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Alterations and Apprentices

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It was late afternoon when Ginny managed to locate Harry in the Upper Sector, not far away from Helga's corridor. He was sitting, staring out over the landscape before him, the fairy darting in and out of the arches.

"Hey, Gin," he greeted her.

"What's eating you cousin?" she asked, joining him at the window and looking out over the lake.

"Too many things," he said wearily. "I suppose I should tell you the whole story of last night." She nodded, red hair bobbing at the edge of his vision. "The sleepwalking part is true, but it was that same dream again, which you probably already guessed," he added wryly. "I sleepwalked to practically the same corridor as Myrtle's bathroom Gin," he said, his expression becoming sober. "That's the second time that's happened, and each time I can barely remember what's happening."

"Second time?" Ginny questioned him, looking shocked.

"The first was awhile ago," Harry said, waving it off. "During a chill. It was the second time that the chills had changed. Now the noise of waves of water doesn't stop, it just wraps me up in it, and I walk along in a daze to…well, the second floor," he said casually, but he remained anxious inside. The connection with the Chamber of Secrets was eating him away with worry inside.

"You didn't mention that the chills had changed," Ginny said quietly from beside him, and he turned to look at her.

Against the pink of the setting sun, she looked pale and ethereal. She had cut her hair since the summer, and it now hung below her ears in thick red locks. Harry guessed that Opa had helped her with it, because it had a similar style. She seemed suddenly so much older than the shy girl he had met on the Platform of 9 ¾ in his first year.

"I forgot, I guess," he admitted. She tore her eyes away from the grounds below them, and Harry was surprised to see them wide and sad. Blinking, he pulled her into a hug, and she squeezed him tightly.

"I was so worried…when you didn't come back, and I couldn't find you," she said quietly. "And you tell me you've been sleepwalking to...to…the Chamber of Secrets entrance…and Dumbledore's still sick…"

Harry hummed a little calming noise, and reached a hand up to stroke her hair. "I'll be fine Gin. We'll figure this out, I promise. And some day I'll kill that bastard Voldemort, and we'll be able to live happily, without looking over our shoulders all the time," he said softly. It sounded like a fairytale to him even as he said it, but he focused on it nonetheless. He had to believe that things would start to go right when Voldemort was dead, or he'd have nothing to fight for.

"But what if you get killed?" she exclaimed, pulled away to look at him. "You can't go after that madman!"

"If I don't, he'll come after me," Harry shrugged, but inside that cold feeling of doubt was growing. "I don't want to have to play by his rules anymore coz."

She seemed to calm a little, and looked at him with wide blue eyes. "No, I don't suppose you do. But if you're going Harry, I'm coming with you."

Harry came close to protesting, but instead he simply closed his mouth. When the time came, he'd leave without telling his friends, and make sure there was no chance of them following him. He didn't want to survive a battle only to find out that all the people he loved had died.

They stood in silence for a long while after that; each wrapped up in their own thoughts. Harry thought gloomily of the future. How long would he be able to hold Voldemort off, now that he had returned to his body? He'd only won by luck the last few times it seemed, and he had certainly stood no chance against him in a duel. Well, that will have to change, he thought darkly. He wasn't prepared to face him helplessly once more. The next time we meet, I'll give you a taste of what I can do.

"You said that something else happened," Ginny said softly, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yes. You probably guessed already, but I found another portrait," he paused. "Slytherin's. I was on my way to talk to Helga about it when you found me."

"You didn't look much like you were on your way," she pointed out.

"No, I suppose not," Harry agreed. "I'd stopped to think for awhile."

There was another comfortable stretch of silence. "Salazar Slytherin. What is he like?" Ginny asked softly.

"Confusing," Harry admitted. "He is pleasant, mostly, but I don't trust him as far as I can throw him. He's got dark hair, like in the sketch we found, but the drawing didn't do justice to his eyes. They're…alive," Harry said, unable to describe them, and feeling a little embarrassed to be describing another man's eyes.

"I want to meet him," Ginny said suddenly, startling Harry.

"No," he said forcefully. "Neither you, nor anybody else are going to meet him. He's dangerous and manipulative," Harry said, but some part of him was unsure, not to mention aware of just how hypocritical that statement was.

"You're meeting him," she pointed out.

"I'm used to people manipulating me," Harry sighed. "You're trusting and lovely, and I wouldn't change that for the world. You shouldn't end up being played around with, and…well, it's sort of arrogant to say this, but I think he'd use you against me if he found a way."

Ginny looked at him for one long moment, before turning away again. "I suppose you're right. Look what happened the last time I played around with a Slytherin – and that was just a memory."

Harry looked at her sharply; wanting to contradict what she was suggesting, but unable to find the right words.

"Come on," he said lightly. "We need to speak to Helga."

---

Helga's rooms were as warm and comforting as ever, and they soon found themselves seated in their favourite places on the worn sofa before the fire. Dobby wasted no time in bringing them tea and cakes, which the fairy tucked happily into.

In contrast to the bright and cheery rooms, Helga was looking at them with some sadness.

"You know then," Harry observed.

"I know," Helga said wearily. "He is the same as he ever was."

"How is Rowena?" Ginny asked suddenly, and Helga looked at her in surprise.

"She is…not taking it well. Yes, yes, I know," she said as Harry opened his mouth to speak. "We told you to find him, but it was necessary. It simply encourages old memories to resurface, and Rowena and he did not get along well."

"I always thought it was Gryffindor and Slytherin that had the rivalry," Harry mused.

"Oh yes," Helga chuckled, remembering. "Rivalry was what they had, but they also got along extraordinarily well. It was Rowena and Slytherin that had the rift between them."

"Why?" Ginny asked, a frown on her face.

"It began as simple dislike," Helga explained, "but it grew into something more. Then somewhere along the line, it became hatred," she said sadly.

"Then why on earth would she get me to find Salazar's portrait?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Because the castle needs the protection, Harry, and without all four of us there will not be a chance," Helga told him with a faint smile.

"She didn't even give a hint that she disliked him so much," Harry wondered. "I thought it was some simple argument."

"She hides it well," Helga agreed. There was a moment of silence, in which Harry took a few more sips of his coffee, before Ginny broke it.

"Were they lovers?" she asked, making Harry snort in surprise, and choke on his mouthful of coffee.

"She's perceptive, isn't she?" Helga asked Harry, a smile breaking across her face.

"They were then?" Ginny insisted.

"At one point, yes," Helga said evasively.

"Were you and Godric?" Harry asked, unsure.

"Merlin, no!" Helga exclaimed. "That's possibly the most horrible thing I've heard you utter!" she told him, but there was a twinkle in her eye that set Harry to grinning himself.

"It would be a little too typical for you to all have been paired off with each other," Ginny pointed out, wearing a small smile herself.

"Quite," came a dark voice, and Harry's head snapped up, only to find himself staring into those vibrant blue eyes as Salazar approached from the back of Helga's portrait. "Helga, my dear," he said, raising the other Founder's hand to his lips. "And another young one," he said, looking out at Ginny before doing an elegant bow. "A pleasure to meet you…?" he trailed off.

"Ginny," she supplied, a guarded look coming across her face.

"Oh?" he said, expression brightening. "Interesting…" his sharp eyes found Harry, and they gained that odd glint once more. "And you little one…we have much to discuss. Remember our agreement," he told him and turned to Helga. "I wished to talk to you, but I can see that you are busy."

"Good day Salazar," she replied, in a polite but cold tone that Harry had never heard her use before, and Slytherin paused to stare at her for a long moment.

"Very well." With a nod to the occupants of the room, he stepped out of the frame.

"I had hoped that Rowena would visit if I left the frame open," Helga said wearily, when Salazar had left.

"I didn't like the way he looked at you," Ginny said, looking at Harry.

"Me neither. It was too calculating," Harry sighed. "But nevertheless…"

"What?" Ginny probed.

"Nothing," Harry lied.

"Then what was that 'agreement', he mentioned?" Ginny asked, her voice becoming suspicious. Harry sighed.

"I agreed that I'd visit him again this evening and bring some history books as well, okay?" he replied, conveniently missing out the part about the Cloak. "He just made it sound like something big."

Ginny looked for a moment as if she was going to retort, but instead she turned away, staring pensively into her tea. Harry breathed a small sigh of relief, and looked away. He felt a bit guilty at not telling Ginny the whole truth, but he didn't want her worrying or even worse, following. He hadn't liked the way Salazar had looked at her either. It was too measuring.

"Harry," Helga called, and he raised his head to meet her eye. "I…feel I should warn you about him. He is a snake, through a through. Snakes are beautiful and captivating creatures, but they're venomous. In the same way, Salazar may seem trustworthy, but he will not hesitate to exploit that trust. Do not be drawn in by him," she warned.

---

Harry slammed his bag down in front of Salazar's portrait and raised his head to glare at the man, who was currently sitting and looking as unconcerned as seemed humanly possible.

"You bastard. You just had to come strolling in and make everyone suspicious, didn't you? Ginny's been trailing me for hours just to make sure that I didn't come see you, and all because you sauntered in an dropped comments that made it seem like I'd made some 'great important pact' with you," Harry grumbled.

He had barely managed to escape his redheaded friend, who although she had dropped the subject of his 'agreement' had pursued him doggedly since they left Helga's rooms. Helga's warning hadn't helped that either, as Ginny had obviously been anxious, and nothing Harry had done had seemed to reassure her.

"I'm getting fucking written warnings about you now too!" Harry growled out. "Every portrait I see tells me 'not to trust the snake'. Even the bloody snakes in the castle are telling me to beware of the 'king of adders! What is this, some conspiracy that everyone is in on but me and you?" he yelled.

Then he gasped as the air was jerked from his lungs, and he found himself floating from one foot, now at eye-level with Salazar. The Founder leaned forwards slowly, his dark eyes lazy and hooded.

"You would do best not to lose your temper, little one. Remember who holds the power in this building," he said softly, and Harry was sure he felt breath ghosting across his face as he spoke.

Harry suddenly found himself back on the floor in a painful heap of limbs, the impact jarring his bones. Inside he was cursing himself for his complacency in keeping his temper in check. Hadn't he vowed not to let it run away with him? Salazar's sudden show of magic scared had him, as did the casual way in which he did it.

"Come," Salazar said. "It has been a long day, and I have not had the best of responses to my return. My patience was not at its best when you arrived, but a little spellwork will calm us both," he said, disappearing from the frame as it swung open. Harry guessed that it was as much of an apology as he was going to get.

For a long moment he sat, still on the floor, gathering the courage he needed to enter the rooms, suddenly glad that he had left his fairy outside. He was filled with a mix of conflicting emotions. He was scared of what Salazar could do, even as a portrait, but he was curious, ever so curious about how they were going to modify the cloak.

Pulling himself up from the floor, he stepped over the threshold, restraining a wince as the portrait slammed behind him. Looking behind him, he saw that the portrait was empty there too. Shrugging a little, he headed to the stairs, and soon found himself standing before the fireplace.

"Sit, little one," Salazar ordered, gesturing to the sofa before him. "I have been doing much thinking, both over our conversations and my past." Harry watched him, intrigued, any remaining irritation fading. "During my years of life, I learnt much of worth, and taught many students. However, unlike my peers, I never took on an apprentice."

Harry swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as he caught an inkling of where the conversation was going.

"You have the power, intelligence and curiosity to propel you far in whatever discipline you chose to pursue, but you lack an adequate teacher, one that is able to guide your studies and growth in such a way that will allow you to survive in the world," Salazar told him, and this time the glint of calculating interest in his expression was not disguised.

Harry gulped once more, and tried to think clearly about what the man was offering. The skill to fight and win, a voice whispered in his mind. Whatever the warnings he had been given, Harry couldn't deny that the Founder was both knowledgeable and fascinating. He remembered his perusal of the Stone Fastenings, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

He wanted me as a student, he thought. All those assessing looks, the questions about his teachers, the shock and pleasure at the discovery of his magical power – it all made sense now. What had confounded him, he now understood. He didn't want something from him – he wanted to teach him.

But was that any better? If he consented, then he would be increasing the chances of falling into the man's traps by a thousand-fold. But what traps? He thought. So far he had seen no indication of any psychological traps, only physical ones such as the walkways or the whirl-pooling floor. The work reflects the mind, he thought. It wouldn't be wise in the least, but at least it would be interesting.

"Little one, there is no time limit on your decision," Salazar cut through his thoughts. "In fact, I insist that you take your time to think it over. I can provide ample reading material on the subject so that you may better understand the commitment – for both of us. Even if you refuse, I will vow to provide assistance in everything I can."

"Why…how can you make a decision to take me as your apprentice when we've spent a grand total of a few hours talking?" Harry asked with disbelief.

Salazar didn't seem perturbed by the question, he merely smiled. "I need no longer than that to see that it would be worthwhile."

Harry blinked slowly at him. He could detect no hint of deception in his voice or expression; there was no fault in Salazar's sincerity here. Suddenly, with a wrench, he remembered something.

"You might rethink your offer once you read up on my life," Harry said more glumly than he had intended. "It's not a pretty thing to be helping me fight."

With that, he emptied his book bag onto the table, and started leafing through the volumes and reading out their titles. "There, 'Lord Voldemort's First Rise To Power', 'You-Know-Who and The-Boy-Who-Lived', 'The Life of Harry Potter'."

Salazar regarded him with raised brows. "I sincerely doubt that any book could change the opinion I have formed."

"Yeah, well, decide that after you've read them," Harry mumbled.

"It appears that we both have reading to do. Before we begin work on your Cloak, it would be better if you investigate these tomes," Salazar said, and two books came floating away from the shelf.

One was a medium sized book reading 'A Full Account of Apprenticeship', and the other was a slim volume entitled 'The Ritual of the Apprentice'. Frowning slightly, Harry nodded and reached for the slim volume, opening it to read. The language was quite archaic, but Harry had by this time become used to reading old texts.

He opened it to the first page, but was distracted by the books he had brought floating before the portrait, three in a row, and all the pages turning simultaneously.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Salazar smirked.

"As a portrait, I am not bound by the brain's ability to absorb information. Of course, I adjusted my portrait slightly to accommodate an increased processing of knowledge…" he murmured.

"You can just read an entire six pages like that?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Quite," was the reply.

Shaking his head, Harry turned back to his own book, and began to read at a much slower pace than the Founder.

It appeared that most of what he had assumed Apprenticeship would be was quite unfounded. The teacher taught, but it was the teacher's task to guide and help the student in everyday problems, moulding them into a functioning adult.

It was also the practice of the teacher to request that Masters in other subjects provide and share their knowledge if the teacher didn't have the skill to continue teaching in an area. Harry assumed that the other Founders would be the ones helping him – Salazar had already recommended as much with Rowena, a woman he obviously disliked. Surely that proved some care about his education.

Not only was there an emotional bond formed, but a magical one too, Harry was surprised to note. At the beginning of the apprenticeship, and magical contract of sorts was formed, the clauses subject to the pupil and teachers wishes. Generally, however, they set a time limit, with the option that all magical bonds be severed in the case of extreme problems (the book noted that major arguments and disagreements were common, and only something truly unforgivable should break the contract).

In this way, the apprentice was put in the care of the teacher, and under their protection. As time progressed, and the level of trust did, so the magical bond strengthened, and only an utterly unforgivable breach of trust could damage it. The bond gave the teacher a measure of power over the apprentice, but it also imbued the teacher with a responsibility to protect and guide the student.

The practice of the apprentice was to accept a teacher who was magically matched to them, and skilled in areas that interested them. Well, Salazar certainly is, Harry thought. Even if he harboured reservations about the Dark Arts, from what he had read and heard of them, they were looking less and less threatening and more and more intriguing.

Not only that, but he was being offered the chance to learn from one of the school's Founders. The man may have died a thousand years ago, but his portrait had accumulated a thousand years of knowledge. Harry was also reassured by the book that a teacher that had never taken on an apprentice was best – the magnitude of the bond between them was of a far greater degree, as it was not coloured by the residues of other bonds that remained behind from previous apprentices.

But did he really want an emotional and magical bond with the founder of Slytherin house? All those warnings, from Rowena and Helga, Ginny's doggedness, and the whispers from all the portraits around the school. What could have made even the snakes warn him against Salazar?

But none of them offered to help me, did they? Harry thought with a pang of bitterness. Not even when he had told Rowena and Helga of his life and troubles had they offered anything more than an 'if you need help with your potions some day'. Not even Dumbledore, he thought mutinously. Not one of the teachers at school who knew I was magically powerful and unstable offered help.

He had a madman after his head, and he would need all the help he could get. Besides, hadn't Helga mentioned that Godric had got along with the man well, even if there was rivalry? If the founders of both houses had liked each other, then there really wasn't anything to hold him back except his own caution…was there?

Snapping the book shut, he looked up to find Salazar staring at him with an inscrutable expression. "I-" he began, but Salazar cut him off with a gesture.

"What did I say about considering it?" Salazar said with a knowing smile, and Harry couldn't help but feel that the man had pre-empted his answer already. "We will travel to the lab, and we will work on your Cloak. You will get a feel for my teaching in that way," he told him.

Harry closed his mouth, and after a pause he nodded. Standing, he nervously navigated the walkways and climbed the stairs to the lab. However, at Salazar's gesture, he crossed the second walkway over to the Potions lab.

"You will need to brew a Stability Potion," Salazar informed him. "It, as the name suggests, stabilises the sensitivity of the Demiguise hair and lets spells take to it with greater ease."

"What do I need then?" Harry said, taking a breath.

"First, open the cupboard on your far left," Salazar instructed. Harry was both irritated and half-pleased to find that Salazar still wouldn't open the cupboards for him, and Harry spent a good five minutes having a battle of wills with the snake guardian before he was allowed access.

Inside was a vast variety of Potion's brewing equipment. Harry removed a complicated set of apparatus designed to purify the potion once it was brewed, and set it up as commanded. Salazar gave him instructions in a cool, clear voice, never chiding him, but traces of amusement tinged it at points where he struggled to follow them.

Once the glass apparatus was arranged, Harry lit the fire beneath a silver cauldron, and chopped, diced and poured the various ingredients he needed, alternately stirring and waiting. Finally, Salazar told him to turn the heat down and let it simmer for ten minutes. All through the process, Salazar had prodded him into remembering the steps he had forgotten, not telling him which ones, but forcing him to find out for himself. It was all in all a much more pleasant process than working in Snape's classes.

In the end, Harry sat back, exhausted. He pushed his hair back from his sweaty face, and wrinkled his nose a little at the thought of smelling of potions as Snape always did. It certainly explained the man's lank hair anyway – working over a cauldron for an extended period of time tended to make even Harry's unchangeably messy hair lie in greasy clumps.

"Salazar," Harry said, addressing the Founder by his name for perhaps the first time. It felt odd on his tongue. "What did you do to make even the snakes in portraits warn me about you?" he asked, brow furrowed with thought, and a small hint of worry. He hadn't forgotten the man's earlier response to his anger, and he would hate to see what he could do if he was angry himself.

"I admit, their reception was not what I had expected," Salazar said, expression growing distant. "Rowena and Helga have already established a foothold over the portraits, and I was never greatly liked among them. Oh no," he said, correctly interpreting Harry's deepening frown, "I was respected, and even feared, but they do not like me."

"Why?" Harry asked, feeling a little as if he was missing something obvious.

"When you have three other portraits working against you, it does not engender trust. Godric made it a competition, but Helga was closer to Rowena and therefore sided with her. Of course, Rowena never liked me," he explained, in a peculiarly emotionless voice that was sharply contrasted by the split-second of raw hatred that had appeared in his eyes.

"But the snakes-" Harry began.

"Are their own creatures. The snakes that I have created and left in each portrait are not creatures you are likely to spot," Salazar told him smoothly, leaving Harry gaping.

"You put spies in every portrait?" Harry asked, incredulous, thinking of the sheer number of portraits around the school. Salazar's responding grin was almost feral.

"Brilliant isn't it? The beautiful thing is that their occupants don't even know it. Some have worked their way into the frames as decorations, and others are simple indentations on chairs or shelves, or a little golden curl on the spine of a book."

"But…how?" Harry asked, shocked and awed. Even if the portraits didn't like him, the man had still managed to have a hand in everything.

"Whilst I was creating my portrait, I was also cultivating vast numbers of serpents," Salazar explained. "I created spells that bound their souls to my own, and planted the seeds of eternal loyalty. When I had finished the portrait, and poured my own soul into it, theirs followed. From there I, as a portrait, was able to manipulate them into their present positions."

"But…" Harry trailed off, trying to pick which question to ask first. "Did all the snakes die then?"

"Regrettably yes," Salazar said, voice becoming dark. "It was not the happiest period of my life, surrounded with the deaths of my serpentine brothers and sisters, but it was necessary."

"Does that mean that all the furniture has the soul of a snake in it too?" Harry asked, feeling a little queasy at the thought of it.

"Yes, very good. I selected each for their character and loyalty," Salazar explained. "The cupboard you opened to remove the equipment is an albino viper, and those in the table you are working on are several king cobras."

"Oh," Harry said blankly, unsure of what to make of this new piece of information. He wasn't sure whether he was impressed or repulsed, or both. "When you…put your soul into the portrait…what happened?" he asked with morbid fascination.

"I came close to dying as I ever have, but the very fact that my soul was instilled in an object aside from my body kept me alive," Salazar said, a dark look coming over his face as he recalled something that clearly only he could remember. "I cared for my unconscious body for two months before I awoke, and it was a further four years before I recovered fully. The configuration of the portrait did not prevent my death as other darker vessels for the soul would, but it lessened the chance of it occurring naturally."

"My three companions did not have the plans I did, and they could not understand my lack of recovery. It is a terrible thing to lack the better part of one's soul, and not to be taken on lightly," he said darkly.

Harry was silent for a long moment as he thought this over. The entire tale sounded both unreal and gruesome to him. He couldn't even practically imagine something like that happening, but another glance at Salazar's eyes confirmed it.

"I-" he began, but Slytherin cut him off.

"Take the potion off the fire, and decant it into the largest beaker."

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Notes:

So, things finally get moving. Next chapter might, but probably won't, be delayed as I have an exam on Wednesday.