PROLOGUE
(WORD COUNT: 2110)
(JANUARY 1st, 979; HOGWARTS)
He sat at his desk, looking at his parchment with a quill in hand. The parchment was blank. The ink was full and the quill had no ink on it. A lamp sat on his desk, shining light from the dark room. Dipping his quill in the ink, he began to write with clean strokes with excellent penmanship. Such elegance. Every stoke signals a word being written. Soon, the parchment is full of words.
Salazar Slytherin 1st of January, 979 BC
I once was a baby, gurgling along with everything happening around. I was a happy little one. No sorrow filled my tiny heart. I once was a child with great ambitions, maybe too great. I wanted to become a king of a land. Yet, I become a teacher, which makes me happy. Those tiny children that haven't seen the world as it really is. They are so naive. So innocent. I just want to keep them from the world and keep them from the horrors that it offers. They are the children of the future, and nothing should happen to them and their lines. Yet, they should face the worlds horrors with a strong will to learn.
I am Salazar Slytherin, and I have found a way to reincarnate myself. To live again with my fellow founders. Live several lives, but it takes a thousand years to take hold. I won't be able to see my legacy grow. Yet, I know I must do this. Magic tells me this is the right choice. Hopefully, I am not too late. I need to tell my fellow founders about my discovery. This discovery that will change the world.
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Salazar Slytherin 19th of September, 979 BC
Rowena took the potion today. I am going to miss her. With her intellect rants and her ambitions to be smarter. Her frizzy hair and brown eyes. She's a sister to me in all but blood. I will miss greatly. Oh, she was a great teacher and an even greater learner.
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Salazar Slytherin 1st of March, 980 BC
Another founder took the potion. Godric Gryffindor. My lover, one that always stood by my side. He will be greatly missed for his bravery and honor. His red hair with freckles that seem to never disappear. Oh, my sweet, sweet, Godric. The lover that has always stood by my opinions and lets me see my wrongdoings.
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Salazar Slytherin 31st of July, 980 BC
I am going to take the potion today. I miss Godric too much to last much longer, but today is the day I planned to take it. Wish me luck.
Helga is going to wait a year on the eleventh of March. It is time for me to greet another life. Hopefully, I can find this in my next life. This journal of my life, so I can remember those who I forgot.
Salazar set his pen down while closing the book. The potion on his desk stood still, seemingly waiting for its maker to drink it. And drink he did. Taking big gulps down. He disappeared in a flash of light. The only thing left was his journal and legacy. A legacy that is going to be so tainted.
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(JULY 31st, 1980; St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries)
A baby cried when he went out of the womb. A cry full of sorrow a baby shouldn't have. Yet happiness filled his eyes and his thoughts yelled, 'it worked!'. What worked? The world asked, but there was no answer, just a cry of happiness. What worked? They asked again, and again there was no answer. What worked? Mother Gaia asked a third time and an answer sprouted from the babies thoughts. Mother Magic gave me a second chance with my fellow founders! The baby cried out. Instantly, Mother Gaia knew what happened. Her smile shined and she had hope for Mother Magic again. SHE won't die when THEY are here. THEY will save HER.
.v.
"What will you name him?" The healer asked with an air of joy at seeing the baby. "Hadrian Potter, a strong name for a strong boy." The father said with happiness in his eyes. "We can call him Harry if we want too." The mother said with a stance of exhaustion. "Go to sleep Lily, you just pushed a baby out of your body." The father said, noticing the exhaustion. Lily smiled at her lover and slept.
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(OCTOBER 31st, 1981; GODRIC'S HOLLOW)
"It's him! Go! I'll hold him off!" The father yelled with determination. The father had black messy hair and determined hazel eyes. This was before he remembered that he forgot his wand. A man, who seemed more snake-like, entered the small house. No hair was on his scalp and he had no nose. This was Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin.
(Or he thinks.)
"You are a disgrace to Purebloods everywhere," Voldemort said to the father while shooting a green light from his wand. The father fell down, limp and dead. The snake-like man went up the stairs with malicious glee in his red eyes. He (was this snake-like human a man?) turned to the left and was met with the sight of a woman. A woman with bright red hair and green eyes.
"Step aside." The snake-like man said, offering the woman a chance.
"Spare my baby! Kill me but spare my son!" The mother said.
"Step aside, girl!" Voldemort shouted with impatience.
"Kill me, just not my son!" The mother begged again.
"I ask you one more time, step aside!"
"Kill me and spare my baby!"
A green light enveloped the woman and she fell limp. Voldemort stepped over the body lazily like he has done thousands of times before. A baby sat in a crib and Voldemort looked disgusted. He was never fond of babies, their screams and cries have always irritated him. Yet, the baby seemed to stare at his very soul, well what's left of it anyway. It was unnerving with its intense gaze and mature air. So, with a sorry-not-sorry gaze, he finally shouted, "Avada Kedavra!" And a green light went out of his wand, but something strange happened this time. It bounced back to its caster.
With a final scream, Tom Marvolo Riddle turned to ashes and his soul escaped with no sanity left.
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(NOVEMBER 1st, 1981; NUMBER 4 PRIVET DRIVE)
In a house, one that seemed very normal, a normal family slept. Almost too normal. For, everything they did seemed animated and normal. That day was not normal, though. For, owls flooded the sky and strange things were all over the news. So, for the family, it was very concerning for their normal lifestyle. This family would be the last person in anyone's minds to have anything to do with the owls in the sky or even the stiff cat on the brick wall. They weren't into such nonsense.
The father of the family, Mr. Dursley, was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere. (Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone: Chapter 1)
The Dursleys were the most perfect family out there. Yet, they have a secret. One that they fear will get out. It was a very strange secret. One that would ruin their perfect facade of normalcy. It would tear it down until they had to start all over again. This secret was the Potters, a strange family that does strange things.
How is this their secret? Well, the mother of the Dursley family was the sister of a Potter. Petunia Dursley's maiden name was Evans and her sister, Lily Evans, became Lily Potter. She was a witch, one born from ordinary humans. So, this was a very scary secret for this family. They never wanted it to get out or they would be doomed. But when owls flooded the skies, they just knew it had to be connected with the Potters. It was a gut feeling and they knew to trust it. They always knew to trust a gut feeling.
When Mr. Dursley went to work, when he was in his car, he saw a lot of funny looking people. People that had cloaks, robes that seemed old-fashioned. It wasn't normal behavior. But Mr. Dursley waved it off as some new fashion statement that young people wore. Yet, these people aren't that much younger than he. There is even one that is older than him with an emerald cloak!
The traffic jam started to disappear and his car started to move again. Soon, he was on the Grunnings parking lot with his mind was back on drills.
Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.
He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.
"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their son, Harry." (Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone: Chapter 1)
After he heard that, he started to call his wife. Then he started to think There is a bunch of Potters! And he's sure there nephew's (he thinks that with disgust) name is not Harry. So, it couldn't be his nephew. So, he set the phone down and began to drive back to #4 Privet Drive. When he came home, he watched the news.
The news had stories of owls flying around and shooting stars with people with cloaks. Now, this is when his heart began to stop. What if this was with their crowd?
Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er - Petunia, dear - you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"
As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.
"No," she said sharply. "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."
"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.
"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son - he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.
"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree." (Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone: Chapter 1)
That night, the couple slept restlessly, all their thoughts on their sister/sister-in-law's crowd.
.v.
That same night, an old man by the name of Albus Dumbledore set a baby by the name of Harry Potter on their doorstep. Only a note and no blanket was there as he left.
And all over Wizarding Britain, people cheered the name of a baby. For, this baby defeated the greatest Dark Lord. So, holding their glasses up, they all cheered in hushed voices, "To Harry Potter - the boy who lived!"
