Chapter Two - Ancestors

A cold draft penetrated into the ancient mansion as the tall figure pushed opened one of the double doors from the exterior. Snow blew in, and the cloaked torso entered quickly and closed the door right away, a large echo sounding throughout the grand hall.

It was too dark to see anything: no candles had been lit inside the entranceway, and as the stranger looked around, a shiver ran down their spine. The idea of leaving fluttered around his mind, but was pushed out when a female figure entered the room from the left.

"You must be Serge," the voice stated while stopping a few yards from the stranger. The woman was young, and dressed in a servant's ensemble. She held a candle, which flickered unsteadily, causing shadows to bounce along the walls and floor. As the stranger nodded, she beckoned to him and said, "Come. My master waits."

She lead Serge through an extravagant hall, with walls that had elegant carvings of a dialect he was not familiar with. There were also coarse pictures, which looked as if cavemen had carved. They seemed to tell a story of a man and a lion. The man had fought and beaten the king of the jungle, and had apparently eaten the carcass, thus becoming one with the powerful creature.

The servant woman stopped at a small wooden door, and motioned to it. "Here," she said coldly. "He's inside there." She opened the door, but did not lead Serge into the dark room. Serge did, however, lead himself in and jumped as the door slammed behind him.

He took a look around the poorly lit room. He could tell that a dark blood red stained the walls, and dark mahogany was the wood that made the desk, amour, chairs, and tables. A fireplace, the only source of light, was painted black, the flames within it beaming a bright yellow blaze. And right over the fireplace was a large golden lion's head, it's mouth open to display its dazzling teeth.

"Serge?" someone vocalized.

Serge turned to the left to see a man sitting in one of the many mahogany chairs. He smiled to himself and pulled the hood of his heavy cloak off. "Sir."

The man stood and walked over, his smile outdoing Serge's, and eyes twinkling from the warm firelight. "I have been waiting. I hope you arrived safely. When I heard of the storm, I began to worry abou-"

Shaking his head, Serge replied. "No, everything is fine. Wind was a little troublesome, but the more important part was getting this to you." From under his cloak, he pulled out a long stick, which was wrapped tightly in a cloth material. The man's eyes flashed and widened. He held his hands out, and Serge carefully laid the staff into the man's hands. "No troubles. I was never questioned. She's as safe as she can be."

"Wonderful..." the man whispered. He then suddenly looked up and examined the messenger carefully. "You...you didn't look at her, did you?"

Serge shook his head. "Not at all, sir. I knew you'd want her to be covered at all times."

Nodding, the man began to unwrap the cloth from the stick. As more layers were released from their tight position, a light glow seeped through, and the less layers that sat on the staff, the more it glowed. Finally, the staff was naked, its golden rod beaming and its ruby, which perched on the top of the rod, glittered vibrantly.

Serge's eyes were a blaze, and his hands lightly shook from both fear and excitement. "Ask it a question, sir! Wake her up!"

"Mighty Oracle," the man whispered to the staff, "please answer my requests."

An explosion of golden light came from the ruby. And suddenly in the room was a woman. Her ghost-like appearance was frightening, but her tranquil light face calmed the man and Serge. She was quite see-through, but the necklace which lay perfectly on her neck was not diluted: it was a ruby, just like the one on the top of the staff, proving she was the real servant of the rod.

"I am the Oracle," she proclaimed, her silky voice appearing to be miles away. "What do you wish of me?"

"Oracle, do you know who I am?" the man asked.

The woman seemed to think for a minute, then answered surely, "You are Sir Godric Gryffindor."

Smiling, Godric nodded. "Yes, you are correct."

The Oracle did not smile, nor did she show any reaction, but instead simply said: "I am always correct. What is your question?"

"Question? Oh, I don't know..." Godric laughed uneasily. "I have so many! Where do I begin? Is there anything I should know?"

The Oracle shook her head. "I cannot divulge something unless it is requested of me. What will you ask of me?"

Godric Gryffindor turned to Serge, who was looking at him with intense eyes. "Salzar!" Serge whispered urgently. "Find out about Salzar!"

Godric nodded, and turned back to the Oracle. "Oracle, I need to know about a man by the name of Salzar Slytherin. Can...do you know about him?"

The Oracle nodded. "You seem to underestimate me. Of course I know about him."

"Tell me his future."

The Oracle seemed to think for a few minutes, gathering all of her information before telling Gryffindor.

"He is full of too much hate. His wish for only pure wizards to attend the  Hogwarts school which four of you are building will not succeed. But his hatred for others who are not like him will be passed down from one Slytherin to the next. The hatred will be strong, but there will be only one which will act upon it."

Godric nodded. "Good, Oracle, you're doing wonderful. Please, tell me about that one. What will he do?"

"It is his mother who is related to Salzar Slytherin. She will marry a Muggle man, but hold no love for him. They will have a son named Tom Riddle. He will be educated at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and will become exceedingly powerful. He will become the darkest wizard of all time, and will be known as Lord Voldemort."

"Voldemort?" Serge exclaimed. "Vole de mort means 'flight of death' in French."

The Oracle seemed to look at him. "Then he is properly named. He will murder thousands of people, including descendants of yours, Sir Godric."

"What?" Godric exclaimed, fear welling in his eyes. "Who? Who will he kill?"

"James Potter. Husband to Lily Evans, father to Harry Potter."

"Who else?"

"James' wife, Lily, and his son, Harry."