it had been only slightly visible it had produced the green glow, now it was becoming the color of black marble. Having been conjured into reality, the barrier seemed far more formidable.
When the barrier had finished forming, Rudolphus grinned.
"See, brother? Easy," he said, glancing at Rabastan. The younger brother could only swallow and nod hesitantly. Too easy, he thought. But then, the barrier was only to discourage visitors. It was the defensive strategy. Getting through that wouldn't be the hard part. As Rudolphus took a step back, Rabastan took a few more, giving his brother a wide berth.
Flicking the wand, Rudolphus bellowed, "Confringo!"
A spark of light flew from the tip of the gnarled wand, hitting the solid barrier with such force that the percussion sent both men stumbling backwards. For a moment, it had seemed as though nothing else had happen. Then long, web-like cracks began forming from where the spell had hit the wall until the barrier began to crumble. Though normally the spell would send anything it hit exploding into thousands of tiny pieces, it seemed that the barrier had absorbed most of its potency.
An irritated look passed over Rudolphus' face.
"Confringo!" Rudolphus snarled again, flicking the wand with more force than was needed. Though the wall had already begun to open up, the spell blew the remaining rubble away. Debris the size of large hailstones showered them and Rabastan hurried to cover his face with his arms. Rudolphus didn't move; as though to prove to the tomb that it was no match for him. Still, a bit of sharp rock hit his cheek and made a jagged cut just beneath his eye. Though it bled, Rudolphus didn't acknowledge it.
He stepped over the pile of black rock, but as soon as he had passed the obliterated threshold, what was left of the barrier began to vanish. He turned to Rabastan, a look of fierce determination across his terrifying features.
"Hurry, before it reforms," he snapped, and Rabastan felt a bit like a child again, following in Rudolphus' footsteps, doing whatever it was that his older brother told him to do. Well, really he'd done it all his life. Rudolphus said jump and Rabastan would ask how high. It was the only reason Rabastan was doing this. The only reason Rabastan had joined the Death Eaters. The only reason why Rabastan was in the situation he was in. It was, however, too late to do anything about it.
Rabastan quickly, though cautiously, stepped through the opening in the barrier as it began to close up behind them. Though the solid wall and rubble had disappeared, the green glow had returned. Rabastan could only hope that Rudolphus would be able to get them out again, though he had a sneaking suspicion otherwise.
The gate to the tomb was basic and had no magical spells attached to it, save for the one that displayed the warning. Rudolphus unceremoniously kicked it open with his foot and Rabastan winced. This was the burial site of four of the greatest sorcerers in history. His brother could do to show a little respect; especially since they would soon (though Rabastan may have hoped otherwise) be asking a favour of one of the wizards.
The tomb was dark but dry. As they passed through the entrance, torches on either side of a winding staircase burned to life, creating an eerie glow down the passage. Before they entered, Rudolphus turned to his brother.
"Do you still have it?" he asked, looking pointedly at Rabastan's pocket. Hurriedly, the younger man checked his pocket and pulled forth a tiny vial, no bigger than his smallest finger. It held a dark red fluid, which had been much fresher twenty-four hours ago. Now there was a thick film across the top. Rudolphus gave his brother a half-smirk. "Good."
With that, he turned on his heel and began descending the stairs. Rabastan followed warily. Rudolphus seemed overly eager to get into a tomb that warned of a thousand curses. Rabastan was fairly certain he didn't even know of a thousand curses, let alone the counter spells to them. He silently prayed to whatever deity they were about to infringe upon that the 'thousand curses' bit was just an exaggeration and that it was only written to keep prying eyes away.
Knowing a few great wizards like he did, however, Rabastan highly doubted that the curses were non-existent and with every step, he expected to drop dead. He didn't, however, and it wasn't long until they had reached the bottom of the stairwell. Deep in the earth, the walls dripped with moisture and over the years small stalactites and stalagmites had formed, making it seem as though the entrance at the bottom of the stairs had razor sharp teeth that would clamp down on them the moment they passed.
Rabastan's fears were unfounded and soon they passed into a huge chamber that seemed far too large to be kept hidden beneath the earth. A long path was cut into white stone, creating a large circle around the room. Wide staircases cut from the same stone lead onto four platforms. Pillars made from various colors of crystal stretched high above them and disappeared into the darkness where the ceiling must surely have been. It made the chamber feel as though it were taken from a portion of the Underworld.
It was easy to distinguish which platform belonged to which sorcerer by the colors of the pillars that stood on either side of the stairs leading up to it. To their immediate left were dark blue pillars that gleamed in the dim torchlight. Carved in the stone was a crest that bore a large raven. Beneath it was a name. Rowena Ravenclaw.
Rudolphus didn't even pause to examine the platforms he was passing, but Rabastan couldn't help but admire it all. The craftsman ship of the tomb itself, let alone the structures inside of it was amazing for something that had been built nearly an entire millennia previous. From the tomb of Rowena, a breeze seemed to whisper forbidden knowledge. The yellow pillars that stood to Rabastan's right glittered brilliantly and gave off a sort of cheery warmth. Helga Hufflepuff was written at his feet.
As Rabastan followed his brother, more torches began to light until the room was lit bright enough for them to see all around. From the ceiling (which was now clearly more visible, but still quite ominous and dark) was a huge candelabrum that flickered at them. The light cast off the pillars turned the room into a vestige of colors and it was possibly one of the most beautiful things Rabastan had ever seen.
Still looking around, he followed his brother numbly. As they passed into the back of the chamber, a shiver ran through Rabastan. He felt as though there were something lurking there, though every corner seemed lit with a torch. As of yet, the thousand curses had yet to pass, but it seemed that deep in this recess of the earth, something darker lurked.
The feeling seemed to intensify as Rabastan passed blood red pillars that signified the dais of Gryffindor. But it was beyond that where the real force behind the dark feeling spread from. Thick, dulled emerald columns loomed above him, more threatening than the others had seemed. Though Rabastan hadn't seen a single speck of dust through the entire tomb, this corner appeared to hold all the dust that should have been floating around elsewhere – as though the magic that protected the three tombs had not been placed on this one.
Instead there were other forces that threatened; after all, it was not for the three that the tomb had been built for. It had been for the first to be laid to rest, the darkest of them all.
Salazar Slytherin's corner of the tomb felt colder and as Rabastan followed his brother up the wide steps to the platform, a shudder ran down his spine. Every fibre in his being told him to run, to flee this place and not come back. In the center of the platform was a huge stone coffin, held up by a small pillar in the very middle, as though to give the illusion that the coffin was hovering above ground. The lid was covered in symbols of power, etchings that told the story of the man who lay within in an ancient language. Jewels were laid into the stone, some giving off a dim glow beneath the layer of dust. The Slytherin crest took up a large portion of the center, and upon it two swords were laid, fastened in with hooks.
"Help me with this," Rudolphus said, indicating the lid of the coffin with a jab of his finger. Rabastan couldn't help but hesitate. It felt as though someone were screaming in his head to get away. One of the greatest wizards who ever lived had been laid to rest here. His body lay in the sarcophagus. It seemed wrong on every level to touch the coffin. But he pushed passed the feelings and came up beside his brother, pushing his weight against the lid.
Rabastan would've suggested using magic to move it, but as Rudolphus had previously explained, any magic was to be reserved for the ritual – and getting past the tombs defences. So they both pushed as much as they could, Rabastan's legs and arms aching with the effort.
The seal cracked and a plume of dust billowed out from the edges of the coffin. As soon as it had, it felt as though an alarm had gone off inside Rabastan's head. He knew Rudolphus could hear it, too, because his older brother immediately clapped his hands to his ears, as though that would stop the unheard noise. A gush of wind blew through the chamber extinguishing all of the torches, save for the candelabrum, leaving a chilling glow to settle on the room. Shadows seemed to loom over them and around them. Then, out of the corner of his eye, something moved.
Rabastan rationalized it was probably just the flicker of a torch or the slight shift of the candelabrum making moving shadows. But he knew better.
Slowly at first, but picking up speed, the shadows around them began to move. They seemed to spring to life, moving along the floors and the walls until, Rabastan realized, they had more form than that. Lighting the end of his wand, Rabastan saw smoky beings rise from every crack and surface. Although indistinguishable at first, they soon began to take on humanoid forms, though some were much taller and much smaller than an average person.
The chamber was becoming crowded by them and they were pressing in on Rabastan and Rudolphus, creating a half-circle around the coffin.
"Expulso!" Rudolphus roared from behind Rabastan, flinging the spell at the nearest shadow-being. The spell passed straight through, leaving a black, smoky trail. It hit the center pedestal, causing it to explode in an array of light. This only seemed to anger the shadows. As they moved, they made hushed whispers, which grew louder and more fervent at Rudolphus' assault.
A large shadow appeared to take precedence over the others. It moved forward with frightening speed and was soon only a few feet away. It stopped abruptly, and Rabastan could see that it had two brightly glowing eyes. They were green and no more than what appeared to be a bright dot of light set in the shadow's head. As Rabastan looked more closely, he could see each shadow had a pair of dimly lit eyes, varying in colors.
"We are the shadows of the dead," the large shadow seemed to say, but Rabastan was fairly certain he was not hearing the words with his ears, but rather they were being communicated into his mind. The voice was chilling and echoed; as though all the shadows spoke as one. "We are the souls that were claimed by His hand. We are the protectors of this tomb."
Rabastan swallowed thickly and glanced at his brother. Rudolphus looked pale, but no more than usual. He glowered at the shadow, as though his mere force of will would be enough to repel it. Rabastan knew better. He began inching slowly backward towards the coffin. The shadow's eyes appeared to watch him, but it was impossible to tell without an actual face. He could feel his hands shaking and could do nothing to steady them.
"Is that so?" Rudolphus snarled and Rabastan winced. His brother could be impossibly thick sometimes.
"By our hand, you will die," the shadow moved forward, floating up the steps. As it moved closer, flesh and cloth began to materialize. It was transparent, as though the shadow were becoming a ghost. It was odd the way the flesh seemed to creep down the shadow, like a vine growing impossibly fast. Before long, there was a man standing before them. He was the height of Rudolphus and muscled; a warrior of times long gone. His eyes were nothing but black pits, the glowing green dots the only thing remaining of the shadow.
Reaching out his hand, the man motioned upward. Rudolphus feet lifted off the floor and he grasped at his throat, as though the man were strangling him, despite being several feet away and quite obviously incorporeal. Rabastan's brother began to choke, cursing the ghost. None of the other shadows moved. Rabastan vaguely wondered why there were a thousand of them, when clearly one was enough to do the trick.
Thinking fast, Rabastan took the remaining few steps backward and seized the sword that had been laid atop the coffin. He wrenched it from the iron hooks that fastened it in place and rushed forward, pushing past his brother and toward the shadow. It was suicide, surely, but Rabastan did have one single desire left in his pathetic mortal life – and that was to hopefully die from old age, not a thousand ghosts strangling him in some dank tomb.
Rabastan swung the sword wildly, having never really had use of one before. But it was enough. The sword cut through the chest of the shadow-man, leaving a swath of light where it was swung. Immediately the shadow vanished and Rudolphus fell slumping to the ground. Rabastan clenched his jaw and pulled his wand from his sleeve as the shadows surged forward.
"Protego Saepta!" Rabastan shouted, flicking his wand in a circle. Immediately a shield sprung to life around Slytherin's platform. At first, Rabastan feared that the shield might not work at all, since clearly Rudolphus' spell had failed catastrophically. But as the shadows closed in on them, they didn't press through the shield. Rabastan breathed a short sigh of relief, but realized quite quickly that the shield would not hold for long. It rippled and pulsed under the pressure of so many shadow-beings forcing themselves against it, attempting to break through.
Rabastan turned to his brother. "We have to raise him now. Quickly, or else we're as good as dead."
Rudolphus looked a bit dazed, but he stood on his feet. He turned to his brother and snapped, "Give me the vial."
Doing as his brother ordered, Rabastan handed Rudolphus the vial of blood he'd collected. He wasn't exactly sure how well it would work; there were no direct lines left in Slytherin's lineage and the closest that Rabastan could come to was Harry Potter, who had shared a connection with their Lord. It had taken months to get the small vial of blood with the use of a charmed bat.
Rudolphus went to the coffin and pushed the lid completely off. It clattered to the stone floor loudly and seemed to make the shadows work harder to get through the barrier. Rabastan swallowed thickly. It was now or never and even if they somehow managed to summon Slytherin back into his undead body, who was to say that even the great wizard could expel the shadows? Rabastan had no idea the spell or the deal that had been forged to create them.
Rabastan drew a piece of parchment from his inner pocket and rushed to his brother's side. The spell to summon the dead as they were doing had been lost for centuries and it had only been by complete chance they had stumbled upon it in Russian wasteland. It had been the inspiration to Rudolphus mad scheme and Rabastan could only hope it wasn't fake or caused something much worse to happen.
Rudolphus, who had memorized the spell completely, began speaking the ancient Latin words with fervour. The tip of the gnarled wand glowed brightly; white at first but slowly turning green. Rabastan looked into the coffin of which Rudolphus was pointing and nearly passed out from the sight. He'd seen plenty of gruesome things but this was... well, it was startling to say the least. One might have thought that after nearly a thousand years in a dusty old tomb, his body would be nothing but bone and dried flesh, but it looked as though Salazar Slytherin had only died the previous day. His skin was sunken and pale, but still very much there. His head was very clearly separated from his shoulders – perhaps the wound that had caused his death. Or perhaps it had been removed for an altogether different reason, which would explain why every limb had been severed and there were gruesome symbols painted on the inside of the coffin with some sort of brown, muddy chalk. As Rabastan peered closer, he realized the symbols were painted in ancient blood.
He glanced at his brother, who seemed not to care about the state of the body, but it worried Rabastan. Would this even work if Slytherin's body was in pieces? Worse still, would it work and would they be left with a talking head, removed from its body?
"Interesting," came a quiet voice from Rabastan's left. Since Rudolphus was on his right, Rabastan nearly had heart-failure. He thought for sure the shadows had gotten through and were speaking once more, but when he turned, he witnessed something more terrible than the shadows that still wreathed across the barrier.
It was a man that appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He stood as tall as Rabastan, with bright eyes that seemed to peer into his very soul. He was clean shaven and well dressed in ancient attire; light bronze-plated armour covered his chest and arms. The symbol of Slytherin had been etched into his breastplate, the head of the snake blinking and hissing within the crest. What was most unnerving, however, was that despite all the other things, he looked like a very close replica to the Boy Who Lived. Rabastan felt as though he was staring down Harry bloody Potter.
But it wasn't Potter at all, that was for sure. For one thing, Potter wasn't transparent. He also had short hair and green eyes, unlike this incarnation. But other than that, the similarities were striking and quite frightening.
"Who are you?" Rabastan asked, trying to keep his voice steady but failing miserably. He glanced at his brother, who seemed to have noticed nothing. He was still hunched over the dead form of Slytherin, muttering the incantation. And that's when Rabastan noticed it. Although the Slytherin in the coffin was much older (and by far less attractive), the features he shared with the ghost in front of Rabastan were quite alike. "Wait, you're –"
"Salazar Slytherin, yes," the man said. His voice was youthful and there was a lopsided smirk on his face. But there was also a darkness about him that sent shivers down Rabastan's spine. "But the question should be who are you?"
Rabastan swallowed. He thought about extending his hand, but decided against it. For one, you couldn't rightly shake hands with a ghost. For another, Rabastan's hands were shaking so badly that it might have given away something that Rabastan didn't want anyone to know – exactly how terrified of everything he was. The man smiled, as though intending to be encouraging, but it looked far more menacing than anything else.
"Rabastan Lestrange, and my brother, Rudolphus," he motioned with a closed fist to his brother. He bit the inside of his lip. How did Rudolphus not notice?
"Well, you seem much brighter than your brother," said Salazar, folding his arms over his translucent chest. "He is utterly slaughtering that incantation. It is sublevo, not sube-leavo. What do they teach sorcerers these days?"
Rabastan stared wide-eyed. Part of him couldn't believe he was standing before Salazar Slytherin himself, in full battle armour. The other part was wetting himself in fear. "You know the incantation?"
Salazar snorted. "Boy, I created that incantation. But it will not work. All it is bound to do is animate my dismembered corpse. If your brother is lucky, he might summon some unlucky spirit into the bits. Take the blood out of that vial and pour it right here," Salazar stepped away, indicating a spot at his feet – which happened to not be touching the ground. Rabastan nodded, afraid to do anything but, and grabbed the vial out of Rudolphus' clenched hand. His brother stopped mid-incantation and snarled at him.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" he snapped at Rabastan. Behind him, Salazar chuckled again.
"Merlin, I knew that old coot," he was saying, but Rabastan was a bit preoccupied with his brother. "Not what he claimed to be. Had a thing for chickens. And boys with the name Arthur. Could never figure out why."
"Just shut it for a moment, alright?" snapped Rabastan at his brother. What was he supposed to do? Listen to his brother and possibly end up with a mutilated zombie, or listen to Salazar, by far a greater wizard than Rudolphus' could even dream to be? Rabastan turned back to the ghostly form of Slytherin. He pulled the stopper out of the vial and poured it on the spot Salazar indicated. Almost immediately the half-smile Salazar had adopted disappeared and was replaced with a look of rage.
"This is not the blood of my descendants!" he snarled, his eyes narrowing. Rabastan couldn't even fathom how Salazar would know at all, but as abruptly as his anger had come, it dissipated. It was alarming and comforted Rabastan about this task very little. In fact, he began to question if bringing about Slytherin was such a good idea – not that he'd thought it had been a good idea in the first place, but they were getting quite close to Rudolphus' dream's realization and it was beginning to twist Rabastan's stomach into knots. "Ha! Better! This will work. Point your wands over here and repeat after me."
It seemed to take hours and yet, only seconds. The incantation Salazar was giving them was nothing like Rabastan had ever heard. For one thing, it didn't sound like Latin at all, but rather an ancient language that Rabastan knew nothing of. Salazar directed them in the proper pronunciation, one minute patient and the next fuming at a stumble over a word. Rudolphus blindly followed his brother's lead, apparently unable to see or hear Salazar; but a sort of numbing state had come over him and Rabastan was sure that it was Salazar's influence.
Then, after repeating the incantation for a third time, something began to happen. The barrier flickered and the shadows screamed. The lights began to flicker and Salazar's ghostly form began to glow impossibly bright. Wind gushed around them, as though Salazar was sucking up all the air. Before Rabastan could think whether they might be in danger, there was an explosion without sound. The light engulfed them and burned his eyes, his skin tingling. It flickered out and blackness surrounded them; though Rabastan wasn't entirely sure it wasn't because he was blind.
"Much better," Salazar's voice came out of the dark. The lights flared to life and for a moment Rabastan had thought nothing had changed. But then he realized that Salazar was no longer transparent, but quite solid. Completely real.
They had done it. They had brought Salazar Slytherin back to life.