Disclaimer: Everything here (besides the few things you don't know) belongs to JK Rowling, creator of the worlds of Harry Potter.

A/N: late Tuesday update again. Sorry… Well! This happens to be Chapter 28! It again shall feature angst, sorrow, and many reasons for the way things turned out. In short, prepare yourselves for a chapter with… flashbacks. Don't worry, though, except for one, all of them are original - nothing copied from previous chapters, and the one that is - well, it is lengthened and a little different.

Though this chapter contains sadness in abundance (I think), I hope you will enjoy it!

Chapter 28 – Lost Soul

"As mentioned before, the legend of the Chamber of Secrets is known throughout the population of Hogwarts. People had always known it. People had always suspected its existence. But then, if the Chamber of Secrets is indeed secret, where did the tale come from? How is it that we know it even exists - albeit the fact that many people do not believe that must be mentioned?

"Salazar Slytherin had supposedly wrought that place without the knowledge of the other Founders, but the legend had to come from somewhere…"

- Hogwarts, A History; Author unknown

Life rarely goes according to plan. The man lying on his back in the big bed knew that all too well. He had learned it the hard way. Life is a fickle, disloyal companion, going hither and thither without regard to where one might wish it to go. Life and its tricks had brought Salazar Slytherin to where he was now. Friendless, without a past or a future to speak of, dying.

The room in which he was lying was dark, the windows carefully shuttered, every crack sealed. He had told Maeve he could no longer abide the light. But that was a lie. Most of what he had told his wife in their brief time together had been lies. His wife… When he was younger he had known for a fact that his wife would be Helga Hufflepuff. How did it come to this? How did it come to him being alone, dying from an obscure disease away from his family and home, with a woman he barely knew as his wife?

How did it come to this?

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He thought London was his best chance at fading into obscurity. London had a big community of witches and wizards, and it was so far away from Hogwarts that he could take the risk and tell his true name. After all, there were no students from London as far as he knew. They probably had not heard of the school yet, and even if they did, the chances that they knew who headed it were slim. He could take the risk. And besides, even if his name would be recognized, it was none of anyone's business what he was doing all the way away from the Castle.

Yes. London was his best choice.

A fresh horse under him, Salazar rode into the muddy streets of London, prepared to start his life anew. A life separated from everything he had done in his past life. Here he would be a simple man of means, with no past to speak of, but a great future ahead. Here he could be anything he wanted - from the simplest of artisans and to the richest of businessmen. Merlin knew he had had enough experience from years of running a mostly self-sufficient school, having to do the arithmetic calculations whenever Rowena had had enough - no. He must not think of her or any of them. It would only lead to regrets, and that was the one thing he could not afford. No regrets. Never.

If he had to start from nothing again, he decided, he must erase everything of what he had known before. If he would chance upon an old comrade, he would pretend not to recognize him or her and claim to not know who they were talking about were they to confront him. Salazar Slytherin as he was would be no more. He would see to that. Enter Salazar Slytherin, a new man. A stranger in London wishing to make his future.

Goodbye, Hogwarts, he thought with finality as the magic part of London loomed ahead of him. We shall never meet again.

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When he had sent the letter to Rowena two weeks before, he had known he was running out of time. He even doubted that the letter would reach her before he died. It was about that time that he had restricted himself to bed and asked Maeve to close the shutters against the light and to keep little Alastriona away. He did not want her to watch her father dying. It would be hard enough for her to grow up with only a mother, as he himself had known all too well. No. Little Alastriona would only have memories of a vibrant, energetic father who had used to toss her in the air and catch her as she giggled excitedly. She would not remember him as this broken shell. He would not let that happen.

The letter had been a final act of a desperate man, he thought bitterly. It had been this that had driven him even more into the stupor of his disease. It had been this that had pushed him nearer to his end. He had lost all hope with each day passing and no reply from Rowena had come. He had lost the will to carry on.

Why had he sent that letter? What in Merlin's name had possessed him to do that? He did not want Rowena to come see him in this state - old, grey and frail. Bedridden. Useless. Not Rowena whose opinion he appreciated more than anything else during the years they had known each other, knowing that if she approved of something then it must be for a reason. But it was too late. The letter had been sent. Not that he really expected her to come, not really, if he thought about it. He remembered only too well the look of utter betrayal on her face as she stood by a sobbing Helga, watching him go. He doubted there was much love left in any of them for him.

He deserved nothing better.

Helga… his darling Helga whom he felt so strongly about. Their relationship had never been Godric and Rowena's passionate, possessive love. Godric and Rowena would fight and make up and then fight again and make up again, and each fight resolved would make their relationship that much stronger. Such was not his and Helga's case.

No. Their relationship had been based first on friendship and only then on physical attraction. He remembered so many nights spent in quiet discussions, snuggled together on the low divan next to Helga's fireplace. So many happy nights now rendered obsolete by her hate of him, by his mistake.

How did it come to this?

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She reminded him of Helga. Sweet Helga with her golden hair and those unique dark blue eyes. But no. The girl had shorter hair than Helga's and her eyes were plain brown. She also did not have Helga's bouncy movement or the ever-present cheerful smile. True, she had a pleasant enough smile, friendly and welcoming, but it did not make his heart leap in his chest with joy or make him smile just so that she would laugh and smile even wider.

No. That girl was definitely not another Helga. Besides, she was but a girl, yet untried by the hardships of life, and Helga was a middle-aged woman now, slightly padded with years and six childbirths. Six children that should have been his but were not.

Either way, the girl could not have gone through all the troubles that Helga did. She was but a child, perhaps still an infant in her mother's arms when they had all stood side by side, fighting for their lives and for the freedom of so many people. Would she have done like Helga did? Would she have had the courage? For some reason he simply could not see that sweet child having the same spirit as his Helga, the woman he swore never to think of again, but who had still dominated his thoughts every day.

"I see that the Irish child has caught your eye, fine sir," someone unexpectedly said to his left.

"What?" he asked, startled out of his memories.

"The girl with the flaxen hair? Family moved in from Ireland last winter. Her name's Maeve, if I'm not very much mistaken. A fine catch if there ever was one, mark my words. Looks much younger than she actually is. You have a good eye, fine sir, a very good eye. Though I must warn you that many younger men have…"

Salazar let the man go on explaining on how the girl Maeve has been twirling men of all ages around her little finger, refusing to choose any. The man could go on babbling forever for all Salazar cared. His mind stopped processing the words soon after the man started talking. It had treacherously gone back to Helga.

A fine catch… yes, Helga had been a fine catch indeed. Lowly born, but with great skills and a sense for greatness. Helga… his Helga… Helga, whose lips tasted of honey… Helga, whose embrace was so loving and tender… Helga, the wife of another man.

He resurfaced again from that flood of memories just in time to hear his ever-so-helpful neighbour say "-and she's getting old. I mean, already twenty and not wedded? A serious laxity on her father's side!"

Salazar felt like laughing. Helga had been well on her way to thirty when she had married that big oaf, Ilar, and she had been just as young-looking and attractive as she had been at eighteen, her lovely golden hair in curls strewn with fresh flowers, charmed by Rowena to last the entire day, her dark eyes twinkling with merriment, looking star-struck at the young man who would take her that night and make her his very own, never Salazar's.

Oh, Helga…

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"Salazar?" Maeve's soft voice came from the door, interrupting his voyage into the muddled memories of years past, those memories that refused to stay suppressed, no matter what he did. He had not even heard the creak of the door as it opened.

He kept his eyes closed, hoping that she would leave. He was too deep inside his memories and his bitter self-pity. He did not need to have another trembling conversation with her now of all times, when all he wanted was to remember and sink himself in the past. He began hating the sound of his own voice after it started that infernal tremble, almost the first thing to happen to indicate that the disease was catching up with him despite his and Maeve's best efforts.

If she noticed him trying to avoid her, she did not give any sign to it, but opened her mouth to speak again. "Are you feeling well enough for a visit?"

His eyes snapped open and he painfully twisted his neck around in order to face her shadowy figure standing at the dimly lit doorway, hovering, as always, in anxiety and uncertainness. He nodded once, curiosity overcoming his wish to be alone. She left after saying she will give him time to compose himself first, knowing he would want to look his best for a visit.

Who could it be? Could Rowena have come all the same, disregarding everything that had passed between the four of them? Could she have set the disagreements of the past aside and come to bid him a final farewell after all? He was not sure if he wanted it to be her or not. He was so unsightly and she would be sure to baulk away in alarm, if not disgust.

Either way, he attempted to straighten himself and appear less of an invalid, gathering his hair back and sitting up painfully against his plumped pillows, before again sinking into an attempt to answer that single question floating in his mind, now intensified by the mysterious visit. Staring at the wall just beside the closed door leading to the rest of the house he questioned himself again.

How did it come to this?

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"You're so mysterious!" Maeve exclaimed with a giggle, straddling him.

On the outside, he smiled indulgingly. Inside, he cringed. She was so young… he could have been her father - if not grandfather. Yet for some peculiar reason, Maeve seemed to approve of him - nay, practically throw herself at him every time he entered her family's inn.

"I'm not all that mysterious, love," he said, the endearment leaving his lips almost effortlessly. "Just not fond of revealing my past."

"Are you a criminal of some sort?" she asked in a low, breathy voice, leaning closer to him. "You're much too handsome to be completely innocent." She laughed at that, reducing the distance between them even further.

Resisting the urge to pull back, he shook his head. "Not a criminal, dear girl. My past is not as interesting as that. I just lost too much to wish to speak of it further. I simply wish to let it go and start anew." This was not entirely a lie, and he was very proud of how convincing he sounded even to his own ears, not to mention it convinced Maeve, who immediately adopted a comforting expression, and took his face in her hands.

"Then let me help you forget, my mysterious stranger," she whispered, her soft hands caressing his weathered cheeks. Then, not letting Salazar a chance to protest, put her lips to his and kissed him.

Maeve turned out to be a good distraction. Just what he needed, really. She was passionate and tended to take the physical trail rather than just speaking with him. Their conversations tended to be short, quickly taking a sharp turn into kissing and touching. She may have been young, but she knew her business, he had to admit.

Her parents did not seem to mind that she was developing such a close relationship with a complete stranger, much older than herself. In fact, when approached by Salazar, they said that Maeve taking interest in him relieved them immensely. Her father told him that she had never taken any serious interest in any of the young men vying for her hand in marriage, and that her actions now told him that she was ready to settle down.

It did not take long. After a short engagement period which was more for show than for anything else, Salazar found himself standing side by side with Maeve, agreeing to all conditions of a marital contract.

Before long, he was a married man, about to become a father.

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"…bothered by the light, so it'll be dark inside." Maeve's voice once more shook him out of his memories. This time, though, he was more startled and frightened than annoyed.

No! If it was Rowena, coming for the last time, then let her see what had become of him. Let her see the mighty Salazar Slytherin in all his mortal glory.

"L-light th-e r-roo-mm, Ma-a-eve," he let out in a croak, hating himself for sounding so pitiful and yet receiving a small amount of twisted pleasure from proving to Rowena that even he could make mistakes.

Someone let out a startled oath and a muttered question. Salazar started at the sound. It was not a woman's voice. Who was it that came for a visit? He had no male relatives - excepting Bran, that is, and no one aside of Rowena would know where to find him. In an instant he regretted telling Maeve to light the room.

"He's been that way for the past week. He doesn't talk much these days, I'm afraid," Maeve told whoever it was, her voice sorrowful. She then entered, and in the dim doorway he could see a bulk that could not have been one person. His curiosity was peaking, and suddenly he could not wait to see who it was. Beside him Maeve was rattling with the shutters.

Then the room was flooded with sudden early afternoon light and Salazar had to blink hard against its blinding quality, having shunted all sunlight for two weeks.

"They're coming in, Salazar, shall I stay?" Maeve asked in that same subdued voice she used ever since his illness had taken that deadly turn.

They? Then his guess was correct. "N-no. Le-leave ussss."

He had to squint in order to see who came through the half-opened door, and if he was honest with himself, it was not entirely because of the brightness of the sun. Now his eyesight was dimming as well. His time was short.

Three figures entered the room. Two feminine and one male. Salazar's breath hitched in his throat. It could not be. How could it be? They hated him. He had ruined everything just because of a stupid argument. But - there they were. Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and… Godric. Of all people, Godric Gryffindor had come to his deathbed to say farewell.

He felt tears stain his hollowed, wasted cheeks and cursed himself for that sentimental lapse. Never in his life had he responded in actual tears to the meeting of long absent friends.

How did it come to this?

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"Helga!" he cried desperately. "Helga, wait!"

The woman, though small and dainty, could walk unbelievingly fast when she wanted to. Right now she was a whole corridor away and still gathering speed. He could barely see her now.

Abandoning all semblance of respectability, he broke into a run. A moment later he caught up with her, taking hold of her arm, stopping her from going away.

"Helga, please," he managed to breathe out. Age was starting to draw an effect on him. A few years before he could have run for a long time without getting short of breath, and now... "Helga, could you stop for just a moment?"

Her face turned the other way, she did stop. Though her hair was down, hiding most of her face, he could see that wet trail that betrayed her. She was far more upset than he had imagined her to be. He knew what he had said was wrong, or possibly should have been phrased differently, but it was too late to change that. It had been said. Over and done with. What he could do, however, was to try and make it up to her.

"Helga, can we… go for a walk, calm down a little and then have that talk that we must have? Those walks were always good to us, weren't they? Let us go, walk around the lake, perhaps, or simply tour the grounds. What do you say?"

She shrugged noncommittally, but when he took her arm in his and started leading the way out, she did not resist.

They took their time. Their walk was long and leisurely, none of them saying anything. They both took comfort in the encompassing silent, and drew courage from it. Though he did not know what Helga was thinking, Salazar used that time to prepare himself to any accusations she may use. He would be calm; he would tell her how much he loved her. He would make her see that what he had said was not an insult and that she should take it in stride. She would forgive him, he knew. Helga always forgave everyone.

Finally they arrived back at the Castle, and, confident that no one would be in the corridors at that time, Salazar decided this was as good a time as any to start that imminent conversation.

"Helga," he began. "I know you were hurt by what I said back in the chamber."

"You do, do you?" she spat, resembling in that tone to Rowena more than to herself.

"Yes, I do. I didn't realize it at first, but you know how slow I am in those matters." He tried to smile, to lighten the heavy atmosphere that seemed to overpower them both. It did not work. Her eyes, no longer obscured by her hair, were flat and cold, waiting for him to continue. "I shouldn't have said it. But in the heat of the moment-"

"No, Salazar," she said coldly. "There should not have been 'in the heat of the moment'. 'In the heat of the moment' refers to something that you believe in and keep hidden while composed. I cannot believe you. I thought I knew you better than this, but apparently I didn't. What else are you keeping hidden, Salazar? What other twisted ideas and ideals?"

"I'm not hiding anything," he denied, ignoring the pang of hurt he felt at those words. "I am an open book to you. Always have been."

She shook her head, this time sadness taking over her expression. "I don't know, Salazar. Lately it's like I've never known you. It's as though you've become a different man. Do you even love me anymore?"

"Of course I do!" he cried out, outrage evident in his voice. How could she doubt the depth of his feelings? Had he not made it clear how much he cared for her, time and time again? He came here in order to explain to her just how much he loved her, and there she was, doubting the truth of his heart?

"Then say it."

"What?"

"Say it, Salazar! Tell me you love me!"

She waited.

And waited.

He could not say it. He opened his mouth time and again, but nothing came out. It was as though something was blocking his voice, stopping it from coming out and professing his love to her. No matter how he fought this invisible barrier, it would not let him say it. His face twisted this way and that, but still nothing came out. As he struggled, he could see the sadness and the anger that battled in her eyes for dominance. Finally he could not look at her anymore. He closed his mouth, and shifted the direction of his gaze to the cold floor under their feet.

"I knew it," she then whispered, the pain she felt, shared by Salazar, clearly heard in her voice. "I could see that your heart was not in it anymore. I thought it was just my imagination, but I've been fooling myself. You don't love me. Not anymore. It's so clear to me now. How could I have been so blind? Have you ever loved me at all? I seriously doubt that now."

"Helga! That's not true! I… I… I…"

"You can't even say that! You can't even say those words, cannot defend yourself, so you mean you never loved me," she said flatly, her eyes smoldering in anger. "You allowed me to delude myself for so long just because you cared for me and didn't want to hurt my feelings. Great judgment, Salazar. Absolutely wonderful."

"Helga, please, it wasn't like that!" he protested, his face pulling into a pained expression. Why could she not see how hard it was for him? Why could she not see the struggle he was going through within? She did to let him speak. She did not let him explain. His lovely, wonderful, understanding Helga, for the first time in her life, refused to listen.

"Nine years, Salazar!" she cried, her hands moving uncontrollably as she attempted to regain her composure. "You allowed me to delude myself for nine years. That's longer than Rowena and Godric had been together, and they are married and have two children! Great Merlin, Salazar! I honestly thought you were going to ask me to marry you! I've waited this long for you - I would have waited more! But this goes beyond limits. If you don't love me, then there is no point in me waiting anymore, now is there? You will never ask me to become your wife."

Marry. She wanted to marry him. That was what he was afraid of - that was exactly it. She had hit the sorest spot in his heart. But how could he explain it to her? That he was afraid. That he was terrified of committing himself to her. That this was the reason behind his distancing himself from her for all this time. He could never explain that to her. There was only one thing he could do, he decided. There was only one thing that could buy him more time.

"Helga… I really do care about you," he sighed, "but I don't love you the way you deserve. You are such a sweet, loving person, and you give me more love than I can ever give you back."

There. He had said it. He had told her the greatest lie he could ever have conceived. He had denied his strong feelings to her and let her think that he did not love her as he did. He felt his heart wrenching within his chest, but he knew it was the right thing to do. Was it not?

"Don't give me that nonsense, Salazar Slytherin!" she then screamed, finally losing whatever control she still held over her emotions. Her face was red and her eyes flashed dangerously as she advanced on him. "You should have said so a long time ago instead of allowing me to weave fantasies of our future life together! Why, Salazar? Why did you do this to me? You say you care, but really, you don't!"

He could hear the unsaid words. He could hear her mentally adding 'you care only for yourself!' And it was true. Only a selfish man such as himself would tell the love of his life that he did not love her. He watched her, knowing that he was about to lose her. He had to do something. He had to still retain a chance that she would return to him when she realizes how deeply he really loved her. And she will realize it, he assured himself. She was a smart woman.

"Helga - please!" he finally said with exactly the right amount of meekness in his voice, or so he thought. "I gave this a long deliberation before I said it. Please… I just… I just think it would be better off if we remain friends and nothing more. It would be for the best."

"Very well," she said coldly, and he did not like the look in her face as she said it. "We shall remain friends. Thank you, Salazar, for breaking my heart now, before I would have approached you about marriage."

And then he was left there, alone, suddenly feeling dread of what her cold, detached tone may mean. Did he do the right thing after all?

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She did not return. She never did. Salazar could now, on his deathbed, pinpoint that very instant when he had let her go, lost her beyond retrieval. Godric and Rowena have been right. He had been such a fool.

The first to rush to his bedside was Helga. It had surprised him, to be truthful, but it made him smile. It was as though that conversation had never happened. As though they had never been apart.

"Salazar!" she cried, her sweet voice unchanged even after three years of separation. She was on her knees by his bed, and her hands were clasping his frail, wasted ones, tears openly falling down her face. She had always been the most emotional of the three of them.

"How are you feeling?" a gruff voice asked, and he looked up to see Godric standing by Helga, a guarded look in his eyes, not quite meeting Salazar's gaze. His oldest of friends had not changed much. Age did not mark him, just made him even more confident and proud than ever. And yet… and yet he had come to see him. He had matured.

"Not ve-very well," he admitted, his voice shaking only a little.

There was a long pause after that. No one knew what to say. Though she had said nothing, Salazar could see Rowena's form standing by the door, keeping her distance. He realized that she was giving them all the chance to make up before the end. He was truly touched by that gesture, and, in a flash of determination, decided not to let that chance go to waste.

"I… am sssso glad that… you have decided to come here," he said, his voice becoming steadier and stronger with each word. "I d-didn't know ifff even Rowena would come, but you have surprised me greatly. I missed you."

"Salazar…" Helga muttered, tightening her hold on his hands, her voice shaking. "You can't go, Salazar."

"It is not my choice to make, my lovely Helga," he said, for the first time in a week not stuttering or drawing out words. "Death comes to us all. I have… learned to live with that knowledge. I know the time I have left is short, and so I am glad I've been given the chance to make things right."

"We will take you back to Hogwarts, Salazar," Godric said hurriedly. "We will take you back. All you need is a change of scenery. You need to come back home to your family and to all those who love you and call you friend. You would be fine again."

"Godric," Salazar laughed, but then had to stop when laughter turned into a hacking cough. "God-dric," he repeated, short for breath. "You can't cheat death of what is due to it. It is my time."

"No," Helga said, shaking her head stubbornly. "Godric is right. Once you will be home again you will feel much better. We will bring you, and Maeve, and little Alastriona with us, and you will have quarters in the Castle, or a house in the village, and you will live to see your daughter married and you will bounce grandchildren on your knees and…" her voice choked with tears as he shook his head gently.

He looked over the heads of Godric and Helga, meeting Rowena's steady gaze. He could see unshed tears glistening in her eyes, and knew that she would not lose control. She always was the strong one, and even after he would die she would remain strong for Godric and Helga. She knew the truth of his words, even if she said nothing about it.

"You're not going to live, are you?" Helga finally said with a defeated tone to her voice.

"No, love," he whispered. "This is the end for me. Godric? Could you… go and bring me a cup of water?"

Nodding, Godric turned his back on the bed and left the room. After he did, Rowena smiled a small, sad smile, and without a word, followed her husband. Salazar knew she would understand. She would keep Godric away, allowing him a few moments alone with Helga.

Once alone, he stared up at the ceiling. Not looking at the teary woman he knew was by his side, he asked "Do you remember that conversation we had? Oh, about fourteen, fifteen years ago?"

"We had a lot of conversations in our time, Salazar," she said softly.

"Yes, we did, didn't we? But this specific conversation I am talking about was very influential - on us. Do you recall this conversation I am speaking of?" Only then did he turn his head to face her.

She looked very distraught. "That many years ago, you say?" she asked gently. "Yes. I remember it only too well, Salazar. It was that conversation that made me realize that we had no future together. You broke my heart then, Salazar. Did you know that?"

He reached out with his hand to cup her cheek, still smooth and full. "I did. I could see it in your eyes when I said that I could never love you enough. If it's any consolation, I've regretted it many times in the years that had passed."

"It does nothing to console me," she said, pulling away from him. "You ruined everything, Salazar. Everything."

They were both quiet for a while, as he pondered what to say, if it was right to say it, and what would be her response to what was on his mind.

"I lied."

"What?" she looked up in confusion, incomprehension in her eyes.

"That day?" he said in a heavy voice. "I lied, Helga. I couldn't say it to you then, not because it was a lie, but because I was afraid. I was afraid to enter something that would be so comprehensive, so influential on my entire life… I was afraid of marriage, Helga, and that was why I couldn't say it. It was a lie. Everything I said. From the very start. I loved you very much, Helga. Still do. I will love you with all my heart even in the little time I have left, even knowing that you don't return the feeling anymore."

"Salazar, I-"

She never got to finish what she was about to say. It seemed that Godric was tired of waiting and that Rowena could no longer keep him away. He entered, with his irate wife in tow, holding a cup filled with water.

"Thank you, old friend," Salazar said, trying to hide his annoyance. Whatever Helga was about to say, he realized it would be very important, but now she would never say it. Resigning himself to that thought, he motioned to Rowena to come forward. There were no more tears in her eyes. Once again she had tight control over her emotions. She even had a small smile on her lips, seeing the slightly confused expression on Helga's face, possibly deducing what had transpired between the two while she was gone.

"Thank you," he simply said, and the soft smile she gave him told him that it was all she needed to hear. The others did not seem to understand this, but she did, and that was all that mattered.

Still smiling, as though she was not by the deathbed of one of her oldest friends, she kneeled beside Helga and took one of his hands in hers. "You know I would have done everything for you, dear friend. I will miss you." Then she rose again, kissed his cheek gently and stood by her husband. He could barely make out their features now.

Then Godric's face came closer, becoming clearer, then less clear again. And as Godric's hand replaced Rowena, holding his, with a sudden panic, Salazar realized that he could not hold out for much longer. Those past moments with Helga and before had required more energy and strength than he was willing to admit. He had started that day knowing that it would be the last one he would spend in this life, but the arrival of his old friends had managed to erase that knowledge from his mind. Now it was returning, and he could already feel himself slipping away.

With growing terror he remembered the most important thing of all, the reason for which he had really asked Rowena to come and see him. The secret had to be told, the thing had to be contained. How could he have created such a monster? How could he had done such a thing? They had to know. They had to know.

He had to warn them. They could not let that monster get loose. Something would have to be done to rectify his mistake. Something had to be done, or so many innocent lives would be lost. He could not allow that. He simply could not.

Gathering his last strengths before he would slip away, he tightened his grip on Godric's hand and pulled him so near that his ear was almost against Salazar's mouth.

"God..ric… Made a mistake… Chamber… bellow Castle… danger… made mistake… monster… danger to… Mug… mistake… bas… please forgive… mons… big… ba…" desperately he tried to convey whole words, but his throat failed him, and so did his eyes. Darkness flooded his death chamber.

The last thing Salazar Slytherin had ever seen was the compassionate, loving faces of his three, lifelong friends.

And the very last thing he ever heard with mortal ears, though he may have imagined it, was Helga's voice saying "I love you…"

Death took him.

This is it for this week! Just two more chapters plus the Epilogue to go! Well, as usual, tell me what you think! I love hearing your opinions of this story!

See you next Tuesday!

Hugs and kisses to all!

-Star of the North