House: Slytherin
Category: drabble
Prompt: [Character] Your House's Founder.
Word Count: 492
He had slept for aeons. He had lain silent, never moving, the cold stone rough against his scales. Time had slowed around him as he lay hidden within the Chamber of Secrets, waiting for his heirs to release him and so purge the castle of mudbloods. Yet his heirs never came. Until one day, when the stone rumbled beneath him, signalling that at long-last his Chamber was being opened. As he uncoiled himself, he flicked his forked tongue, tasting fresh air for the first time in centuries.
Then a young man strode into the Chamber. Come, he hissed. Kill.
Slithering to the pipes, he did just that, revelling in the freedom roaming the castle brought. Yet he had only killed one mudblood — one measly mudblood — before his heir ordered, return to the Chamber. Sleep.
With sigh, he did so. He slumbered in the Chamber, waiting, languishing in the dank darkness. And then his heir returned. He wore a different body, but the hiss which called him from his sleep was identical to the previous. He slithered to his heir's feet. Again, he roamed the castle, hoping to kill… but before he had managed to murder any mudbloods, he was told to stay in the statue.
He did so without protest. He was old, a relic from ages past. His heir knew what was best for him. And so when a small boy entered his Chamber and his heir ordered, attack, he charged.
Yet the boy proved more difficult to kill than he had thought. The boy evaded his fangs, and he must have been keeping his eyes tightly shut, because the boy did not suddenly stiffen and crumple to the ground. Hissing in rage, he slithered forward, ready to end it… but then a sudden sharp, stinging pain burst from his eyes. Something — something was flying around his head, and it had punctured his eyes! Thrashing now, he roared with pain, throwing himself at the boy in a desperate attempt to kill him and end it all—
As his fangs sunk into the boy's arm, he felt the prick of goblin-made metal pierce the back of his throat. He recognized feeling; he had felt it before. The boy had plunged the sword of Gryffindor down his throat. The boy would die from the venom coursing through his body, but he didn't care anymore. He was going to die now, as well. How ironic it was, that he would die in this manner. Even now, aeons later, he could not escape Godric. Once there had been four founders, four friends: Rowena, the Eagle; Hufflepuff, the Badger; Gryffindor, the Lion; and Slytherin, the Snake. Godric had tried to kill him, stabbing him with the same sword as the boy had had, but Salazar retreated to his Chamber. But it had all been for naught, and even now, aeons later, Salazar Slytherin would still meet death at the hands of Godric's heir.