Disclaimer:This story line belongs to Im Reading. Harry Potter and such do not belong to me.

A man said to the universe: "Sir, I exist!"

"However," replied the universe, "the fact has not created in me a sense of obligation."

-Stephen Crane

4. Salazar Slytherin

It was excruciatingly cold. Harry could feel his body shiver at the dampness of the atmosphere. His head pounded, throbbed behind closed eyes. Very slowly he opened them to find the night sky above him. He could see the North Star and Sirius, the Dog Star. The quarter moon was overhead, shining brightly.

He tried to raise his head and found he couldn't. He tried to lift his arms only to find them restrained. His legs were in the same predicament. Harry fought back the welling panic within him as he attempted to break free of the bonds. His temples were throbbing, his body aching and he couldn't even move his head.

His voice had left him. His throat felt scratchy and raw and his mouth tasted of copper. He could feel warmth flowing from his forehead, a warm sticky substance. The substance trailed down his face, intertwining with his hair-line. He blinked furiously, glaring at the silver moon.

He tried to scream, whisper even, but the noise wouldn't leave his throat. A hand touched his shoulder and he flinched, well his body attempted to. The hand ran fingers over his chest and up his neck, resting on his cheek. A face leaned over his. It was a woman, about twenty five, with pale gray eyes and dirty blonde hair. She was not beautiful. She wasn't even truly pretty. She had average features, very feminine.

Her gray eyes stared into Harry's eyes, analyzing. She had a look of interest and concern. Her lips were full as she smiled, showing white teeth. Her smile widened as she saw that his eyes responded. She placed a single finger to her lips as she traced his face with her hand.

His head throbbed violently. Apparently his pain showed in his eyes because the woman blinked, her eyes showing sorrow. She backed away as he closed his eyes, trying to reduce the pain he fell into an uneasy sleep.

The first thing he noticed was that his head was no longer throbbing. He rolled over off his back onto his hands and knees. Apparently his body was no longer restrained. He shook his head, blinking his eyes violently. He had no glasses on, yet he could see quite clearly. Harry pushed himself up onto his knees and stretched.

That was when he knew something was truly off. Despite his body feeling perfectly fine, his body was larger, different. Looking around, he found himself in the middle of a circle of ivory chalk, weaved with runes. He stared at the runes. Looking around himself he found that he was within a medium sized room with a mirror, a single mirror. Harry frowned and stood up, finding himself unsteady. He walked out of the runes to the mirror.

He was not himself any longer. His hair was black still but longer, thinner and straight. It came past his shoulders in a soft silky cascade. His face was stronger, more masculine, slightly tanned. He had a scar running down his face, coming quite near to damaging his right eye. His eyes!

His eyes, one a bright emerald green were now a smoky gray-green hue. There was a dark gray ring surrounding the main color. He found himself mesmerized. They were not horrid, far from it. They stood out less than his previous emerald eyes but they were unique in them self.

And his scar, it was gone. Vanished, disappeared. He was free from the curse of being the famed boy-who-lived.

His face held the traces of an older time, a strong jaw line, sharp nose and broad forehead, nicely placed cheekbones. He was handsome.

His shoulders were broad, his muscles wiry yet not bulky. Overall he stood about six feet tall. He was garbed in a simple green tunic with a black belt around his waist and black breeches. He had on gleaming black boots that came to an end right below his knees.

Harry felt like he knew his face from somewhere, but it slipped his mind. His concentration was disturbed when the door opened and the woman from last night came in a black cloak in her arms. He stiffened but relaxed slightly as she smiled warmly.

"Who are you?" The woman smiled and shook her head.

"Who were thou?" She countered.

Harry frowned slightly at her choice of wording. "Harry Potter."

She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. "Thou art him no more. Thou are now Salazar, my son."

Harry took a step back. The Chamber of Secrets, the stone statue, his face in the mirror. Harry shook his head. "No, I cannot be."

She frowned. "You must, you weren't sent here for not anything," she strode forward placing her hand on his face. "Magick brought you here. You must understand. You have to make this accurate for the future."

Harry took a step back as the woman smiled. Her eyes flashed dangerously at his expression. "Do not worry. No harm shall befall you under the roof of my blood." She lifted her wand to her temple and withdrew a silvery-blue smoke, almost opaque.

"This will help you see." She tossed the smoke at Harry, who raised his hands in defense. The smoke hit him straight in the chest, sending him stumbling to the floor from the impact.

Harry released a groan; he held his head in his hands as he found a wall to lean against. His vision blurred and he blinked, and then blinked again. He could no longer see the room that he woke in. Instead he was in a library sitting in a chair, book open in his lap.

Words flowed into his mind, spells and charms and runes weaving their way into his head. Pictures, scenes, memories that weren't his fought for access into his mind. Lessons; potions, sword wielding, lordship occupied his mind. He could see everything and he knew everything that had happened to him before. He knew lost knowledge, vicious knowledge, and knowledge of things that had no right to exist.

Harry shivered as he was shot back to the room with the rune circle. The woman had a small smile on her face as she gazed down over him. "You understand?"

At his nod she smiled wider, her eyes widening. "Then come my son, and learn."

She helped him to his feet and shrugged the cloak she had brought with her over his shoulders. She hooked a chain under his left armpit and clasped it.

"Come, and fix this world. Make the name of Slytherin worthy." So they left the room.

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I had a whole different senario planned out and I decided that I hated it. Of course, there is many an artist who despises their work just because it is theirs.

A great thanks again to I'm Reading for allowing me to adopt this story.

Constructive critisism is very welcome. Tell me anything you would like to see happen, hate about it, anything.

Hand Steroids