Journal entry the twenty-fifth
The New Year's is upon us, the last one I will see in this life. Couples will gather and kiss at the stroke of midnight, many drunken fools will give the reporters plenty of material, and things seem to begin anew. While these things do not necessarily apply to me, even though I do intend to sneak a kiss later, I do look forward to the holiday simply because all the festivities will give me the perfect cover to take a very important day trip. I found a scroll that was also a port-key in my newfound collection, and I think it would be wise to start out the new year by paying respects to my current patron. Wouldn't want to piss off a being that in many ways holds my life in his hands, now, would we. Granted, I hate port-keys with a passion, but just this once I will adjust. Actually, now that I read these words it occurs to me that I should perhaps make it a bit longer than a day trip, and I have the perfect solution to cover my disappearance. Not that I really care, but my absence at this time would raise far too many questions. Since Sylvain has been doing such a wonderful job as Hedwig and other non-serpent forms, I think he's due for a promotion. For a couple days, after the stealthy kiss I will get from you of course, my dear Sev, the role of Harry Potter will be played by a large, temperamental, slightly manic basilisk. He knows me well enough to copy most of my mannerisms, and any deviations will just be written off by the clueless humans. He won't be happy that he won't be able to accompany me on this trip, but we'll both get off on how such a deadly and feared creature will be able to mingle in public unnoticed. Who knows, he might make a better Harry Potter than I ever would, and if he's really good I just might ask him to take over a few more appearances. For a basilisk proud of his heritage, he really likes to explore other shapes.
Reading back, it seems that I have been somewhat negligent of my history as of late. Granted I've pretty much covered Harry's, but I stopped short in my recall of my time as Salazar. I think that I should pick it up, just for balance. I have covered the founding of the school, and the first few years, so now I think I shall cover the rest of the tragic tale.
After years of wandering, searching, and intense labour, Hogwarts was blossoming. Fewer and fewer hedge wizards were trying to breach our walls, and we finally managed to build a solid student and teaching body. We were living legends, the four wizards (I prefer to call both males and females wizards, the word witch has far too many negative connotations to it, and is inaccurate anyway) who overcame a world not ready for us to give others a shining beacon of hope. Like all public heroes, we did have a few who differed and preferred to view us in unflattering lights. The more I think about it, it becomes more and more likely that the slanderous histories given to us were a result of one of these factions and their propaganda. The vast majority of wizards were firmly on our side, being composed almost entirely of Hogwarts students past and present, so our opponents were those crotchety old wizards who wished to terrorize the populace and torture apprentices like an overgrown bully. Strictly speaking, those wizards were no match for us power-wise, but one did manage to figure out our one key weakness: our attachment to our students. We stayed loyal to each other in the end, keep this fact in mind, and when we found out about the campaigns against the school we readied ourselves for the onslaught, pouring even more energy into the defenses of the school and asking our allies in the Forest to patrol, not for our sakes but the students.
I remember, it was a crisp fall morning roughly twelve years after the founding of the school. Before we started our usual cycle of breakfast and classes, Godric was on his regular morning patrol when he raised the cry. Against all odds, one old wizard had decided to turn against his own kind, reporting our location and natures to the local lord, who was a particularly vicious example of his kind. The wizard was riding at the head of a large army, each soldier armed to the teeth and determined to exterminate as many of us as they could. I know what you're thinking, a muggle army is no match to even one battle-trained wizard, but the old wizard was very crafty and shielded them with a very discreet spell that has been lost to common memory. Every spell that was cast at a shielded individual was sent back to the caster without fail, usually with fatal effects. Rowena managed to figure it out in time before we rushed out to hex them to pieces, I shudder to think what would have happened if she hadn't stopped us. Realizing that magic was not a tool we could use against them, we four sealed up all the students and teachers within the school, only to be released when we either cast the counter spell or all died. We went into battle knowing that loss was not an option for us, that no matter what happened to us that our dream must stay alive, for it was bigger than any of us by now.
This is perhaps my most painful entry to date, but I have to complete this. Otherwise, the truth will never be known. We each were formidable fighters in our way, Godric's strength was legendary, Rowena was a strategist without peer, Helga excelled at defensive maneuvers, although she could fall under a berserker rage to become the scariest of us all, and I had my speed and inhuman heritage, which made me damn near impossible to kill. Before we faced the army, we all stood around and clasped hands, swearing that no matter what, Hogwarts must stand, and as long as Hogwarts stood the best parts of us lived on as well. I think that we sensed a change in the air that fateful morning, and that was the last quiet moment we had together. We readied our various weapons and stood, an unyielding line that none would pass.
That victory was a bitter one indeed, and we came perilously close to losing it all. Rowena was the first to fall, cut down by the lord's sword even as she buried her dagger in his back, taking him with her. A strategist to the end, she knew that to remove the leader would throw the army into chaos. I knew the second that she died, she was dead before she even hit the ground. Ironically, I was the next casualty, as I was wiping out one cache of soldiers I was struck with a rather nasty version of the cruciatus from the traitorous wizard. This didn't kill me, but it did incapacitate me while some damage was inflicted. My blood being spilled might have turned the tide of battle once more, for many of our non-human allies that lived in the forest came out to aid us. This helped, but as I was struggling to stand I saw Helga fall, split in half by a broadsword as she tried to come to my aid. Ever the mother hen, as she died a smile fixed itself on her face, and I crawled close enough to hear her last words. I will not write them in this journal, some things must remain mine. Those words, and this school, are all I have left of her.
Ultimately, it came down to Godric and myself, back to back, surrounded by the enemy. A more fearsome and skilled fighter may never have existed, in battle Godric was a force to be reckoned with, even without magic. Despite his skill, he too fell , taking a good chunk of the remaining enemy with him, but his death was not a quick one. He was still alive, bleeding out from a gut wound, as they converged on me. I looked down at his eyes, which weren't pleading to live or showing his pain, but gazing into my own with love, trust, and acceptance. Never before and never since have I been graced with that look, and at that moment I felt something within me snap. In moments, my friends had been slaughtered. One wizard who betrayed his own kind and a group of ignorant, intolerant humans managed to take down three of the kindest, gentlest, noblest souls I have ever met. This was inexcusable. It was as if Godric gave me permission in those final moments, and I cut loose. The shields around the soldiers were designed to reflect curses and hexes, but there was one force that couldn't be completely blocked, even though some part of it would be sent back to me: the Stare. That was the first time I had ever used it on humans, and to date it was the last. I lifted up my inner eyelids, revealing my true killing-curse green eyes, and Stared down every last one of those despicable humans. The shields did work to some degree, but the old wizard never anticipated that aspect of my heritage. With each human I killed with the Stare, some of the force was redirected to me, literally killing me slowly. I used a good part of my magic reserves and creature heritage just to remain standing long enough to kill them all.
Once the ground was littered with their bodies, I released the wards protecting the students and they came pouring out of the school, only to stop suddenly when they saw three founders laying dead on the ground, and the last standing, barely hanging onto life. One teacher stepped forth to brace me, and I knew that he was the one destined to take over in our stead. I don't know what it was about him, but I trusted my instincts and from what few records I managed to find, the choice was a wise one. I held onto life long enough to see the bodies of my friends carried into the school, and when I was escorted in I took a long look at their still forms, and with the entire body of Hogwarts as my witness I announced that the time of the Founders was over, but our legacy will stand as long as there are wizards who believe in the ideals we lived, fought, and died for. After announcing the next Headmaster, I fell to the ground, my strength rapidly leaving me. Before I died, I cast two last spells, the first being the spell to make the castle unfindable. After crawling over to lie next to my friends, I cast my final spell as Salazar. With my final breath, I wordlessly channeled all the love I felt towards my friends, the school, and the students, and imbued the school with it. In short, I'm responsible for the living, changeable aspects of Hogwarts, I literally breathed life into it and gave it all the love I could summon. My last memory was a terrible wailing coming from the students and teachers, mourning the end of our era.
There we have it Severus. I wrote another publishable version detailing the true tale of the Founders, which should be enclosed with the journal, and I wish that you will see fit to bring them to the wizarding populace. Looking at the wizards of today, it seems as if our sacrifices were for naught. Let the truth be seen, regardless of how unpalatable or shocking the facts may be. Do not shed any tears for us, Sev. We each made our choice, and went in knowing what the likely outcome would be. We gave our lives for something bigger than ourselves, which is a nobler cause than most. Such a mentality doesn't seem to exist today at all, everyone is far too selfish and self-absorbed. Hell, the vast majority of Hogwarts' professors of the past few hundred years would look to their own welfare before their charges. How do I know this, you may wonder? Well, don't forget I was the one to give the castle a life of its own, and it has watched countless generations. Ironic that I find myself in a similar situation today. Even if I were not dying anyway, I would still go through with my plans. That vow we made to each other a thousand years ago is no less potent today, and I never break my word when I sincerely give it.
On a lighter note, I know that this entry is something of a downer, and I hate to envision such a sad countenance on you, so I have a little surprise. When you finish reading this, a map will appear along with a codex. I'm sending you on something of a treasure hunt, and trust me when I say you will want the treasure enclosed. I'm sure the puzzles will be no match for your intellect, but I must stay in proper form. Well, off with you Sev, and try to have fun with it?
P.S. Speaking of having fun, let me close this with... sick sick sick sick sick. Sick sick. Sick. I don't think I'll get tired of that.
I did always wonder who the mysterious man was that snuck up and kissed me soundly that New Year's eve. I tried to follow him to get an explanation, and now I know that my chase was in vain, for he's far better at elusive action than I am at chasing.
Merlin, I don't even know where to begin. I can't help but wonder what the school would have been like if they had lived to see it mature. That was not a proper ending, cut down by some feudal twits. They should have died as old men and women, kept in caring comfort in the walls of their dream, tended to until their final, peaceful days. Indeed, if Salazar took after his inhuman ancestors heavily enough he could have outlived them all in his original body, perhaps even to the present day. Bah, there are too many questions raised with unsatisfactory answers.
After first downing a good part of a new bottle of firewhiskey with shaking hands, I waited for a moment after reading this to compose myself. Curse that brat, how could he know that his stoic potions professor would shed a tear after reading his words. Even now I am shocked at the level of his awareness and intuitiveness, that he should suspect me of such a thing. Once I composed myself, I decided to take his words to heart as best I could. The shock of the fall of the Founders notwithstanding, I knew that there was nothing I could do to change that history, so I decided to indulge my rather morbid curiousity and investigate the map. As noble and loving as he may have been, Harry/Salazar still possesses a sick, twisted mind.
Following his riddles and map, I found myself wandering around almost the entirety of the castle. It called for me to find and use secret passages that even the Marauders weren't aware of, and after something of a wild goose chase, with my ever-present avian escort that might even be more twisted than Harry, I found myself in an ancient part of the castle, one untouched by recent students. There were classrooms covered by a carpet of dust, long-forgotten dorms, and such, but the map led me past such areas until I finally arrived at a dead-end corridor. Against the wall in front of me hung a large tapestry of such exquisite quality that it stole my breath for a moment, and when I examined the figures closely I did have to remember to breathe. Rendered in stunning detail was a campfire scene at the edge of the woods with four figures scattered around in various stages of repose. This would normally not be something to be taken aback over, but with a layer of dust removed the figures are revealed to be the Founders themselves, the image a scene from their wandering days. The unmistakable figure of Godric reclines against a log, hand on his sword yet with a smile on his face. Helga is tending the fire, and is caught in the moment of a hearty, genuine laugh, while Rowena is sitting cross-legged, smirking yet focused on the scroll before her. These figures are each captured with painting-like accuracy, yet the fourth figure clutches at my heart. Lying with his head in Godric's lap with his legs serving as Rowena's reading surface, and caught in the moment of taking Helga's hand is the striking figure that was Salazar Slytherin, lean and pale with shining black hair and emerald eyes that seem to shine even in this poor light. He wears an expression of perfect happiness and contentment on his face that is echoed in those of his companions', and if there was any doubt in my mind of the accuracy of his words then this tapestry that was commissioned within their lifetimes would lay them to rest.
As large a find as this was, there was still one last clue to decipher, and once I quickly puzzled it out I was rewarded with a grinding sound coming from behind the tapestry. Gently pushing it aside, I found yet another secret door that has perhaps been untouched since the tapestry was first hung. Still checking for security measures, despite the growing feeling that my spells would be ineffective against many that were known by the Founders, I entered the room and had to pause a moment to absorb the entirety of my find. Gathered there in the largely nondescript room were a large selection of scrolls and a few bound books, all in excellent condition. An envelope bearing my name rested against the pile, and it explained that these were all the surviving records from the time of the Founders that Harry could find, and that they were being entrusted to my care. A treasure indeed, for if the journal is any indicator they hold secrets that could in some ways revive the time that he is so nostalgic for.
As worn out from all these surprises as I was, I sat down in one of the chairs and leaned back to relax when the strangest thing happened. My leaning must have triggered some kind of mechanism, for a large section of the floor began to sink, forming a narrow spiral staircase down into pitch darkness. Since the scrolls were the treasure intended by Harry, this new development was something of a shock. I wondered at another part of his letter, which stated that I was to only touch the treasure. Lighting my wand, I headed down into the darkness, climbing down into perhaps the very heart of Hogwarts. After the interminable descent, I found myself facing a door emblazoned with the seal of Hogwarts, with larger, more elaborate renditions of the four House animals scattered around. I hesitated for a moment, for I wasn't sure of what laid behind this door. From my experiences, one thing that Harry loved to do was flaunt his obscure knowledge, yet he did not anticipate that I would find the staircase. As concerned as I was about the fact that Harry decided not to divulge about this secret passage when he has a past record of showing such things off, I opened the door, only to be greeted with a sight that will remain with me to the end of my days.
There, in a circle pointing in the four cardinal directions lay four large stone sarcophagi, which seemed to seamlessly emerge from the rock of the floor. I will confess that at this point I, Severus Snape, feared professor, Death Eater, and spy, was trembling. The final resting places of the Founders was never found, and many thought the graves were dug up and desecrated. I took several hesitating steps closer, and with one hand I brushed off some of the ever-present dust from the lid of the nearest sarcophagus, which was in the position facing north. When cleared off, I stood there staring dumbly at the lid, which bore a golden badger in the lid and the inscription Helga Hufflepuff. In a state of shock, I turned to the sarcophagus facing east, revealing the name of Godric Gryffindor and a golden lion rampant. The south-facing sarcophagi bore the eagle crest and name of Rowena Ravenclaw, which left me with only the west-facing sarcophagi yet unrevealed. My heart lept into my chest as I removed the dust with a shaking hand, revealing a silver serpent and the name of Salazar Slytherin. Here, before me lay what remains of the original body of Salazar Slytherin/Harry Potter, and I am not ashamed to reveal that I stood there and wept as the importance of his goal sunk in. Before me was proof that there were people willing to die for the sake of others without selfish aims, and evidence of a friendship that continued up to and perhaps beyond death. Even the crow was subdued, and didn't even do his usual round of Malfoy-tormenting when we returned to my chambers to find both waiting. Tomorrow I will take Tom and the others down to see for themselves after they read the publishable version, I have not the strength tonight. I just wish to finish the bottle of whiskey and lose myself in my thoughts, with the unusually silent crow, my only real link to Harry, as my sole company. Wherever the Founders may be, I hope that they are proud of what their long-lost friend has done. I'm sure that they are.