Chapter 4- Follow Me into The Darkness

…..

I look and stare so deep in your eyes

I touch on you more and more every time

When you leave I'm begging you not to go

Call your name two, three times in a row

…..

When the post came, he realized he should've known something was wrong from the smug, gleeful look on precious Saeviour Potter's face. As the owls swooped down, dropping like stones to their masters in order to relieve themselves of the packages containing forgotten items or the mandatory 'missing you' letters, cold mocking eyes watched the rest of the hall spitefully as they received their wholly undeserved mail. Harry's eyes did not see the scarlet red envelope until it was right before him.

Spindly pale fingers delicately detached the letter from the stubby leg of a Potter owl, which hurriedly flew off soon after. Interest sparking his movements, he tore through the wax seal and waited patiently for the shouting to begin.

"SLYTHERIN!" his father's voice roared, echoing through the suddenly silent hall. "NO POTTER HAS EVER BEEN IN THAT HOUSE OF DARK LORD CONCUBINES! ALTHOUGH I'D SUPPOSED YOU'D KNOW ALL ABOUT BEING ONE, WOULDN'T YOU, YOU DISGUSTING FILTH! TAINTING OUR REPUTATION IN COURT WASN'T ENOUGH FOR YOU, WAS IT?! YOU HAD TO JOIN THE SNAKES! I SHOULDN'T BE SURPRISED." The shouting dropped to a sneer, "After all, the Dark's whores attract other whores. Congratulations boy, I hope you enjoy what little time you have left."

The school stated in shock. The Gryffindors were a mix of smug, nervous, stunned, amused; the Hufflepuffs wholly shaken; Ravenclaws disgusted at the choice of language and the Slytherins were furious. This hadn't just been a howler designed to insult Harry, it had insulted all of them. The teachers were shocked, but a few were tense and looking at the mini psychopath, waiting for his reaction.

Harry laughed. It wasn't short or sarcastic. It wasn't bitter or hurt. It was a cackle; an eruption of bordering hysterical giggles. The dark haired doll was bent, doubled over as true insanity revealed itself to the school.

And the school looked on stunned.

It took a while, but Harry reined in his mirth; a Cheshire grin on his face, not that anyone worth knowing to him would be able to place such a label on it. His eyes found his twin's, whose own suddenly weren't so smug anymore. Not tearing away from the gaze, Saeviour sat frozen as Harry climbed over the tables with a confident, maddening walk and a gleam in his eyes that made him want to cower.

He crouched down atop the Gryffindor table and leaned forward, his mouth beside the glasses' hooked ear.

"Tell dearest Daddy he should be more worried about the amount of time he has left."

The whisper wasn't quiet. It was a stage whisper. One that carried out throughout the hall; the threat, the silent promise.

Smiling Harry stood up, his gaze travelling slowly over the other occupants of the Great Hall. He knew he had quite possibly jeopardised himself but it had all been made very clear to him that they expected nothing less than a mass murderer trapped in the body of a malnourished child. He never took kindly to being threatened, particularly by the very man he wanted nothing more than to see screaming, begging at his feet… He could make an exception to the guard he placed between his true insanity and the faux insanity. Just. This. Once.

Behind him, the Slytherins stood up as one, so very cold and collected. Watching carefully, Harry observed as they walked calmly but with so much purpose out of the Great Hall. The corner of his mouth twitched; snakes really were loyal to their own.

He turned and his eyes locked onto the Headmaster. He tipped a fake hat, before strolling out after them, a delicious bubble of excitement flowing inside of him for the first time since he had left Azkaban. Oh yes.

The.

Game.

Was.

On.

.

The classes were boring and the teachers were droll so he was restless and impatient most of the week. Everything they tried to teach he could do wandlessly, eyes closed and in the process of having his soul sucked out by the ever caring guards of Azkaban. Messing with the students around him was fun, it amused him for a time, but the teachers, always so fearful, abducted points. He did not care for house points, but he did care for his own skin and did not wish to anger his housemates so that they would see beyond reason. No matter how much he lusted for a little blood-letting to ease his stabbing indignation.

Professor Quirrel was interesting, in some small form however. Not only did he appear to cause Saeviour pain every time he turned round, but something Dark was pulling him nearer. It lingered, traces of it all around Quirrel and beckoned for him to come closer; cold and enticing. Alluring. The stutter was fake, Harry knew, so the question, the only question, was Who was Professor Quirrel…or rather, who did he have along for the ride?

Stealing into the restricted section had been easier than he had hoped, taking the books a little harder but nothing a bit of wand waving could solve. He had a small collection running now; enough to be reading for the moment anyway. He should be free of the Trace by Samhain if all went to plan.

Figuring out the Sorting Hat's petty riddle had been trying, however. A nice challenge really, considering the disappointment of everything else. From what he had gathered, Salazar Slytherin's ghost or portrait dwelled in the dungeons; he just had to find the long dead man. Once Slytherin was found, and persuaded to let slip that little bit of information he was most anxious to have, he could go into the chamber.

He planned to go in search for Salazar Slytherin that afternoon. But first he had to deal with Potions and the professor that came with it.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making." The professor spoke in barely whisper but they all heard him, many too scared to do anything else and others too enthralled by the eerie, dangerous melodic way in which he spoke. He did not believe he had ever heard a more perfect way of speaking. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't really expect you to understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads that I usually have to teach."

The end of the glorious speech finished with a scowling snap, startling many of the kitty cat Gryffindors. Harry barely glanced at them; his eyes firmly fixed on the very possible traitor to the Dark but seeing him now, looking at him now, hearing him now Harry could very easily guess where the man's allegiances lay. The Dark would always win him over. Once ensnared by its beauty there was no going back especially by a man whose passion is with his talents and the same man had created spells of only the most dangerous and illegal kind…

"Potter!" Snape said suddenly, before sneering, "The celebrity that is." The class's attention drifted to the arrogant toe-rag that sat surrounded by his lackeys. "What would I get if I added shredded edelweiss to a bare hot cauldron?"

The mudblood's hand shot into the air, whilst Saeviour looked truly stumped at being called upon before his face twisted into an ugly, arrogant expression.

"I don't know Snivellus," he sneered. "You tell me."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," the potions master snapped. "Try again, what are the effects of purified lavender in most potions?"

The mudblood's hand was in the air again and Saeviour was back to simply not knowing.

"Pick on someone your own size Death Eater," he bit out.

"Thirty points from Gryffindor," the dungeon's bat snarled. The Slytherins all secretly shared their gloating smiles, eyes openly mocking the lions. "Again, what would happen if cypress was eaten raw?"

The Mudblood faltered for a moment before her hand was again begging for the attention of a teacher, the only teacher, that would not give it to her.

"I don't know sir," Saeviour snarled, "Hermione does, why don't you ask her?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said softly, turning away the Gryffindors he muttered, "Let's see if the other Potter can do better." He raised an eyebrow at him expectantly.

Harry answered, understanding perfectly. "If you added shredded edelweiss to a bare cauldron you would have a minor explosion to a fatal explosion depending on your precautions, the amount added and the heat of the flame," his voice alone sent shivers down other's backs. "Purified lavender causes a drowsy or sleep effect in most potions, hence why it is a key ingredient in Draught of the Living Death. And finally, raw cypress when eaten can cause slow poisoning, the final effect being inexplicable death."

"Fifteen points to Slytherin," Snape called, before whirling on the rest of the class. "Well? Why aren't you writing this down?"

Penning it down in elegant script, Harry mused on the confirmation. An old Death Eater code that was used by the more public of figureheads…one his fellow inmates had been sure to teach him. Subtly, effectively, Snape had passed on the truth of his allegiances to everyone who cared to listen. Or perhaps more specifically, him.

Taken together it spelt out clearly; 'My allegiances and devotion are towards the Death Eaters.'

Dumbledore's favorite pet wasn't so loyal after all.

.

The room was silent. The dust that clung to the ancient stones and abandoned desks was still. Midday glow shone through the windows, illuminating what it could in attempt to beat the shadows that were drawn out from the stacked furniture. In the centre of the abandoned classroom was the raven haired boy, with his hating eyes closed shut. He was cross legged, hardly breathing, back relaxed but rod straight and his wrists handing loosely off his knees; fingers twitching every now and then as he searched.

His mindscape was designed to be the one place he could actually remember well enough to know. At age eight, when he had first begun to build, Potter Manor was a distant dream despite the self-acquired eidetic memory. To him it was the house of ruined childhood, neglect and the petty jealousy he once had. Azkaban was where he found others and where he learned the Dark. Add in the Dementors, and it was not a mindscape many would enjoy entering.

There were other barriers, of course. The best and most intricate his mind could concoct and once you finally, exhaustingly got past those you would be met with the onslaught of the aftermath a Dementor would bring to your soul, to your already fragile sanity. He had designed his mindscape to be a hell to all, even occasionally himself.

There was one simple reason he was in it. He'd let go and allowed it to become disordered and chaotic in a brief lapse. This was not something he could allow. He needed straight thought, cold logic and the numbing lack of feeling that came with sprinkling of shallow emotions. The few he really could possess were not ones that many enjoyed. He could hate with a passion. Obsess as though his life was on the line. And possess with a determination one rarely saw. Boredom was something he refused to admit, always scrambling to get his high, his thrill away from it. Love he wasn't acquainted with. Sadness was something that plagued his life and eventually just became as easy and unnoticeable as breathing.

He twitched, Rodolphus Lestrange suddenly looming before him, a wry, amused grin on his face.

"No, no, Bella, not a psychopath," he had waved off his wife's comment about what Harry was growing to be. "Try a sociopath."

He pushed the memory away, tucking it into the endless, never-ending cells he claimed as libraries for such things. If he wanted to be done and still have time to search for Lord Slytherin, he had to focus.

He swept through the narrow, chilling corridors, fixing the bent bars, the fallen links of the disused chains, putting back the occasional Auror's fallen trinkets. Ensuring the scorch marks from private duels were in the correct cells, and on the right walls. That the Dementors that swirled around, dipping and pulling at the building; strict schedules to when they ventured inside.

All for a simple purpose.

He could not allow what had happened the Monday morning to happen again. His closely guarded insanity; he knew very well he had it, all who entered Azkaban had it; had burst through due to the ill-thought, drunken, furious words of a father who hadn't loved him for nine years. He'd shown his cards to early in the game, and it was vital he kept the few little he had left, close to his chest.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes fluttering open.

"What were you doing?"

His body whirled out of years of honed instinct and within minutes he had his wand pointing at the doorframe, where a certain, suddenly stricken, blonde stood. Narrowing his eyes, Harry relaxed and rolled up his sleeves whilst instantaneously pocketing his wand.

"Whatever you believe I was doing Draco, will be the story I go with," he drawled easily. "Unless of course it is unfavourable, in which case I shall deny it vehemently."

"You entered your mindscape," Draco said. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "My godfather had only barely begun to help me build mine, refusing to have done it earlier by claiming it could be dangerous for my sanity if tried younger. How come, you Harry, have one already?"

"My sanity was already questionable," he answered. "And I had secrets that needed to be kept." He paused. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

Emerald orbs narrowed, scrutinizing the Malfoy Heir before them, and then finally he realized. "You wish to know if Ella has one."

Only the palest of blushes tainted Draco's skin, but the boy held resilience and gave a stiff nod. "You caught me."

Harry donned his robe with careless grace, beginning to stride towards the door. "Of course she does. You don't believe her parents would teach me, but not their daughter, do you? Have a little sense Draco, incompetence doesn't suit you."

The ex-prisoner slipped past nimbly, leaving the older boy behind him.

The corridors of Hogwarts were lit by the autumn sun, so instead of walking them, he avoided them- taking as many shadowed passages as he could down to the dungeons. He had, of course, discovered what he believed to be fifty percent of Hogwarts's secret passages before Wednesday, knowing that should a quick getaway be needed that they would provide them. Memorizing Hogwarts would be advantageous in that respect.

A person could immediately tell when they entered the dungeons. The walls immediately became darker, cooler, damper. The air froze as though it had suddenly been dipped in liquid nitrogen. Sounds echoed but were swallowed in the darkness. Fiery torches turned emerald and were few and far between. Windows ceased to exist. And of course, to all those who were not in Slytherin, you found yourself in a maze you could not navigate. It was, according to rumor, Salazar Slytherin's doing that the lower levels were like this. When someone could not find you, neither could they find the body you wished to hide.

He had explored 75% of the dungeons simply by a mix of getting lost and learning the routes to his common room and classrooms, knowing each corridor like the back of his hand- something he was rather attached to- and as long as he had not missed anything, meant that Salazar was located in the unchartered 25%. And he was rather eager to find him.

The sun had most likely set by the time Harry came across what he thought to be a clue into finding the portrait. It was barely noticeable and if his suspicions were correct, no use to anyone but a Parselmouth. That was, truthfully, what led him to originally believe it to be a way to the fourth founder. Fingering the engraving of the basilisk lightly, he took a step back, preparing himself for any surprises, favorable or otherwise, to be thrown his way.

*Open, * he hissed.

*Give me reason why hatchling and I might just, * the engraving replied, the markings writhing as it slithered round to see him better.

*I wish to speak with Salazar Slytherin and reason has led me to believe that you guard a doorway to him. *

*Why would Lord Slytherin agree to speak with you? *

*That is for me to know and him to find out, mighty serpent. *

The engraving gave what Harry imagined to be a laugh. It came out as a mix of spitting and hisses, as the carved scales shook. *The master shall speak with you, silver-tongued human. *

*Thank you. *

An area of the wall shifted back with a sprinkling of dust. He reached out a hand and pushed firmly, not to his surprise, the doorway swung in to reveal a long tunnel with only darkness in sight. Slipping out his wand, he flicked it- a silvery light bursting out of the end. Summoning his need to speak with Lord Slytherin, he delved into the passage, hardly flinching as the doorway closed shut behind him. He had been patient for far too long than to back out now.

The walk was of an incalculable time. It could've been a matter of minutes or a series of hours for all he knew, but none of it mattered now. Perhaps when he returned to the surface to meet with angry teachers that were forced to fake caring about whether he was safe or not. It was far more likely they were worrying about whether or not they were safe from him. Funny how being declared innocent made no difference to the minds of the majority. He was still a murderer; a dangerous one at that.

When it finally did end, he came into a sparingly furnished room that was lit only by the silver flames within the black marble fireplace. The floor was of dark wood and the walls a forest green; two plush leather armchairs sat at an angle to each other, mirroring the deep black of the marble. There was no portrait to be seen. Instead, sitting in one of the chairs, appeared to be a very much alive Salazar Slytherin.

He had dark chocolate hair that was cut to a short length and styled into an almost quiff atop of his head. His skin was pale and his eyes were of an olive color; the facial structure was of high cheekbones and a strong, aristocratic jaw. Long nimble fingers rested upon the arms of the chair in which he sat, and his lithe bodied was adorned in a shadowed turquoise robe. None of the stories did the beauty nor power of this man justice. Despite himself, he was a little awed at the mere presence of this man.

"Do sit, I am quite eager to discover just what you wish to speak to me about," Salazar called to him.

He stepped forward and sat, making barely a noise; his eyes on Slytherin at all times. He knew the man should be dead, and was dead, considering the idea of Horcruxes had not been made until a century after his death and The Philosopher's Stone until much later. So it was only relative that he was a phantom, rather than a ghost. They appeared alive, much like a poltergeist did, though they were not and held much different aspects of power. It was intriguing to say the least, but he would not allow the distraction to divert him from his purpose.

Olive eyes turned on him. "Well, what is it you wanted to ask me?"

The corner of Harry's mouth quirked. "I wish to know where I can find the Chamber of Secrets."

More chapters, I think I'm almost done with the pre-made chapters.