Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father
Chapter 4: Raising the Question
He was looking at the Dark Lord's hooded face, which filled him with such an unbelievable amount of rage. Harry quickly dodged to the side and the bloody bastard copied him, raising his wand, pointing the offending thing directly at his heart, smirking widely.
"Well, aren't you going to try and kill me, Potter?" the voice taunted, much different from the voice Harry remembered coming from the man during the last battle. "What a coward – you still haven't drawn your wand – and you call yourself a Gryffindor, still, after socializing with that Malfoy for so long?"
"You…" he seethed, baring his teeth. This seemed to only further provoke the Dark Lord's humour, causing the man to merely grin even wider, appearing to bordering on insanity. With a surge of pure hatred, Harry readied his wand, shouting a harsh, "Crucio!" at the offensive man.
In turn, the Dark Lord seemed to easily dodge the nasty-looking curse, the black robes swept aside as well, as not to get singed or mutilated. He stood, his head held high, towering over Harry, his arrogance radiating off of his body in waves, still, despite Harry's further attempts. Finally, he landed a weakly called, "Sectumsempra" on the man, which barely caught the hem of his hood, instead of his face.
Of what Harry could see of the Dark Lord's face appeared to be cracking, strangely, spreading slowly, at least, of what he could see. The man – no, the monstrous thing – standing opposite of him cackled, his voice deep, much unlike the high-pitched laugh of Tom Riddle, as he pulled down the hood, then proceeding to pull the cloak off of himself, tossing it to the side, not even bothering to take his searing crimson gaze away from Harry's eyes. The cruel smile was accented by a black goatee, the face framed by long, wavy black locks, a pair of familiar-looking glasses perched on his nose, and… and, that scar!
"No!" the Saviour of the wizarding world breathed, taking a step back, realizing what was happening, at last. "You can't be – I'd never be nearly as cruel as you!" he yelled, his vision becoming blind, as tears of anger filled his eyes. Harry tugged at his chin-length hair, looking away, frantically, anywhere but up at the reflection, watching as his world of illusion crumbled away, revealing a pile of bloodless, ghastly pale bodies surrounding him, at his feet. The sight caused him to go rigid, shaking helplessly as a chill spread through his body, forcing his head to back up to peer at the insane beast before him. "What did you make me do?" he demanded, almost pleadingly, watching as the fractured mirror was beginning to fall apart, as well.
"You've become who you've always yearned to be – someone free from the constraints of the society you live in; free from the need to do what everyone else thinks you should do. After all, with Draco at our side, we can do just about anything, can't we?" the voice replied, the smile twisting even further.
Harry couldn't stand this anymore, screaming, not caring what he sounded like – after all, it was just him and those motionless bodies of the ones he thought he loved, twisted in evidence of torture, even after their death, the maniacal laughter ringing in his ears.
Suddenly, it was cold and dark, finding himself surrounded by trees of the Forbidden Forrest. Harry looked around himself, his eyes growing accustomed to the darkness once more as sweat poured down his face. At first, all he heard was the sound of his laboured breathing, but soon enough, hurried steps drew closer to him, drawing his attention to the approaching specter dressed in all black, a flash of silvery hair showing beneath the hood (which he ignored in his growing horror).
"What's happened?" the blonde asked, kneeling next to Harry, who was perched up against a tree.
"Get away from me, you devil!" he screamed, pushing the ghost from his dream away from himself, onto the ground, pulling the Elder Wand out from the inside of his own robes, pointing it unsteadily at the man, who was slowly backing away from him. "Don't you dare touch me again," Harry hissed, pushing himself up into a standing position, using the tree to stabilize his faltering legs. "Understand me? What have you done to me? Answer me straight, this time, you monster!"
"Please, Harry, you're not thinking properly," the thing said, trying to bargain with the enraged Potter. "Put the wand down – I didn't do anything to you – you're being hysterical."
"Don't you dare," he breathed, sneering down at the offensive thing before him, which was wreathing on the ground. "You're not even worth enough to call me that after what you've done to me," Harry spat, his eyes gleaming in his all-consuming rage.
"I'm sorry for whatever I've done… just, please, don't do anything you're going to regret," the wavering voice begged, crawling closer, inch-by-inch, to Harry, praying that his touch would bring the Slytherin Heir back to his senses.
"What did I tell you?" he muttered, his voice much more stern and confidant than before, the hand holding the wand suddenly ceasing to tremble. Shouting a disarming spell at the other man, Harry gained immense satisfaction from the crunch of the other's ribs crushing against a large tree across the clearing, an insane glimmer appearing in his eyes, his lips contorting into a horrible smile.
"Please, Harry…" the voice pleaded, weaker than before, its breathing coming in small, pain-filled gasps, hot tears rolling down its face, the pale hands clutching at its sides.
Grinding his teeth, the black-haired wizard barked out another hissed Cruciatus curse, the long, powerful wand reacting splendidly to his orders, causing the ghoul to scream much louder than that deer had whined, earlier that evening. Harry bathed in the pure, unadulterated pleasure that flooded through him for those few seconds that he held the curse on the wreathing creature, whose hood fell down off of its face.
Once the painful curse was lifted, Harry moved closer to inspect the thing, looking down in horror as he came to know what he'd done. "Oh, Merlin," he breathed, tears stinging his eyes, now, soon causing him to lose control over his over-powering emotions, dropping down onto his knees, moaning, "Oh, Draco… Draco, what… have I… done to you?"
"I'm sorry, Harry," the blonde gasped, his hands shaking horribly as he reached up to caress the Heir's face. "Whatever… I've done, would you… forgive me?" he cried, his voice sounding painfully broken in Harry's ears.
"Tell me what to do, Draco – how do I fix what I've done?" he asked, demanding the Malfoy to answer him. Harry knew that if he didn't repair Draco's ribs, soon, he'd be beyond any sort of repair, due to the internal bleeding. At least, to his knowledge, if he didn't do anything now, it seemed that Draco would likely die in his arms in a few hours, at the maximum. He didn't have the slightest idea about how to explain what happened, if the man did end up dead.
Draco managed to grunt out a healing spell that he remembered from the days he was in quidditch, relaying the information to Harry, telling him that if he cast the spell properly, it'd heal the broken bones. And so, Harry nodded, biting his bottom lip hard, puncturing the skin, poising his wand, and after much deliberation, he cast the healing spell, eliciting a long-awaited sigh of relief from Draco.
"You did well," Draco told him, pride evident in his tired voice as he relaxed against the tree once more. "Thank you, Harry," he whispered, closing his eyes, his breathing now coming in evenly, seeming to fall slowly into a deep sleep.
Now what was he going to do? Harry wondered to himself as he sat down next to his friend. He was emotionally broken and weak, although there was still that lingering of pleasure that had come from the casting of the Unforgivable what seemed to be hours ago, now. Harry didn't really have the physical strength to walk alongside Draco's floating body, even if he did have the magical strength to transport his friend.
It was rather ironic that the "Heir of Slytherin" was resenting what he'd done to his friend – even the fact that he had a "friend" was something he never thought of a Slytherin who was aspiring to be the next Dark Lord would have. He took Tom Riddle into account with that, since Dumbledore, himself, had hinted that Riddle's supposed "friends" were merely pawns and servants for his goals, using them, not unlike Grindelwald, with Dumbledore, ever so long ago. Harry's thoughts soon drifted to the man he was now declared the heir to: Salazar Slytherin. Hadn't he heard once before that Slytherin used to be good friends with Godric Gryffindor? Where had he heard that, to begin with?
Probably around the time that people were beginning to spread those horrible rumours about him being the Heir of Slytherin, in the beginning, when he hadn't been – the self-made Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort had been the Heir, then. How silly everything became, once he found out the truth, after Tom bloody Riddle died, killed by the backlash of his own spell, all because of the simple fact that the Elder Wand was Harry's, not his, as Riddle'd thought. All of the Dark Arts that Harry had used before then had been nearly useless tainting of his very being, until now, of course. How funny how things turned out in his favour, nonetheless.
---------
So, if Harry had this straight, it meant that the Founder had Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw as his friends, right? That meant that maybe Tom Riddle hadn't really thought the whole thing through, nor did he research much about Slytherin and what happened when he was alive before "Lord" Voldemort began to go through his plans for life everlasting and dominance. After Harry read all of the books he could find on Slytherin, he didn't know exactly what to believe.
On one hand, Salazar Slytherin was close friends with the other Founders, but he also left a giant basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, which would do anything Slytherin, or his Heir, wished; especially the killing of mudbloods. Which brought up another debate: how different was the wizarding world like when the Founders lived from now? The class sizes must have been exponentially smaller than the present. Was there threats of violence against the wizards by the muggles? Maybe on the Founders, themselves?
Thinking of all of this only made Harry's head hurt, as he tried to wrap his mind around the whole thing. Frustrated, he tugged on his hair, seething, grinding his teeth. Of course, this was when he caught the Gaunt -- no, the Ressurection Stone's gleam, he corrected himself, on his left hand.
"Why didn't I think of this earlier?" he grumbled to himself, kicking himself, mentally, for being so dense.
Calming himself down by taking deep breaths, Harry concentrated his thoughts on Slytherin, praying that the ring would be able to call someone that died so long ago back. After a bout of sudden mist that filled the clearing, Harry finally saw him. He looked not too unlike the self he saw in the mirror in his dream (which felt like hours ago to him, now). Long black hair, a short goatee, and brilliant crimson eyes made up the image of the Founder, his head held high, the robes a dark green, lined with a silver and black.
"Salazar Slytherin?" he inquired, in complete awe of the man, now understanding the reasoning why his dream-self had looked the way it had.
Smirking, the man swept his hair back over his shoulders, then looked down at Harry. "Well, if it was you who called me here, I would rather hope that you are accomplished enough at what ever method you used (Necromancy, so on) that you would not just think that I happen to be some other wandering, murderous spirit that so happened to appear much like your wonderful ancestor," he drawled, eyebrows raised, the red eyes sending shivers down Harry's spine.
"With the number of dead wizards that have a grudge against me, I just had to be sure," Harry retorted, grinning at Slytherin, standing up, still in awe. "How did you guess that I'm your Heir? Oh, the Ring, right? Did someone else use it to bring you ba--"
"Silence," Salazar whispered, staring at Draco's limp body. "You did that to him, I presume," the Founder stated, his knowing eyes piercing into Harry, much like Voldemort's used to. "You also wear the locket, which was mine," he pointed out, lazily, as he drew closer to Harry, his ghostly hands reaching to touch the heirloom that hung around Harry's neck.
It was then that the ex-Gryffindor noticed that Salazar was only a few inches taller than him, which was a shock. He'd expected the man to be much taller than the six feet that Salazar appeared to be.
"I did," Harry breathed, shocked by how much alike they were, despite the thoughts Dumbledore put into his mind that he was the Heir to Gryffindor, just because he could pull the sword from the hat. "I also follow the Code."
"You do," Salazar assessed, eyes narrowing, unblinkingly and not breaking from Harry's eyes. "Yet you fear what you might become -- you were the one responsible for the death of my previous Heir, and for the death of my basilisk, were you not?"
Harry turned his head away and averted his eyes. Legilimency, he realized, eyes going wide, then turning back to the Founder, who'd backed away a little, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his blood-red lips, tilting his head up.
"Well done," he told Harry, his crimson eyes no longer flat as they were when he was using his skill, but full of life as he further assessed his Heir. "At least you aren't so selfish that you'd seek needlessly for fantastical methods of living eternally -- much different from what I saw of my previous Heir. I am surprised how you managed to cause his death without casting anything more than a disarming spell -- that amuses me beyond what Godric used to pull to gain my attention. But, for my Heir to be in such a House as Godric's, though is fascinating. Then, I would suppose that it was due to the stigma that our splendid Slytherin House carried with that Heir."
"So I've been told," the green-eyed wizard admitted, shrugging lightly, looking over his shoulder at the blonde who was still leaning up against the tree. It was becoming light out, he noticed, barely, through the trees.
"Hadrian," Slytherin addressed him as he scowled at the condition of his nails.
"That's--" Harry began, interrupted by Salazar once more.
"I know that may not your name, but that is what I will call you -- and it would be best to not go against me," the man warned, locking eyes with him once more.
Nodding, the shorter man caved, letting Slytherin get his way. "Since it's getting light out, I'm going to have to... erm, whatever it is that you go," Harry announced to the ghost. "After all, I do teach here, now -- I'll call you again when I'm alone, down in the Chamber, if that suits you?"
A few minutes of thought was all it took for Salazar to agree to the terms, smiling slightly at his Heir before he vanished with Harry's dismissal, of sorts. "That was interesting," he muttered, once again back to square one with what he should do with Draco.
Once again, thank you to Grae. And, to my wonderful reviewers, who have made me want to get this next chapter out so quickly.