There is a castle by the lake.

It's a sprawling mass of towers and parapets, battlements and buttresses. Its windows glitter in the setting sun.

I recognise it instantly as Hogwarts. Although hundreds of years have altered the castle somewhat, its essence remains the same.

I look around, and spot the Founders instantly. They stand together on the hill overlooking the lake, gazing down on the castle. Salazar and Godric are there, in their twenties now, framed by Helga and Rowena.

My breath catches. This, I think. This was a moment that would define history for evermore. A moment that changed the world. My world.

Salazar is nearing the age of the portrait. His frame has filled out a bit, and he's grown a touch taller. Gone is the sunken look of his eyes, the hollow appearance of his cheeks. He's smiling as Godric drapes an arm lazily across his shoulders and gives him a friendly shake. The basilisk, now a good three metres long, curls at his feet.

Godric reaches out and puts his other arm around Helga. She leans casually into him, her head barely reaching his shoulder. Helga has a notably kind face, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy, and I notice that both her hands and gown are stained with mud. She is dressed simply, in browns and ochres. There is a kind of quiet, undimmed joy about her as she glances down the line to Rowena.

Rowena gives Helga a little smile, and gracefully joins the group, placing her arm around Salazar. She is dressed finely in dark blue, jewels glittering at her throat and wrists. Her long, dark hair tumbles down her back, crowned by the sparkling diadem on her head. The ink stains on her fingers stand out against the pallidity of her skin, her face as white as marble and stunningly grave. Salazar grins at her.

The four of them stand there, arms around each other, surveying their work. What they have built from nothing. I don't think I'm breathing.

My surroundings dissolve, and mould themselves into the headmaster's office of Hogwarts. Several more years have passed. Salazar is wearing his locket. Godric's sword is sheathed at his side. Rowena's diadem is on her head. I spot a golden cup in one of the glass cabinets.

They are arguing.

"I thought we'd been through this," Salazar spits out, pale and shaking with anger.

"'Zar—" Helga intercedes desperately. She looks close to tears.

"It's not fair to them if we just exclude them completely," Godric says stoically. His jaw is set.

"And it doesn't make sense for us to just rule them out," Rowena interjects. Her face is severe, her manner stern. "Surely you must see that, 'Zar."

"We agreed—" Salazar begins, but Rowena cuts him off.

"We," she says, "have changed our minds."

"Without me," Salazar says bitterly. His eyes have begun to glitter dangerously.

Helga attempts to intervene. "It wasn't like that, 'Zar."

"Really," he replies coldly.

"We set up this school to teach children," she pleads desperately. "All magical children."

Godric leans against a desk and fold his arms, his eyes rippling with ire. "If you've got a problem with it, then leave."

There is a moment of awful silence.

When Salazar speaks again, his voice cracks slightly, trembling with emotion. "Then I'll go." The air around him begins to ripple, to thrum with power. Sparks jump between his fingers. "I won't stand by and let you poison this school with their kind. I built this place to be a haven for our people, and I refuse to be remembered as the one that let our enemies infect these halls."

Rowena's face is harsh, unforgiving. Godric simmers in wrath, glowering.

"'Zar," says Helga, tears in her eyes. "'Zar, please stop. Salazar."

"You have no idea what they're capable of," Salazar says, pain underlying each word. "What they can do. What they're already done."

Then he turns and leaves.

Then I'm in the Chamber of Secrets. Except it's new, shiny and glittering. The stone is polished, every surface eerily clean. Salazar places the small basilisk reverently on the floor. It's still less than four metres long.

"You'll be safe here," he whispers. "I'll come back for you; I promise."

He begins walking out. "Goodbye, Aristomache," he says over his shoulder.

It is a few weeks later. Salazar is in a tiny hovel, dirtied with travel, stirring up some potion. There is a knock on the door.

Godric doesn't wait for a reply before he bursts in. "Come back," he says.

Salazar stiffens, but doesn't turn around.

"I'm sorry," Godric continues, out of breath and desperate. "I was angry, and I was an idiot. I know we don't always see eye to eye, but we can solve this. I'm sure we can work something out. Please, 'Zar."

Salazar takes a deep breath. Then he turns to face Godric.

"No," he says.

"No?" Godric echoes.

"You betrayed me," says Salazar quietly. "You said you'd never do that."

"Please," Godric says. The heartbreak is all to evident in his voice, on his face.

Salazar shrugs. "You were my friend. I loved you more than anyone. You knew that, and you hurt me."

"I'm sorry," is all Godric can say.

"You should be," Salazar replies. He pauses for a moment, taking in Godric's face. I realise suddenly that this may well be the last time they see each other. "Goodbye," he says softly, and disapparates.

Then I'm in a cavern. It's vast, and lit with a faint blueish glow. Salazar stands before a large, tarnished, gilt mirror. He's wearing his locket, the emeralds smouldering lazily. He peers into the mirror, and sees himself. All powerful, all knowing, immortal. A vision of what he could be.

He clutches the locket tightly, his eyes devouring the image before him greedily.

Everything goes black and white and starts spinning and—

I emerge from the pensieve to see Evangeline standing there, the glow of the memories rippling over her face. She has a slightly vacant expression on her face, and waits, ghostly, grave, ethereal. Then her eyes focus and—

Tom's face is pale, his eyes slightly wide. I retreat from his mind back into myself, and blink. He stares up at me in shock, straightening to his full height. I linger in the doorway.

"So?" I ask quietly, both wanting and fearing the answer.

He looks at me like he's never seen me before. "What was that?"

"Memories," I reply.

"Whose?" he says, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Mine," I say.

He pauses for a moment, his glacier-blue eyes narrowed, uncomprehending. "How?" he asks eventually.

I smirk a little bit. "Come on Tom," I say. "You're a clever boy. Surely you can work it out."

He shakes his head as if to clear it. Then, slowly, he says "Chambers."

"Go on," I say.

"Evangeline Chambers. Chamber. Chamber of Secrets."

"Very good," I say patronisingly.

"When we talked about immortality," he begins, uncertainly, "You knew all about it. And you mentioned rebirth."

"Bingo," I say.

"Those memories were Salazar Slytherin's," he says hesitantly.

"Yes," I say.

"You can't be," he whispers, something akin to fear or wonder dawning on his face.

"Why not?" I ask in Parseltongue.

Tom faints.

If there's one good thing that's come from Coronavirus, it's that I have more time to write, so hopefully there should be more updates in the coming weeks.

Firstly, thank you to everyone who has managed to get this far! There is plenty more to come, I assure you, so brace yourselves for lots of chapters of slightly insane fun. If you're stuck at home as I am, at least you'll have the chance to read it in peace :)

I also just wanted to say that I hope you all stay safe and healthy amid the pandemic, no matter what part of the world you're from. If you're self-isolating, I hope that this has provided you with some brief entertainment.

Love you all!

Amy Grace xx