VOLDEMORT'S LAST SPELL, by Louis IX
Disclaimer: Check first chapter for full disclaimer and other warnings. Author's Notes at the end.
Chapter 6 – Inheritance and Awakening
posted February 6th, 2008
Nimue watched as the alabaster sphere sank in the earthen soil as though it was a mere liquid. The power the staff was giving her was intoxicating, and she wasn't going to relinquish her grasp anytime soon. Using that power, she made the return trip almost instantaneously, even travelling over the large ocean in between. Once in England, she returned to her hometown, where her dreams of conquest awaited, yearning for fulfilment.
However, a few months after having created the fortress that was going to be her home, and after putting the local inhabitants and creatures under an iron fist, she found a slight discrepancy to her plans.
She was pregnant. And heavily so.
In her romp with the archmage, she had taken no risk for her true intent to be discovered, and thus had taken no particular precaution. As the saying goes, her emotions were now in turmoil, due to the life developing in her womb. Despite her initial rejection of her situation, she decided not to do anything drastic about it.
That's why, in the few decades before the millennium, she gave birth to twins. A boy and a girl, whom she named Salazar and Rowena.
Smiling at them, she decided to impart them with as much knowledge as she could, so that, in the unlikely event of her demise, they could continue her quest.
That thoughtful decision didn't last more than a couple decades, though. Over the years, she became more and more paranoid, afraid of leaving her quarters in the highest tower in fear of someone stealing her staff. She warded the area heavily, but, given that stray animals were already pushed away by the fortress' own wards, she didn't include a ward against them.
Meanwhile, the children followed their mother's footsteps… although not in the same way. Rowena took to learning with a passion, while Salazar became obsessed with power. And animals. Particularly snakes. The children became young adults, and, as was the rule at the time, the girl was wed to a powerful man living in a neighbouring county, Lord Ravenclaw.
During his adolescent years, Salazar discovered several means of mixing herbs and magical plants to create powerful draughts. A few years later, in a display of genius not unlike his sister's, he succeeded in making a potion to allow him to transform into animals. It was when he tried to show his achievement to his mother that he entered her warded quarters as a snake, one night.
She was asleep, the staff resting loosely in her hand. Despite all her knowledge, she had never found a way to make it stick to her permanently. The magical item was obeying her wishes, but it knew that she wasn't his owner, and did so with a palpable reluctance. Hence her paranoia.
Mesmerized by the waves of power coming from the staff, Salazar transformed back into his human shape and took it in his hand.
That woke his mother, and, in her half-asleep state, she didn't recognize her own son, thinking that it was some thief despite the protections the castle had against those.
She attacked, viciously.
And he defended, cautiously.
But something tipped the scales against Nimue: the staff added its power to the young man's counterspells, and, before either of them could grasp the situation fully, Nimue was thrown through the window by her own Banishing spell reflected on her.
"Mother!" Salazar exclaimed, dropping the staff and hurrying to the broken window. He knew the glass had been magically reinforced, but the short magical battle had involved too much power for the whole room – which was now in shambles – lest alone a single glass window.
Carefully leaning to see the outside, he noticed his mother in the moon light, and the sight made him want to retch: she had fallen from the high tower onto one of the numerous courtyard fences, impaling herself.
He hurried through the corridors, intending to save her despite his intellect telling him that it was too late. Once there, he noticed that she was already dead, the spikes having pierced her frail body in several places.
Kneeling and babbling incoherent sentences, he wept for his mother. It would be the last time Salazar would either kneel, babble, or weep.
An hour later, he stood up resolutely, and Summoned his mother's body. And they both disappeared.
The logistics of managing a castle implied to have numerous servants to clean it, and a paid military force to protect it from invaders. It often had some additional place for guests, as well as some quarters should the nearby town be evacuated – generally, the food eaten by the castle's inhabitant had to be grown on site, as the roads were quite dangerous at that time.
It took a month for the garrisoned soldiers to leave, their weekly wages unpaid for too long. With them, they took anything of value they could find and pay themselves with – which wasn't much, since they were non-magical people and much of the valuables in the stronghold were protected with a spell of some kind.
It took another month for the servants to leave, the castle's food reserves having dwindled to nothing in the meantime. The inhabitants of the local town knew that the masters of the castle had disappeared, but they had no interest in managing said castle.
A year later, a strong-willed knight and his curious wife, Lord and Lady Gryffindor, arrived in the hamlet, said wife's place of birth, for a visit to her dying mother. Curious about the abandoned fortress, the knight asked to visit it, and it was the first time in a year that the abandoned building saw humans beings in its halls again.
Godric and Helga didn't want the stronghold to fall in ruins, for different reasons. The knight saw its strategic placement and eventual garrison – as a knighted noble, he could benefit from taxes and inhabit such a castle. Helga had lived in the village in her youth and had worked in the castle itself, and it was more for a sentimental reason.
Not wanting to usurp someone else's rights, though, they sent a messenger to the previous Lady's daughter, Rowena. Upon hearing that her mother and brother were considered missing, the young woman left her husband in a hurry – to tell the truth, she was slightly bored by his mundane nature.
The sorceress was welcomed by Godric and Helga, and she asked them to follow as she re-explored the whole castle. Discovering that her mother's wards were still active, she dispelled them, and the three of them found that the castle hadn't been completely robbed. She found her mother's quarters in disarray and devoid of Nimue's formidable presence. Her brother's rooms were furnished as they had always been and equally empty of human presence.
"What do you want us to do, milady?" the knight asked.
The question took her by surprise. She had always loved learning, but she didn't know what else to do. However, the availability of so much learning material, as well as a large building with many rooms, could be interesting for others. "A school."
"What?"
She nodded decisively, before turning to the gobsmacked couple – it was understandable: very few schools existed at that time. "This castle will be a school of witchcraft, and wizardry." She then frowned thoughtfully. She knew she was able to spend long moments immersed in research, and she knew other people, more down-to-earth than she was, were needed for the school to actually work. "You two seem resourceful. Will you help me lead it?"
After a pause, during which the two looked at each other, they turned to her and acquiesced. "We will, milady." Godric said.
"Besides," his wife started, "it would be a shame for your brother's greenhouses to fall into disuse. I have worked there when I was young, and they were so... interesting."
"How are we going to name it?" Rowena asked herself, tapping her chin with a finger.
Helga blushed a bit, but valiantly gave a proposal. "Milady, the locals already have a name for the castle." He waited the regal lady's nod to continue. "Since the village nearby has been called Hog's Meade for a long time, the locals already have given the castle a nickname."
"What is it, then?"
"It's Hog's Wart." the younger woman muttered. "Forgive us."
Rowena's reaction wasn't the one the couple was waiting: she laughed. "I knew that." she told them after several uncomfortable seconds. "Don't you think we witches have a way to hear things unsaid?"
They blushed, and she laughed some more, before starting to discuss of the logistics of a overhaul of such massive proportions – after all, they had to transform most of the rooms into usable classrooms, as well as living quarters for the future students.
The school was not an immediate success, but it gathered more and more students as its prestige expanded, from their county to the whole country, going then to the natural frontiers of the British Isles. But it was years later, when the news reached the Continent and a particular man, that they encountered their first problems.
Salazar came back. Right in the middle of dinner. Right in the middle of the Dining Hall. After all, the castle had been his house for a long time, and he knew ways to get there magically.
The shocked surprise passed, Rowena sent the students to their quarters, before addressing her twin brother.
"What do you want, Sal?"
The black-clad man sneered at her. "You know that I don't like nicknames, Ro."
Usually, such endearing terms were common among siblings. But, in his mouth, the word took a different meaning, mocking her and all that was her.
She shrugged, but she was also apprehensive. That way of greetings hadn't been uncommon between them, in the past. Now, though, the aggressiveness she had perceived behind Salazar's few words was ringing a warning bell in her mind.
"Am I not allowed to return home?" he asked, equally mockingly. "I only left because of mother's death. I had... things... to arrange. And much to grieve for."
The sentence was left hanging purposefully. The man knew how it would be taken, and, while true, it didn't mean that he left to bury her – after all, a burial didn't take years to arrange. What he didn't say was his thirst for power, and his acknowledgement that knowledge led to power. He had long since known that his mother knew more than him, and that she was more powerful as well. So, after placing Nimue's body in stasis, he had immersed himself in studies about Death itself, acquiring books and artifacts from several places. When ready, he had taken control of her spirit, and written down almost everything she knew. That had taken years.
"When I learnt that my castle was turned into a school, I was curious." he said, not bothering to correct himself into accepting his sister as joint owner of said castle. Being born a few minutes before her, and being a male, he had first dibs on their inheritance. "I'm quite... thrilled... by the chance to teach magic to the future generations."
Rowena was no fool, but heer brother's silver tongue got the better of her, and she relented. "Alright, Salazar. Let's join the feast, and we can talk about the topics you'd like to teach."
"Later, perhaps." he replied. "I have to install my basil- my pet... and get reacquainted with my quarters."
"You have a pet?"
"Yes, and she's quite intelligent, too."
"I tried to impart owls with some intelligence, too." she said, her studious nature coming to the fore again. "But with out much luck until now. What did you do?"
"Later, dear sister. Later."
She nodded, and, while she returned to her seat, the man left, his black robes billowing behind him.
Rowena noticed the gaze Helga was throwing to her brother's back. "Something's the matter?"
"Well... if I may be bold, milady..." the witch started.
Rowena frowned, not only because this kind of sentence often ended with words that weren't soft. And, despite their numerous discussions, the younger woman was still very formal when addressing her.
When she nodded, Helga continued. "When I travelled alongside Godric, I have often met with strangers. Some were aggressive, some weren't, and some were all smiles while plotting behind our backs. I have often discovered their intentions early on, though."
"True." her knight of a husband added. "My wife's intuition is often successful, and had helped us in many endeavours."
"And what does your intuition has to do wit my brother?"
"I don't like him." the blonde woman finished, looking down.
To her surprise, Rowena laughed softly. "He has always been a little rough." she said. "You probably noticed that he hadn't mellowed with time. But he has always protected me and this castle with utmost devotion." A pause. "I think we can trust him."
It was the worst decision that she could have made.
As years came and went, the student population grew, and the four Founders decided to install them in separate quarters, named after them. Once again, a decision taken with the best interests at heart – at least from three of them – proved to be harmful.
Salazar Slytherin had begun his teaching career with Duelling and Potions, and he had carefully wormed his way into the minds of the most promising students in these two fields. Once separated from the other students, his followers were now in the perfect position for him to teach them the Dark Arts.
When the others found about him teaching a fifteen-year-old how to raise dead bodies, they were aghast. And Godric, having been properly raised as a knight, was particularly incensed about this crime against religion and decency. He left the blabbing boy and rushed to Slytherin's quarters.
"What, in the name of all that is holy, are you going on, there?" he yelled through the door he had just broken down.
"Holy, indeed." the other man sneered as he turned around to face his unexpected visitor. His robe billowed slightly, allowing him to reach for the wand hidden in its folds. "I'll show you what your mind clouded by religion can't accept!"
And a long string of Latin ensued, as Slytherin started to incant a particularly powerful Necromancy spell. One that could strip flesh from bone and leave a perfectly clean – and obedient – skeleton.
However, Godric was used to magic-users and knew of their weaknesses. He dived out of the way just as a sickly yellow ray headed his way, and noticing the hefty armchair there, he picked it up and threw it at his adversary, his anger mixed with the adrenaline in his veins allowing him this feat of strength. The sturdy piece of furniture crashed into Slytherin – who was in the middle of casting another spell – and broke the man's legs.
Thinking that he had the upper hand, Godric drew his wand and walked towards his downed enemy. He kicked the wand from Slytherin's weakened grip. "Do you yield?" he demanded, putting the tip of his blade under the man's chin.
Slytherin's eyes looked behind him and the man smirked. Thinking that it was a trick, Godric didn't turn around. It was his last thought, though, as bony hands grasped his throat from behind and started to choke him.
The grasp was unnaturally strong, and, despite him flailing his arms wildly and kicking at his new opponent, nothing could help him. He managed to turn around, once, only to be shocked by what he saw.
His own wife.
That is... a skeleton wearing his wife's clothes.
Apparently, when he had ducked Slytherin's spell earlier, said spell had continued into the corridor. Helga had heard about the commotion and had followed him, walking straight into a deathly trap. His last thoughts as the hands resumed choking him, digging into his flesh and drawing blood, was that he had failed her and the whole school.
That thought was what prevented his soul from passing away. And, much later, it would return to the school to keep an eye on the House of his nemesis, under the guise of an anonymous Bloody Baron.
Salazar Slytherin was used to pain, and he had Summoned his wand – every magic user worthy of his salt knew at least one wandless spell: that particular one. Healing not being his forte, he strengthened his legs and stood up slowly, before magically calling for his followers.
They came, but they weren't alone. Many of the other wizards followed them, as well as most of the castle's servants, Rowena behind them all.
It took few words to start the battle, and magic started to pour from the magical humans, heading toward each other. Harmful and debilitating magic. Several wizards fell from Necromantic curses. Many fell to animated bodies.
Unholy screams and explosions could be heard up to the village nearby. When it quieted, only two wizards were still standing: Rowena and Salazar.
"Join me now, sister." Salazar said, a bit out of breath. "Together, we will rule those peasants."
"They're human beings, just like you and me." she replied, holding her wounded arm against her chest.
"They don't have the right to learn magic! Magic is power, and you were going to give it away, to ungrateful barbarians, no less!"
"Knowledge is for everyone, brother."
A pause ensued, during which they evaluated each other and their opinions.
"I guess we have nothing in common, then." he said curtly.
She smiled sadly. She had known all her life that her brother preferred power over the thrill of learning. "I guess not. What are we going to do, now?" she asked, fully anticipating his answer.
"I take control of your school. Avada Kedavra!" he yelled, using the remains of magic he had to cast the cheapest Death curse he knew.
She had been ready, though, and her physical wound hadn't emptied her reserves. "Conjurus!" she replied, protecting herself by creating a sheet of metal in the curse's path. Taking a deep breath, she started another stream of incantations. "Castellum Aegis Initio! Ingressus Et Familia Reddere Infectum Tu!"
"What?" he exclaimed. Thinking that she was going to attack him, he had erected a shield, only to drop it in surprise at her first spell – a castle-wide ward activation sequence. His shield down, he had been caught by surprise by the second spell, an effect that continued after the spell was cast. After all, only family heads used to expel members from the fold. And to prevent him from entering the castle again... he had his special room and pet to take care of. "You can't-"
"Sorry, Sal." she whispered, raising her wand again. "Abi In Malam Rem!" she yelled.
"Prot-" Slytherin started to incant, only to be caught by the brunt of the spell. It was only his defensive magic and his innate knowledge of the Dark Arts that prevented him from following the spell's effect to the letter and be delivered to Satan in a hand basket. He was still thrown out of "his" castle, landing just outside the metal gates.
He spent an hour cursing, magically as well as mundanely, but it was in vain. Turning around, he decided to express his displeasure at being beaten by cursing many inhabitants of the nearby town. They tried to defend themselves, and later learnt means to kill wizards and witches for good: burn them.
While the witch hunts were under way in England, Salazar built himself a school in a secluded and harsh place, a school where he could strengthen the magic wielders and teach them his preferred topic. Thus came the Durmstrang Institute of Magic.
In the meantime, magical students returned to Hogwarts, slowly but steadily. Some spent a couple years there, while others stayed their whole life. With many generations of magic practitioners living under its roof, the castle would use the excess energy to enhance itself, acquiring a semi-sentience in the process, and reinforce the initial wards. These wards would stand for more than a millennium.
Meanwhile...
Har-Old of Myridine was dreaming. The hibernation he had been forced into didn't allow him anything else to do. The lack of oxygen was compensated by his magic, but only barely, and it would eventually leave him with completely depleted reserves. His mind was crumbling, little by little, but he stayed alive. And he dreamed.
And, in these dreams, he witnessed events occurring near him, as well as far from him.
He saw humans warring each other about territory and religion. He saw wizards and witches being hunted for being different. He saw some of them answering to violence with curses, the darkest ones bringing forth decades of illness upon the muggle towns – the Black Plague. He saw Conquistadores bringing the South American cultures to their heels. He saw pioneers and cow-boys battling Indians. He saw the coming and going of nations.
He dreamed.
And, then, one day, he stopped dreaming.
1871 (nearly a millennium later), Windsor, Canada...
Robert Derrevaux was one of the hundreds of people working on the project. His job, like the others', was simple: digging and shovelling tonnes of earth. The cities of Windsor and Detroit had come to an agreement, and a railroad tunnel was under construction.
The tools used in this endeavour were simple: some high-powered digging hammers, and many shovels. When Robert's hammer suddenly struck a hard surface, he swore. He dug more earth around the point of impact, and swore again: in front of him was a smooth and white surface.
"Trust the architects to direct us right into a calcareous slab!" he yelled to his co-worker, Daniel – he had to yell, in order to be heard over the din around them.
"Aye." the other replied, yelling as well. "And they'll never change the direction despite what we tell them."
"The Union will have their heads, if they continue to ignore us!" Robert answered, before striking at the hard surface in anger. To his astonishment, the impact had been different than his first tentative try. Instead of rebounding on the slab, his hammer had pierced right through. And lines were forming around the point of impact, surrounding small white blocks of alabaster-like stone.
The two workers noticed that these blocks were breaking under their feet, and they jumped back towards firmer ground. It was too late, though, to escape the rush of wind going towards the holes in the alabaster. And to escape the corresponding gust of foul-smelling gas.
They fell unconscious from the smell and the sudden lack of oxygen, and it was only thanks to the safety procedures that they would come out of it alive: a dozen of workers had noticed their fall, and, despite the smell, they were able to rope them up.
The next day, the Union stopped the digging operation, arguing about unsafe pockets of sulphur being in the ground beneath the river.
It took seven years for the project to return to its "tracks".
In the meantime, some people decided to investigate. The first team to do so was made of scientists whose specialization was geology: sulphur wasn't that rare, but it hadn't been found in the local underground yet.
Among those scientists, several were paid by the Canadian government, and, upon realizing what was under the broken white surface, they stopped the expedition and warned their employers.
The second team was made of eight persons, only half of whom being scientists. But they had nothing to do with geology, no. And the others were soldiers. All of them paid by the government, through a special budget no one was aware of. They all belonged to the secret services of Canada.
After all, while finding fossils wasn't something to be cautious about, finding alive fossils was – especially humanoids. Under the cover of secrecy, they brought their quarry to their base. There, the man-like creature – who so resembled an animal that his rescuers didn't know what species he was – would spend the best part of the next few decades recovering. And, during this coma, his subconscious would try to reverse the damage brought upon his body, recovering a human aspect little by little.
At least, after a millennium of captivity, he was now breathing.
Much later...
"He's nothing like the others, Professor." the assistant said. "At least, they move when you prod them."
"I know, Carol." the addressed man replied. "But, fortuitous as it is, we can only be thankful for it. Otherwise, the pain would have made him pass out alread-"
The assistant gasped when the man upon which they were working moved his arm unexpectedly. The mess that was his hand came real close to the Doctor's face, before falling on the side, inert again.
"From now on," the Professor started, "we'll bind him."
Carol nodded, white as a sheet.
The two men faced each other. They were sitting at a canteen table, one of them sipping a coffee while the other was reading his notes. The first was clothed in his usual white overall, while the second wore a faded suit. The only light was from a naked bulb over the table.
"There have been some research made recently." the suit-wearing man said.
"Since we are both here, I suspect that it has some import on our project?" the Doctor replied.
The other man nodded. His job wasn't to take care of patients. He worked for the Army, under the Research group, and his speciality was metallurgy. "A new metal has been found. We can create it through smelting, but, once cooled, it is as hard and durable as diamond."
He didn't know that the metal in question was mithril, nor that the vein found was one of the last in the entire world – the Elves having exploited all those which were reachable.
"What does it have to do with me?" the Professor asked.
"Our common employer found that this metal could be used in place of the iron you usually inject into your patients. They said that it would produce a better weapon."
"A weapon, yes." the Professor muttered, his eyes getting that faraway look again. "An obedient weapon. A killing machine. He'd be the best at that. The perfection..."
To be continued in next chapter: War and Passion...