Disclaimer: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work. I own nothing except Salazar's wife, son, and various other original characters. This story is an AU of sixth year, but it will contain a few spoilers from Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows. However, it will still seriously diverge from canon. Also, there are several references to an idea from The Mediator Series by Meg Cabot.


"blah": dialogue

'blah': thoughts

"blah" : Parseltongue

"blah": Legilimency/Telepathy

Italics: excerpt from a book /newspaper or any other written form

Bold: a word or phrase that is emphasized

Italics, Underlined, and Bold: location/date of a scene in the story


Chapter Thirteen: Sister of the Raven

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Faculty Library: Early Winter, 962 A.D.

"Siobhan, whatever is the matter?" Rowena Ravenclaw questioned as she entered the library, noting the numerous books strewn about various tables. Her astute gaze settled on the blonde and the dreary, lost look on her face. She next noticed a sleeping student lay on one of the tables. He appeared as though he had been crying.

"Do you know what day it is?" Siobhan asked, her haunted and jaded eyes focusing on the redhead.

"Of course, it is the--"

Rowena's sentence died off as she realized the cause of sorrow for both her friend and her student. How could she have forgotten? How could she have possibly forgotten this day of all days?

"And the tenth is never a good day." The other woman trembled and looked as though she would burst into tears at any moment.

Rowena shook her head, her hand going to her mouth. "No, it is not." She walked over to her friend and embraced her.

The tenth was always a horrible day. It was the day Siobhan's family had been massacred.

With the exception of one other person, Siobhan was the very last of her clan, a very interesting and odd clan. One made of both magical people and those who would be traditionally considered Muggles. Yet, all of them had possessed rare magical gifts, every last one of them from the smallest child to the wisest elder. They could commune with the dead. And not only that, but they could pass into the realm of death itself. Further, they possessed the ability to physically interact with ghosts, for they could actually touch a spirit if they so desired. And unlike Necromancy, these gifts were inherent abilities, ones that required no study and only a bit of training to use.

Both the magical and Muggles alike shared these abilities, though the Muggle-like members of the clan could not perform any other feats of magic. Regardless, the Muggles had not resented their brethren for their other abilities since many of the non-magical members were actually having completely magical children. Such was the case with Siobhan herself, a Muggleborn and the first remembered witch in her direct family line. In fact, there were so many magically gifted children being born to the Muggles of the group that within a few generations, the entire clan would have been composed completely of witches and wizards.

Yet, in the end, even their rare abilities could not save them. They could pass back and forth into death but could not escape death itself. Not when their physical bodies were destroyed. They were mortal, just like everyone else.

Siobhan had been nine when it had happened, just nine. She had been in the woods just outside the village, gathering the rare magical herbs that only appeared in late fall and early winter. These were the very same herbs that were to go into a potion she wished to make for her sister, who had taken ill the previous day. She had searched for hours, fighting the cold and finally finding what she needed. Afterwards, she had returned to her village, only to find it in ruins.

Only one other had survived the carnage, a small boy who was barely even a toddler. He had been hidden away, undoubtedly by his parents, when his family's murderers came. Now, the self-same toddler was fifteen, almost but not quite a man. He was still very much a child, just a pupil in a magical school. In fact, Kieran was a student at Hogwarts, and he was asleep on the far table in the library.

Undoubtedly, the massacre was the work of evil wizards and witches unknown, perhaps the very same ones who had murdered Salazar's parents and later his older brother, Solaris. However, there was no real way of ever knowing because, even though Siobhan could speak with the dead, she couldn't speak with her clan-mates. Magic blocked her path to them. Magic of the most foul, loathsome, and yet powerful kind. Even now, years later, her path was still barred. Still, she had never stopped trying to reach them.

It had happen over a decade ago, but the slaughter of Siobhan's entire clan stayed with her to this day. There were just some things a person never truly got over.

"He cried himself to sleep," the blonde whispered, interrupting Rowena's thoughts. She indicated Kieran, who was sleeping on the far table. "He always has nightmares right before the anniversary. I'm rather surprised he is being so quiet."

Rowena gazed at her friend in silent understanding. "Oh," she stated suddenly, remembering why she had wandered into the library in the first place. "I received a letter from Fiona just now. She said that she will be here in three days," the woman said, hoping to distract her companion.

Siobhan's eyebrows rose. "Really? She's coming this early to help with the twins? Or is it because of Amia? Do you think that Fiona will be able to heal her?" she asked with ill hidden hope.

"Yes," the redhead replied simply. "My sister possesses a unique healing ability. Among other things."

The younger woman looked relieved.

After a minute, she questioned, "You mean her gift of Sight?"

Rowena nodded. "It's just so odd, you know. The healing I can understand, for my grandmother was much the same way. But there hasn't been a Seer in my family for centuries." She shrugged elegantly. "I just do not see where she got it from."

"Probably the same place Sal got his gift of Empathy. The Great Maker. Perhaps the universe at large," Siobhan answered truthfully. "But who can ever really know?"

"Well, not us," the older woman said sarcastically, her blue eyes flashing for an instant.

The blonde again raised her eyebrows, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "True." The smile lingered, but faded into something more wistful as her eyes once more shifted to Kieran. "As much as I don't want to, I think that we should wake him. He has already missed both breakfast and lunch, and I do not think that he should miss dinner as well. His friends are already worried enough as it is. They know that he is still grieving, even after all this time."

Siobhan felt a hand on her shoulder. "So are you," Rowena whispered in her ear and wrapped her arms tightly around her friend. She held on for a moment before releasing. "But then, you have the right to continue grieving. I still grieve over the death of my mother, and she went peacefully in her sleep." Her gaze lingered on Siobhan, intently searching. "I can only imagine what you are going through, but please know that I am always here for you. All of us are here for you."

The other nodded shakily. Rowena looked at her for a moment before walking very slowly over to the still sleeping Kieran.

"Wake up, young one," she whispered, gently shaking his shoulder. When he refused to wake, and the professor nudged him harder and spoke louder. "Come now, my little Lovegood," she murmured with a peculiar tone. "It is time to wake up. I suspect that your friends will most assuredly miss you at dinner."

A par of eyes opened and looked up at Rowena, surprising her and causing her to inhale softly. He had such beautiful eyes, crystalline just like his cousin's. It was the mark of their clan, though his were a deep brown where the eyes of both Siobhan and Tristan were a very light blue.

Kieran focused on his teacher, and a sleepy smile tugged at his lips. He covered his mouth just as he let loose a yawn. Then, he sat up, swaying. The teenager slid off of the table and rather shyly kissed both professors on the cheek before heading to the Great Hall for dinner.

Rowena stared after her student for several minutes. "He is such a sweet child," she finally spoke, turning to her friend.

The blonde inclined her head. "Aye, that he is, and he is so much like his mother, my aunt." She seemed wistful for a moment, but she shook her head fiercely to dispel her thoughts. "Well, I guess I had better be off and wake up Salazar," she added after a moment.

"Wake up Salazar?"

The younger woman actually smiled. "Oh, yes. Tristan was crying all night, and Sal was up with him the entire time. He stayed awake so that I could get some sleep. He figured that tonight I wouldn't as it is the anniversary," she put in sadly but quickly snapped out of it. Siobhan added with forced humor, "They stayed up all night. As you can imagine, both are quite tired."

The redhead looked pained by the statement, and she placed a hand on her rounded belly. "I guess that means I should become accustomed to sleepless nights?"

Lady Slytherin laughed and stood. "Probably. But I wouldn't worry too much. Between Quinn, Helga, and your sister, you'll have plenty of people to watch over your younglings as well." She moved towards the exit, Rowena following in her wake. "You might just have the opportunity to sleep the night through." She actually smirked then, the gesture much more fitting than her earlier sadness.

Rowena mock-snorted. "I'd say that between Helga, Quinn, Sal, and you that I'll have plenty of help. My sister will just be an added bonus."


Hogsmeade Wizarding Village, Home of Amia Hawthorne: Several Days Later

Fiona Ravenclaw was an interesting woman, for she was a person filled with contradictions. First, she both did and did not resemble her sister, Rowena. They both possessed bright red-gold hair and blue eyes. But where Rowena was tall with an angular face and body, Fiona was petite and rounded.

Second, she insisted on wearing some of the most ludicrous and mismatched colors in existence, believing that they went together perfectly. And she refused to wear anything that did not clash, color-wise at least. However, Fiona was completely colorblind and wouldn't have known if anything matched or clashed regardless.

Third, she absolutely loved to sing and did so all the time, but she possessed a singing voice which could and did make Banshees shriek for mercy. Fourth, she was a gifted Seer. Yet, somehow, she still professed the belief that there was no such thing as prophecy or Fate. That people made their own destinies.

Finally, Fiona Ravenclaw was one of the best and brightest Healers in Europe, being able to cure just about anything from twitchy ears to near fatal wounds. At the same time, the older Ravenclaw also possessed one of the worst bedside manners in history. For she was witty, blunt, and sarcastic. But deep down, she was rather caring and if not so gentle.

Presently, the interesting and odd Fiona Ravenclaw was attempting to save the life of Amia Hawthorne, mother of Edmund and adopted mother of Siobhan.

The Healer sat down warily, studying the now peacefully sleeping Amia Hawthorne and wiping her hands with a cloth. "We'll just have to wait and see, but the prognosis looks good," she whispered to Siobhan, who was looking on from beside the bed.

Along the far wall, both Edmund and Helga breathed a heavy sigh of relief and turned to talk to one another.

"But remember," Fiona added after a moment, "this is only the first treatment. There are still several more."

Lady Slytherin nodded. "Of course." Her eyes studied the sleeping figure before her. "But she looks so much better, even minutes after her first treatment." She gently ran her fingers across Amia's cheek, noting the return of color to them. "I am so glad that Rowena asked you to come, Fiona," she murmured.

"So am I. She was correct to bring me here," the older Ravenclaw said bluntly. "I don't think that anyone else could have helped. It was very smart of her, but then Rowena was always a smart one." She sat in silence for a moment, tapping her chin with her forefinger in a gesture very familiar. "She even convinced her husband to move here when they married," Fiona stated smugly, bending to check Amia's pulse.

Siobhan, who had been focusing on her mother, seemed confused at the comment. "But I had thought that he wished to live here anyway. Don't some of his distant kin live in Glasgow?"

"I suppose. It is not as though I know for certain. I'm not the one married to him." Fiona rolled her eyes before she continued her earlier line of thought. "Still, Quinn is a very stubborn man, and he was quite unwilling to move away from Wiltshire. I thought for a time that they would have to settle somewhere between, but Rowena is wily and can be very persuasive when she wants to be."

The blonde seemed quite interested in the discussion. "Well, how did she do it then? They had already been married for some time before I met them, so I missed out on the story."

"Well, that's the thing," the Healer inserted dramatically. "I don't know; she won't tell any of us. We are still trying to figure it out."

Siobhan looked at her incredulously before shaking her head and letting the subject drop. Perhaps it would be better if she didn't know, after all. Wordlessly, she turned back to Amia, once more fingering the woman's limp hair. She bent down and brushed her lips to her mother's forehead in a familiar gesture, silently praying for a miracle. She prayed to the Maker to save the one who she had come to view as a second mother after the loss of her own.

After the death of their clan, Amia had taken in both Kieran and Siobhan out of the goodness of her heart. The two orphans had been brought to Hogsmeade after they had been found in the wreckage of their home by warlocks, who had regularly traded with their clan. The men, two unmarried brothers, hadn't quite known what to do with the children so had brought them back to their home and to the town Elders. In turn, the Elders had unanimously decided to foster the two in the village but were undecided on who was to care for them. That was until the Widow Hawthorne had volunteered for the task.

Amia, whose youngest son Edmund had recently married and moved out, had been lonely. Especially since her husband had died almost a decade before. She had taken a single look at the two orphans during the town meeting and had instantly opened both her home and her heart to them. She had quickly come to love the two as she did her own offspring and treated them as such. Her children had also swiftly come to see Kieran and Siobhan as family. Amia's three sons and their wives had often been guests during their childhood and had spoiled them rotten with gifts and stories of their infamous exploits about the village.

And it had been on one of those trips home that Edmund and Helga brought with them their close friend and associate, Salazar Slytherin.

The rest, as they say, was history.

Within months, Siobhan and Salazar had been married. The couple had spent their first year and half of marriage finishing the castle and the next three educating minds within its walls. Somehow during that span, they had found time to do what both had always wanted. Start a family.

However, none of it would have been possible without Amia Hawthorne. She had first taken in Siobhan when she had nowhere else to go and had given the girl a home. Next, Amia had loved her as her own and saw to it that her real children did the same. Finally, the Widow Hawthorne had actually encouraged Siobhan to follow her heart and marry at the age of seventeen, contrary to the contemporary wizarding view that couples should wait until they were older to wed, at least in their early to mid twenties. No need to behave like uncivilized Muggles, after all.

And now, the very same woman, the wonderful and caring person with a beautiful heart and a glorious soul, was dying. Regardless, there was hope now. Hope for healing because Fiona was there. Hope was what Siobhan desperately needed. She couldn't lose her mother, not a second time.

Beside her, Siobhan heard a faint cough. Blue eyes instantly snapped to Fiona, the Healer returning her gaze intently.

"What? It wasn't me," the older Ravenclaw said frankly, she jerked her head towards Amia.

The blonde turned an expectant gaze towards Amia and was startled by what she saw. "Mum," she choked, eyes shining bright.

Amia Hawthorne was awake. Not only that, she was seemingly pain free.

From out of nowhere, Edmund and Helga magically appeared at the bedside to stand by Siobhan. All three huddled around the one who meant so much to them, happy to see her look so alive.

In the background, Fiona smiled and quietly left her chair. She moved to a comfortable seat near the wall, the one Helga had so recently vacated, to nap. Her work for tonight was finished, but tomorrow would bring a new day and a new treatment. She would need her rest.


Unknown: August 1st, 1996

Surprisingly, Lord Voldemort was a very patient man. He had to be given his occupation. Being a Dark Lord was not exactly easy, despite what some of his more foolish opponents thought. There were incompetent servants, interfering headmasters, the idiotic Ministry, and a whole slew of other things to deal with. Negotiations with other Dark followers. Plots and plans. Raids. Torture. The usual.

At the current moment, he sat in his throne, the fingers of one hand slowly spasming. It took all of his willpower to resist the urge to wandlessly strangle the simpering men who knelt before him. Yet, somehow, he fought down the temptation to rampage through his underlings, murdering and torturing and altogether wreaking havoc as he went.

Some days, it just wasn't worth the effort to get out of his oh-so-luxurious bed. At least, his perpetual headache from the last several weeks had finally dissipated. Thank the Maker for small favors. However, even that, did not make up for having to deal with this.

"For-forgive me, Sire," one of his servants said in a whimpering voice.

Voldemort momentarily tried to remember the man's name, but it escaped him. Instead, he settled for narrowing his vivid red eyes.

"W-we couldn't find anything. No-nothing at all," the man continued, quivering from his position on the floor.

Next to him, his companion was equally frightened. Practically shivering right out of his sweat-soaked robes. His trembles only increased as Voldemort's attention flickered to him momentarily.

The Dark Lord, in turn, idly tapped his fingertip on the arm of his throne. "You expect me to believe that the Vance family had nothing? Absolutely nothing of value? And everything we recovered from their home was completely useless?" he questioned, tone oddly calm and belying his inner incredulity. "Her father was a Master Artificer for the Department of Mysteries, and both his mother and uncle were Master Enchanters. Ian Vance himself was a historian of no little notoriety. And yet, they possessed no knowledge of what we seek. None at all. Not even a stray scrap of parchment."

"N-No, Sire," the man replied in a tiny voice. He was clearly on the verge of wetting himself.

This fool wasn't even worth the Cruciatus Curse. He didn't feel like wasting the effort. Voldemort instead gave a dangerous smile then and flared his magic. A distinct tingle filled the room, pure power in every molecule of the air. His robes rustled around him in an almost pleasant manner. Energy danced across his skin.

In the meantime, the two Death Eaters quaked even harder, sinking closer to the floor. Their bones crackled and popped from the force bearing down on them. There was a distinct snap, followed by several more, the sound of fingers breaking.

Tom Riddle just sighed. He felt a slight pounding at his temples. Evidence that another migraine was soon to come. And he let his magic disperse.

"Send me Bellatrix and get out of my sight." Voldemort rubbed his forehead, watching as they tried and failed several times to get off the floor. "Just… just go." His urge to kill had been replaced with something else entirely, and he had a strong desire for a glass of scotch.

No, the Dark Lord did not have an easy job. Not easy at all.


Number Four, Privet Drive: August 2nd, 1996

The amulet was blue, a shifting sort blue as the color went from cobalt to sky-colored and back. It hung on a delicate rope chain and glinted in the earlier morning. The phoenix engraving on it ruffled its feathers every few minutes, and the bird tilted its head this way and that, as though it were trying to get a better look at the parchment that was on the desk mere meters away.

Seated at the desk, Harry Potter was furiously scribbling away. He would occasionally hesitate and then use his wand to erase the last sentence. He had to get it just right; it had to be perfect. He couldn't allow himself to mess this up.

Finally, after what seemed like hours and probably was, Harry set his quill down and glanced at the enormous multi-page letter he had just penned. His green eyes slowly scanned the script as he reread what he had written. Once more, he lifted his wand and erased a sentence, not at all fearing the laws against underage magic. He and Fawkes had removed the alarms from both his wand and home the previous night. Now, he was free to cast any spells he chose, for the Ministry would have no way of knowing since all the wards were now permanently set to the off position.

The reborn Slytherin smirked just thinking about it. There would be no more repeats of the incident last year with the Dementors and Umbridge, where his own wand betrayed his use of magic. There would be no more repeats of the floating pudding incident either. Where the wards the Ministry had automatically placed on his home, through use of his acceptance letter from Hogwarts, falsely registered the house-elf magic as originating from him.

Harry was truly free, and he couldn't be happier. It had originally been difficult to accept that, while his mind was adult-like thanks to the memories of Sal, he would be forced to obey laws meant for children. But his ingenuity combined with that of Fawkes, part of the problem was quickly solved, and the rest would soon follow. The teenager had his full magical abilities at his disposal. Not legally, at least not yet. However, he was free from worrying about it.

Smirking wickedly at the prospect of his complete and upcoming freedom, Harry turned back to his letter to Luna. He quickly scanned the document, editing a few more sentences before reaching for an envelope. He neatly tucked the letter inside and then pressed his wand to the opening of the envelope. He muttered a quick spell, and a seal appeared, firmly closing the letter.

The crest was an interesting one. A serpent tied in a Celtic knot at the bottom with three intertwined "S's" that formed a strange sort of triangle just above it. It was a seal that hadn't been seen in almost a thousand years; it was the personal crest of Salazar and Siobhan Slytherin.

Harry smiled at the sight, and he placed the envelope on the edge of his desk and retrieved a few more sheets of parchment. He still had one more letter to pen; a letter that would be in many ways easier but also more difficult to write. Mostly due to the fact that he wasn't writing to the one who had once been his wife. Also since he had never actually spoken to or even met this other person in his entire life. However, no real worries on the second aspect, for Harry knew that his letter would not be instantly discarded. On the contrary, the other individual had quite a vested interest in him and would most definitely be interested in what the reborn Salazar Slytherin had to say.

His eyes glazed over for a minute as Harry thought about what to say. After several heartbeats, his face relaxed. And he smirked.

'Perhaps the direct approach would be best?' he thought to himself and eagerly began to write.

Dear Dominic,

While you may not know me personally, we share a mutual friend…


AN: It was mentioned that I might be overdoing the whole reincarnation thing. But basically, as this is a key aspect of the plot, I don't think that I am. The only people I am mentioning are those who are important. For example, I only mentioned Faolan because I needed the tie in with Sirius and Remus and because I needed to depict how evil Godric was. In all probability, Faolan will probably not be mentioned again. Harry will know that he is now Remus, but Remus will probably not find out about it. And if he does, it won't really be that big of a deal. Also, before I get reviews about her, Fiona is very important later on. She does actually serve a purpose.

Here is a list of the characters that you will find out about the future selves, if you already don't know. I reserve the right to add or subtract from the list though: Salazar, Siobhan, Rowena, Quinn, Helga, Edmund, Godric, Tristan, Elgin, Rhade (Rowena's son), Rhayne (Rowena's daughter), La Muerte, Merlin, Amia, Faolan (he is just a tie in), Solaris, and Fiona.

To everyone who reviewed: Thanks!

Special thanks to Hobbit-Tabby for the beta.

Chapter Fourteen: Confessions of a Different Sort


Ever Hopeful,

Azar

Updated and Edited:

06/06/08