(random little fic partly inspired by a challenge off but it didn't really follow the challenge; just sort of ..spawned. May be one-shot, may not. Chronicles the creation of the chamber, and the life of Riddle's mother. How many years of preparation created the man known as Tom Riddle? How long was he awaited?

Oh, and I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters except my dear OC's thus far, Tynan and Jules. And I apologize now for whatever mistakes I made with date, plot, in reference to the books. I'm terrible with small details.

So I really will stop rambling now. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think with a Review. Reviews make me exceedingly happy. And happy authors update faster. hint, hint)

Seeing in Riddles

"Blast it."

Of all the damnable times for the seer to have vision, this was possibly the most damnable. His words ricocheted off hard stone walls, cutting through the silent cold air of the predawn castle. His lengthy strides were quick, however. For all that the little whelp of a seer was but a girl, she had never led her Master wrong. The Sight flowed clear and strong in this one.

The lord Salazar Slytherin was not a patient man, and the uncontrollable visions seemed to mock him. One of only two things in his life he could not control, and it flaunted it, appearing at odd hours of the night, or in the middle of meeting with some of the most powerful men in the world. He longed to strangle whatever force took over when Tynan's eyes rolled back in her head, and that omnipotent voice took her. Rarely did she prophesy; probably because it disliked giving its information to a man who was so…mundane, Salazar bitterly reflected. Instead, the pale wraith of a girl would stand suspended for anywhere from a moment to a day, viewing things no one else saw. Hearing things no one else heard.

Of course, she always told him afterwards, he reasoned, so it didn't really matter in the long run. But it irked him nonetheless. One of the few gifts denied to the mighty Slytherin: the Sight.

"Calm yourself", advised the silk-tongued adder that clung to his neck, his brother taking up the right arm. "If the girl does go into a vision before you get there, it could be hours before she tells you anything useful." As always, Sahrren was the voice of reason hissing in his ear.

But Salazar did not slow his pace, letting his dark robes billow out behind him, for all that the night air left him chilled to the bone. In a matter of minutes his long legs nimbly ascended the winding stairs to his ward's apartments, in his private branch of the castle.

Many had been surprised when he'd taken the destitute youth under his wing. Left an orphan, many were shocked at what could actually be interpreted as an act of kindness from the Slytherin lord. Few had ever questioned why, exactly she was an orphan, and no one ever questioned why the two mild-mannered sorcerers who raised her had been found stabbed and burned. More acts of muggle violence, of course, it was assumed. But then, none ever really looked into the cold gray eyes that rested under those long lashes. None ever saw the malicious smirk that could twist those innocent rose lips just so. None had ever heard the acid drip of hatred in that soft voice. None except Salazar, that is.

But Tynan did not come destitute, in Salazar's view. It had been a matter of profit, he told himself. Tynan was a valuable asset- her visions had provided him with invaluable information, and no one ever really deciphered how the Lord of Slytherin always knew which allies were lying between their teeth, and when to keep his wand close at hand. But in his heart he held a grudging respect for the little murderess. Her brand of malice came wrapped in lace and silk, cozened with such innocent wide eyes, and coyly packaged in naïveté. She reminded him of himself at that age, really. Minus the lace, of course.

He flung open the carved oak door, letting the light from the brightly burning fire in the grate flood the dim hallway. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't believe in keeping his servants in complete squalor. Salazar believed that the state of his servants was a reflection on his image, and so his loyal few were kept in relative luxury. Tynan's small room was draped with thick rugs and bright tapestries, and a fiercely burning fireplace warded off the cold. Jules had the girl ensconced in a red armchair, a blanket haphazardly draped over her shivering shoulders. For some reason, Tynan was always wracked with cold during visions, not matter how well-stoked the fire in her room was.

"You've arrived just in time," said the broad-shouldered Frenchman, handing his lord a steaming cup of cider. "She just went under. I believe we will be in for a long night, my lord. You may be wanting this."

"My thanks, Jules."

She had indeed gone under, Salazar noticed. The luxuriously long lashes now were half-lidded over startlingly blank white eyes. Tynan sat unnaturally stiff, and her deep brown hurls hung about her face. She looked like a puppet used by a novice puppeteer.

A rasping breath escaped her and she gasped, clutching at her heart as though something had lodged itself there. Her lips parted, and a grating voice rasped from the girl's delicate lips.

"Slytherin's gaze may be fierce

And Slytherin's gaze may be strong

But he rules not alone here

While others still roam here

He will not tarry too long.

Cast out by the three is the snake

And the blood in these halls shan't be pure

Unless he will hide it

And his time; will bide it

Until enemies roam here no more.

Then an heir from the past shall arise

A riddle that no one can tell

Leave him your chamber

That he might remember

The legacy's unending well

He will cleanse all the world of impure ones

If your dreams carry true through the years

If this chamber you build

Is well-guarded by skill

Then dark hope may yet still live here."

Salazar nearly choked on his cider listening to the mocking sing-song rhythm of the ditty. And the message the rhyme contained. Thrown out? He knew there were tensions between them right now, particularly that pompous idealistic narcissist, Godric, but he assumed they'd come around in time. Couldn't they see that letting the rabble in would merely degrade what they had worked so hard to build? That they weren't worthy of learning the craft?

And a chamber? How on earth would a room survive the ages, and the purging inquisition he was sure Gryffindor would put his chamber to, if they did cast him out? And how could one boy, no matter if it was his heir, purge an entire school of the rabble the others would let in? He shook his head in disbelief, and that unnatural voice spoke again, this time more plainly.

"The time has come for the serpent to hide. Make your preparations, and make them well, for by the next cycle of the moon you will walk these halls no more."

Then Tynan was released, and slumped into her chair, only to open her eyes a few moments later, again their normal grey hue. She didn't look at him for a second, and there was silence in the room but for the cracking and occasional popping from the burning wood.

Salazar weighed the options. And the wheels in his mind started turning.

"Come, we build tomorrow." Sahrren gave a hiss of pleasure, and the lord of Slytherin strode out the door, unknowingly changing the lives of thousands with four short words spoken hundreds of years before any of them lived.