Author's Note: Sorry for the delay with this. Had family visiting. I want to thank everyone for all the support this has gotten! I'm amazed at how many people have decided to follow this. :) Lots of thanks to my lovely Xanda, who ran this competition and for her support. There will be one more chapter after this. A big thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far! I always love hearing from people.

Sorry for the cliffhanger! I only have 5,000 words per chapter, according to the competition, so I had no choice. Next chapter will be within the week, though. :)

Word count: 5,000

The day he buried his father, Chaves realized he was no longer the heir of Slytherin; he was Slytherin. The one and only. The name was now his to make of it as he would.

The funeral was small, as it should have been. Father had managed to estrange himself from his closest friends, and that choice was his to make by right. They had never reconciled their differences, and a funeral was far too late to mend fences, so what was the sense?

Chaves scooped up a handful of moist earth and stepped toward the fresh grave. He let it trickle from his hand as he made a silent vow.

I promise, whatever it takes, that I shall grant your final wish, Father.

Two soft, slender arms snaked around his chest, and a warm body pressed against his back. She buried her face between his shoulder blades, her words muffled by his robes.

"What do you intend, my love?"

"I shall go home, if they would have me." He ran his fingers along her soft, porcelain skin, admiring its lack of imperfections. Just like the woman. "And you? What do you intend?"

"I shall follow. To the ends of the Earth, if it pleases you."

"And beyond?"

"Beyond that, you walk alone. I step off the edge of the world for no man."

Chaves spun around, letting his hands slip down the small of her back and pulling her closer. She smelled like wildflowers—the ones she liked to pick on long walks or braid into her hair or tuck behind her ear.

"Then marry me, Amaltheia Black. Tomorrow, before we leave. Let us take this adventure together, start this new life as husband and wife. What say you?"

"Together...forever?"

"Nothing lasts forever, my star." He kissed her forehead gently as he ran a hand through her silky, raven hair. "Together 'til death sees fit to part us."

...oOo...

"Young Lord Slytherin. I must confess, I never imagined I would see you again. You have grown a lot in the decades since you were here."

It was true; many years had passed. Hogwarts looked the same as always, but the passage of time was evident in the Founders. Lady Ravenclaw's sharp, blue eyes had dulled ever so slightly, though her thinning face only lent power to her hawkish stare.

She folded her hands and let her elbows rest on the desk. Bearing the brunt of her scrutiny, Chaves realized that this would be more than a mere meeting; it would be an inquisition. That suited him just fine. He was prepared to answer anything she might ask.

"So, you have come back. Why now?"

"My time has been spent caring for Father during his illness. Now that he's moved on, I thought it wise that I do the same."

Her jaw clenched, and a softness flickered in her eyes just for a second.

"My condolences for your loss," Lady Ravenclaw said softly, and Chaves could tell it was sincere. Whatever their differences, whatever falling out they might have had, they had still been friends. He wondered if perhaps he should have broken the news a bit gentler, but his guilt was assuaged as she cleared her throat and changed the subject.

"It is my understanding that you have requested to fill the post of potions master?"

"Yes, my lady."

"What makes you think you're qualified?"

"I have spent decades under my father's tutelage. Do you find me unqualified?"

Lady Ravenclaw shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she pursed her lips. A moment of silence lapsed between them before she finally said, "No, I suppose not."

"I grew up here, in these halls. I consider you and Lady Hufflepuff and even Lord Gryffindor as family."

"Yet, we've seen neither hide nor hair of you all these years."

"Sometimes families become estranged. Does that make them any less family?"

Chaves watched the cogs in her mind churning somewhere behind those cold, sapphire eyes. He had chosen his words carefully, a trait learned after many years of observing his father. In his absence, Lady Ravenclaw had given birth to her own child, perhaps later in life than advised, and the more the girl grew, so too did the distance between them.

"You have a year—just one—to prove that you belong here. If all goes well, you may stay."

"Thank you, my lady." Chaves inclined his head in her direction as he stood. "I assure you, you shall not regret it."

...oOo...

"Wake up, my star," Chaves whispered as he slipped into bed beside his wife. She emanated warmth like a fire, and for a moment, he was content to let her rescue him from the chill of the night. Then, he shook her again, more fervently. "I need your help."

One eye reluctantly fluttered open, and Amaltheia groaned at the cloud of darkness that still nested over the house.

"Can help at least wait until the sun?"

"No, I fear not." Chaves threw the covers off, allowing the cold to slither around them. Amaltheia groaned as she buried her face in the crook of her arm. "We only have a year. We must start now if we are to finish in time."

"A year? For what?"

"To build a chamber, you silly witch. What else did you imagine I had in mind for Coluber once we arrived?"

Amaltheia heaved a sigh as she rolled over and propped herself up with an arm.

"I did wonder where you thought to hide a basilisk here. It's naught but sparse forests and rolling hills."

"You'll help, then?"

"Of course." Amaltheia leaned in and pressed her soft lips to his. Chaves could almost taste her words as she whispered, "As soon as the sun comes up."

With a final harrumph, she reclaimed the covers and settled back down to sleep. It could wait until the morning after all, Chaves decided. He had learned by now that once could be forgiven, but wake a sleeping witch twice and one might as well light their own funeral pyre.

...oOo...

It was hard to believe that a year had already come and gone, but as Chaves stood in the enormous, yawning cavern hidden under a trapdoor in an abandoned first-floor room, he knew it had been worth it. His father's dream was finally coming to fruition. Amaltheia was at home, early in her first pregnancy, which meant that Slytherin would have an heir before too long. And somewhere down the line, that heir would stand there, just as he was doing, staring up at the heavily-lidded eyes as he realized his destiny.

"This is your new home, Coluber," Chaves said in Parseltongue. The basilisk lowered his head in response, and Chaves rewarded him by scratching his favorite spot—a point on his snout midway between his nose slits. "You have been a loyal friend, but I fear this is the end. When next you wake, it will be by the beckon of my heir, a rightful Slytherin. You will know by his voice and blood. Serve him well. Can you do that?"

Yesssss, masssster, was the response, but Chaves got the impression that the basilisk was only half-listening.

"We may not meet again, old friend. Sleep well," Chaves whispered, rubbing Coluber's snout with one hand. With the other, he slipped his wand out of his robes and pointed it at the basilisk, casting a non-verbal spell.

Somnus aeternum.

...oOo...

Godric Gryffindor's funeral was the antithesis of Salazar Slytherin's—loud, crowded, and lively. Chaves wasn't entirely sure why. After all, the halfwit had managed to get himself killed. Chaves was convinced that if he had to hear another halfhearted expression of condolences, he would simply burst into flames out of spite.

At first, he had attempted to get out of the funeral, but Lady Ravenclaw would have none of it. "You may not have always seen eye to eye, but you are a professor here, and as such, you will go to show your support and mourn someone who you described as being like family. Or have you forgotten?" she had quipped, quirking her eyebrows as she had waited for a response. He had had none to give, of course, and so he was there, rounding off his third year of teaching by baking in the hot July sun.

Chaves managed to slip away finally, feigning hunger, and he took up residence beside the feast that was laid out for the occasion. All around him, the gossip mill was churning. The particulars about Lord Gryffindor's death had been kept secret out of respect for all parties involved. But as he leaned against a tree trunk, Chaves eavesdropped on a nearby conversation.

"Do you know how it happened?" a woman dressed in blue robes whispered to her friend as if she was being coy and no one could see.

"I heard it was terribly embarrassing and that's why they chose to keep it a secret. Afraid of bringing shame to the Gryffindor name, I suppose," the woman beside her said, swan feather bobbing in her hat while she covered her mouth to hide a yawn as if it were all fretfully dull.

"You don't think it was intentional, do you?" the first woman asked.

"I hardly believe the great Godric Gryffindor would stoop so low," an older woman dressed in emerald said, injecting herself into the conversation with a sneer.

The women twittered on like annoying birds, but Chaves tuned them out. There was no need for him to speculate; he was aware of how Lord Gryffindor's demise had come about. He was inadvertently involved, a fact that he was quick to cover up. It had been innocent, at first, but that was how all great things started, wasn't it?

"Do you fancy me in some way, or are you as dull as everyone says?" Chaves asked when the Gryffindor boy entered his office.

They boy's eyes had gone wide as he stuttered, "M-my Lord?"

He was from a wise and noble family, and thus far, Chaves could only assume he had been adopted.

"This is the fourth detention I have been forced to give you this week. It seems almost...intentional. Would you agree?"

"N-no, my lord! It isn't!"

"Then what is it?"

"Well, you see...It's only that I...I mean..."

"I don't have all day, Master Rainecourt."

"It's the other students, my lord. They say it was a mistake, me being in Gryffindor, because I haven't the bravery for it."

Nor the wit for Ravenclaw, clearly, Chaves thought as he stood and rounded the desk. The boy visibly flinched. Obviously, the other students' doubts were neither exaggerated nor unfounded. Chaves took a seat on the edge of his desk as he spoke.

"Listen, for I shall only say this once. Blind bravery is folly. Any dimwit can rush headlong into a dangerous situation. The trick is knowing when to rush in and how to handle yourself. Bravery alone is not, nor has ever been, enough."

"But, my lord, I am a Gryffindor. If I haven't bravery, what have I?"

"Bravery. Is that really all you Gryffindors think of?" Chaves scoffed as he pushed off from the desk and slowly began pacing the room. "If that is all you have need of, to be brave, then any hair-brained scheme would do to prove your brainless brawn. Throwing yourself off Ravenclaw Tower, perchance, to show your fearlessness of heights? Ride a wild thestral? Hunt down the wild chimaera that is terrorizing the countryside? Honestly, Master Rainecourt, use that feeble thing you call a brain."

Chaves paused from his pacing long enough to glance at the student, who was studying the floor intently.

"Today's detention shall be cleaning the privies, and if you receive one more detention this week, I assure you I shall go to Lady Ravenclaw myself and petition for your expulsion. Have I made myself clear?"

Chaves slipped around the tree as the goggle of women moved, hugging its shadow so he wouldn't be seen. Funerals were tedious, and he was eager for this one to end.

Besides, how was he to know that Master Rainecourt would be so reckless? In hindsight, he should have assumed, given his Gryffindor nature, but Chaves had hoped, perhaps naively, that his lecture had some positive effect. To the contrary, it had gotten one of his colleagues killed.

The door to his office slammed open, and a disheveled, pale Lord Gryffindor darted inside.

"I need your help," he said, slamming his palms down on the large desk.

"What troubles you?" Chaves asked, flicking his wand and sending what he was working on to neatly stack in a corner.

"You know a student of mine, Master Rainecourt. Yes, of course you do, the troublemaker he is. I fear this time he has gone too far."

"What is it he's done now?"

Chaves rubbed his temples, preparing for the worst.

"According to his housemates, he is hunting a chimaera."

"What?!"

No amount of preparation would have readied him for that. Of all the idiotic...how stupid could he...what was that boy thinking? In true Gryffindor fashion, he wasn't, obviously.

"What do you need from me?" Chaves asked.

"Find Helga and Rowena. Not much is known about chimaeras, though I have no doubts that this will require all of us. I shall go ahead, but be swift in following."

"Don't be foolish. No one has ever killed a chimaera. If you go alone, you march to your death."

Unlike his colleague, Chaves was aware of exactly what they were up against. He had had the opportunity to meet the wizard who had created the first chimaera, a small, broken man by the name of Herpo, who bared only a slight resemblance to a human after having been mauled by his own creation.

"I have no choice!" Lord Gryffindor slammed his fist against the table, and there was the sound of splintering as bits of it gave way under the force. "I have no idea what so possessed him, but there is a second year out there as we speak. I shall not forsake him. It is our job, first and foremost, to protect our students."

They had saved the boy, who was trembling and bleeding in a nearby tree by the time help had arrived, but they had been unable to save their friend. It was regrettable that the one thing Godric Gryffindor could irrefutably claim to have done right in his life was so neatly covered up. The world still, somehow, regarded him as a hero, but they had no idea the depth of his heart. There was certainly something to be said about Gryffindor bravery—as well as Gryffindor stupidity.

Chaves glanced across the yard where Master Rainecourt was standing in the protective shadow of his parents. For the briefest second, their eyes met, and he was convinced it had not been in vain. There was a flash of life in those brown eyes that had not been there previously, a new sort of resolve that had somehow strengthened an otherwise meek soul.

Chaves pondered, as he sipped at his drink, how something so trivial as wishing to be brave could so change a person. The power of granting wishes, it seemed, was not to be underestimated.

...oOo...

When Lady Hufflepuff fell ill, Chaves assumed it was her age—until he saw the brooch. It was beautiful—a silver snowflake enchanted to sparkle—and it was killing her. This would be the second time he would, in some way, be implicated in the death of a colleague, but, like Lord Gryffindor, he was sure it was a sacrifice she would willingly make had she known. So he kept silent as she withered away. It was for the greater good, after all, and she had been an unwitting target.

What else was he supposed to have done when a student came to him, devastated by the realization that his younger brother was a Squib?

"My brother should start Hogwarts next year. He'll be eleven. We should be Slytherins together. But now, that will never happen. Now, Mother and Father will be forced to disown him, and I'll have no choice but to cut off contact. I don't want that, Professor! We have already lost a younger brother and a younger sister from illness. I can't bear the thought of losing another," the student had confided in him, doing his best to ward off the tears but, in the end, they ran freely down his face anyway. "I just...I wish there was some way to give him magic."

It had been in his bed that night, as he lay awake, shunning sleep, that Chaves had come up with an idea.

"Are you sleeping?" Chaves whispered to the lump beside him in bed, barely visible in the moonlit darkness. There was no response, so he repeated himself, louder this time.

Cepheus began to fuss in the cot next to theirs , beginning with a few murmurs as he slowly stirred and crescendoing to a full-lunged wail.

"You woke the baby." Amaltheia grunted and flung her arm out, catching him in the thigh. The noise reverberated around the small room, and it stung, but Chaves was glad she was up, even as she stared daggers at him as she retrieved their son.

"What is it that absolutely could not wait until morn?" she asked, loosening her evening robe enough to slip one side of it off her shoulder. Her skin shone a milky white in the silver moonlight as she lifted the babe to her bare breast and settled back into bed beside him.

"Are you aware that your cousins have had a Squib?"

"My cousins? You need to be more specific. I have a lot of cousins."

"The ones from Auld Bogshire. They have an older boy already at Hogwarts."

"Oh yes, I heard. A shame, really. Their younger son is quite cunning and charming. He holds all the potential of a Black, if only he were a proper wizard."

Amaltheia paused to study Chaves' face in the moonlight. All the lines age had wrought into it, all the hard-learned lessons that marred his skin must have betrayed him in some way, because he was certain that she could read him just like a book.

"You have something in mind?"

"His brother came to me today and wished for some way to give him magic. It gave me pause. What if there was some way for it? What if we were to siphon magic from another? Is stolen magic not still magic?"

"What do you need from me?"

"I need a brooch."

"I didn't think you were the type, my love. Perhaps something green, to match your eyes?"

Amaltheia grinned, and Chaves rolled his eyes in response, though he was sure the motion was lost in the darkness.

"Not for me. It has to be something simple and charming, not too fancy, but which would make any witch glad to receive it."

"Why ask me? Why not make one yourself?"

"First, I haven't your flair for women's fashion. Second, and the one I suspect you most want to hear, you are far more skilled at Charms than I."

"You caught me," Amaltheia whispered as she leaned in closer, taking care not to wake the baby again. Her lips brushed his cheek lightly as she laughed. "I would have helped regardless, though. They're family, and it's my duty. You shall have your brooch by next week, and any witch should think themselves lucky to wear it."

True to her word, Amaltheia had fashioned a magnificent brooch, which he had passed on to his student the following week.

"Give this to a witch of your choice," Chaves explained, handing over the brooch.

"What is it?" the boy asked, turning the silver decoration over in his hand.

"It has the power to make your wish come true. If you give this to a witch and this clasp to your brother," as he spoke, Chaves extricated what looked like an ordinary wizard's clasp from his robes and passed that to him, "then the magic will flow through one to the other. Your brother has the ability to use magic in his blood; he simply possesses none of his own."

"Do...do you think this will work?"

"It should. At the very least, it's worth trying."

It did work. Perhaps a bit too well. The weaker Lady Hufflepuff grew, the stronger the young Master Black grew, according to reports from his brother. No one thought anything of it. After all, she was already advanced in years, and death was a natural conclusion to every life.

Chaves felt it was a fitting end. If Lord Gryffindor should go as a hero, of course Lady Hufflepuff the Gentle would, in her final act, give of herself the greatest gift she could. Her magic would serve to further the future, and she would live on in the next generation. It was a fitting tribute for a generous witch.

The warm, summer day her House-Elf found Lady Hufflepuff cold and lifeless in her bed was the day he received a letter from the eldest Black boy:

My parents say it is a miracle. My brother has received his Hogwarts invitation letter. Thank you for making my wish come true.

There may be something there, in granting wishes, that was worth the risk, Chaves decided. Something, even, that may be worth pursuing.

...oOo...

"It has been three days, young Lord Slytherin. Three days since I sent the baron after my dear Helena. What could be keeping them?" She gasped as a realization slithered its way into her mind. "Could something have happened?"

"Rest, Lady Ravenclaw. It will do no good to imagine the worst. Save your strength," Chaves said, patting her hand lightly.

The famous Ravenclaw wit had been dulled as of late due to her illness, which was devouring both body and mind. It was evident the moment she requested, in secrecy of course, that a baron who had a well-known infatuation with her daughter to be the one to return her safely.

"I just want to see my daughter one last time. Whatever our differences, whatever has happened between us, I need to see her. I need her to know I forgive her. Is that too much to ask?"

"Of course not, my lady. You rest. I shall see what I can do."

Chaves took his leave, making his way back to his private chambers through the maze of fresh students. It was a new year, which meant a new start for many. Hogwarts had needed a new start, too, after cycling through three professors attempting to replace Lady Hufflepuff after her passing. None had seemed like a good fit.

As soon as he reached his chambers, Chaves collapsed into his chair, pulled a drink from his desk, and called out, "Minyin!"

With a pop, the House-Elf appeared, stooping his head as he asked, "How can Minyin serves Master?"

"I need you to find someone, Minyin. Do you know Lady Helena Ravenclaw?"

"Of course Minyin knows. Lady sneaks treats and pretty things to us House-Elves." As soon as the words left his mouth, Minyin's eyes grew wide and he clamped his bony fingers over his mouth. "Oh noes, Minyin is bad House-Elf!"

"Calm yourself, Minyin. Your secret is safe with me. Lady Helena has gone missing, though, and I need you to find her. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Master. Minyin is happy to help."

With another pop, he was gone, and Chaves was left to tend the rest of his day. Classes were uneventful and required the usual amount of cleaning after Master Hanegan erupted his potion, as usual. The boy was a danger, not only to himself but to those around him, and Chaves suspected the only reason he was extended an invitation was because his father was an influential baron who had high, likely misplaced, hopes for his heir.

Night found him in his office, pacing the length of it, debating whether to remain there and wait for news or to travel home that evening. His question was answered with a pop and a flurry of flailing limbs as Minyon came barreling into the room with a hasty teleport.

"Master! Master! Minyin has awful news. Horrible. Terrible. Worst news."

"What is it, Minyin? What of Lady Helena?"

"Dead, Master! Dead." The House-Elf let out an unearthly wail as he tugged at his ears.

"Minyin, I—"

"Murdered. Lady was murdered. Dead. Dead!"

"Minyin, you need to—"

"Horrible! Terrible! Minyin could do nothings."

Chaves yanked out his wand and cast a silencing charm on the House-Elf. It took a minute or two for him to cease his lament and only then did Chaves lift it.

"I need you to tell me what happened, Minyin."

"Minyin found Lady in the woods. And blood...blood everywhere. They were covered in it."

"They?"

"Yes, yes. Lady and Baron. Dead, both dead."

"How?"

"A knife. Someone stabs them. Poor Lady!"

"Go, Minyin. Gather the teachers and lead them there," Chaves ordered before he could begin his wailing again. Amid a string of sobs, the House-Elf disappeared to carry out the order.

Chaves made his way back to Lady Ravenclaw's quarters and let himself in quietly. She was looking worse than before, her skin had taken on an ashen hue, but she stirred as he approached, eyes fluttering open.

"Young Lord Slytherin. Do you have news of my Helena?" she asked. Just from her voice, he could tell she was growing tired of this world.

"I have. Earlier, you wished to see her again, did you not?"

"I did. Oh, I did," Lady Ravenclaw moaned, rolling her head from side to side on her pillow.

"Is that truly what you want? Regardless of the consequences?"

"It is, yes. What I want more than anything else in the world."

"Then, I shall grant your wish."

He seized the spare pillow on her bed and pressed it against her face, leaning his weight onto it. She struggled feebly, raking her nails down the flesh of his arm and digging long, angry marks along them. Her arms and feet flailed blindly and her chest heaved for air, but Chaves refused to let up. Sometimes, what we wish for is what will be our downfall. It was what she wanted, regardless of the consequences. That was what she agreed to. It was the only way that she could ever be with her daughter now.

The movements slowed, but Chaves held the pillow there. He had to make sure the job was finished. Lady Ravenclaw's thrashing ceased, and her body shuddered with an occasional convulsion. A minute later, he returned the pillow to its proper place.

He had to move quickly or it would all be a waste. Even though it was unintended, there would be a way that Lady Ravenclaw's death wouldn't be in vain. It was Dark magic, the darkest sort, and Chaves had learned it on an excursion to Greece, where he had met an interesting old wizard who had a curious aversion to death.

Chaves drew his wand and grabbed the nearest thing he could find, something that would be guaranteed to stand the test of time—the Sorting Hat. The spell was difficult, and it had taken quite a bit of coaxing for Herpo to finally reveal its secrets. Chaves was able to use Crucio without fear of killing the foolish wizard, and Herpo's mind had already been fragmented from years of torment of his own invention. Eventually, he had given in.

The sacrifice had already been made, so Chaves repeated the incantation he had learned. A fire was lit somewhere in his gut, warming his insides at first and then burning. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. Something in him was tearing, ripping apart, like knives fileting him alive.

He cast a non-verbal silencio so no one would hear his screams as he curled into a ball on the floor. It felt like his body was being torn apart, splitting at the most miniscule level. Was the crazy, old wizard wrong? Was the spell killing him? Minutes felt like eons, but eventually the pain subsided to a stabbing ache. The hat glowed red for a second before returning to normal as Chaves pulled himself to his feet, still doubled over in pain. Taking small steps, he returned it to its place on the shelf and shuffled back to the bedside.

Lady Ravenclaw looked serene, as if her troubles had been released. Chaves wished her a safe journey to wherever lay beyond the veil as he crossed her arms over her chest and rearranged her body to look as if she had passed in her sleep.

Chaves turned to go, but a slight movement drew him back into the room. He stepped closer to inspect the body and nearly soiled himself when the eyes rolled back and it shot upright.

"Chaves Slytherin...or should I call you Harry Potter?" The lips moved as if she was speaking, but the voice that came out was deep and raspy and otherworldly. "I've been watching you."

"Wh-who are you?" Chaves asked, leaning against the door frame for support.

"I go by many names, just as you do, but I believe you know me as Death."

Prompts:

The Quidditch Pitch: "The greater the power, the more dangerous the abuse." ~ Edmund Burke

The Drabble Club: (Sentence) Sometimes what we wish for the most is what will be our downfall.