Chapter 12: Lord Voldemort

It had been a few weeks since Ivy had had her detention with Hagrid, and the Christmas holidays were well underway. Overnight, it seemed, the castle grounds had been covered in a waist-high layer of snow, and frost continued to gather on the corners of windows. The castle had, in some places, become warmer, with people redoubling their efforts on the fireplaces in all four of the common rooms, and extra candles being placed willy-nilly around the castle at apparently random intervals.

Places such as the potions dungeons, however, had not been so lucky. Lessons down there had become so unbearably cold that even Snape had resigned himself to allow students to wear coats inside his classroom, but only after several of the Slytherins had fainted from the cold. At first, the snow outside had been a source of great joy to the students, and Ivy had happily jotted down memories of snow days into her diary.

Dear Diary,

Today, term finally broke up (but not before McGonagall gave us another transfiguration essay for after the hols.) Draco and I decided to have a quiet walk around the castle, talking about whatever was on our minds, when we were ambushed in the snow by several Gryffindors! Rose, Ron, Fred, and George. We were, of course, happy to lob snowballs at them, and the day was won when Hermione joined us. Never knew she had such good aim.

However, it had quickly turned into a burden, as snow could not fall fast enough to keep up with the students trampling it, and the grounds had quickly become a soggy, snowy mess to attempt to walk around in. What was more, people began leaving the castle. Usually, this would've been done all at once, but that wasn't really feasible in the current weather. So, instead, students would go in groups of ten at a time and get escorted off the premises. She could've sworn people were going at a rather slow pace, but, within a few days, the school was very nearly silent, and all who remained spent almost all their time in their common rooms, or else in the library, where Madam Pince, the librarian, would constantly breathe down their necks.

Draco and Ron had elected to stay, but they were some of the few. Hermione had gone home to spend time with her muggle parents, doing something called skiing, which consisted of tying wooden poles to one's feet, and using them to go down mountains. In Ivy's opinion, it sounded daft. Rose had also chosen to spend time with James and Lily, but Ivy had politely refused. She still wasn't sure about where she stood on the matter.

Notably, Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor in Ivy's year, had decided to stay rather than go back to her grandmother. Parvati and Padma Patil, Seamus Finnigan, Pansy Parkinson, Ernie Macmilllan, and Millicent Bulstrode had all decided to stay, but, aside from them, no other first years were remaining at Hogwarts over Christmas.

The real reason (aside from her complicated feelings towards her parents) why Ivy was staying at Hogwarts was because she wanted to do research. She hadn't forgotten the creature drinking the unicorn blood, and supposedly, unless Firenze had been referring to something completely different to what she thought he was saying (which was unlikely, as centaurs are well-renowned at Divination) she was supposed to ask the founders about who, or what, may want to drink the blood of a unicorn.

Her first course of action had been to find out more about unicorn blood, as, in her time, it was not a particularly well-researched topic. Her breakthrough had come after about four days of digging.

Consuming unicorn blood can grant a temporary reprieve from death, often described as a glimpse of immortality. However, this gift comes with a heavy price—the drinker becomes cursed, leading to a life devoid of joy and fulfilment.

She had stared at the quote for a while. It didn't seem quite right. A cursed life? Who would want such a thing? To kill a unicorn… just to be immortal? If immortal was the right word.

'Well,' said a small bit of her brain, which spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, 'Perhaps somebody desperate for life at all costs.'

She pondered this the following night. As far as she could remember, she didn't know anyone desperate for immortality. Nor did she know of anybody who matched that description. Perhaps some very dark wizard indeed.

She had shuddered, though she didn't know why.

Ivy had considered going to see the founders on Christmas Eve, but decided, on balance, that it would be foolish to do it on a significant day, and so, decided to wait in her bedroom one morning. She only had to wait for Pansy and Millicent to get up. Tick tock. Rustles came from the bed closest to her, which she knew housed Pansy. She saw through the gap in her four poster as she brushed her hair, brushed her teeth, and got out of bed.

Millicent followed suit, swinging the door shut behind her. She breathed slowly. It didn't sound like anyone was coming back up. Slowly, she climbed out of bed, rushing her morning routine as much as she dared, staying as quiet as she could. She didn't know why her heart was racing. She knew the founders very well, she had since she was one. She wasn't scared of them. She liked them a lot, and they liked her. And yet…

Her hand froze as it hovered over her wand. Pull yourself together, Ivy. She stared at it. She willed her hand to grab it, for Christ's sake. It was just a wand. It wouldn't bite. But she pulled her hand back again. What was wrong with her? She had been looking forward to this for months. She knew them so well. They were her parents, or- kind of. Close enough.

She conjured up an image in her head. Salazar Slytherin. She smiled, and grabbed the wand.

"Morning," said Helga, wiping her nose on a tissue.

"Morning, honey," said Godric, who was sitting behind his desk.

His wife groaned. "You're not working on the suits of armour again, are you? They don't need to be enchanted, they're just armour! For knights! Your obsession with magic troubles me."

Godric rolled his eyes, "You're one of the founders of Hogwarts. Are you telling me you aren't obsessed with the magic we teach our students?"

"There should still be an upper limit, Godric," said Rowena softly, immersed, as always, in a book, "Those muggle schools don't use additions in the names of their rooms, do they?"

Godric harrumphed. "What do you think, Salazar, you've been quiet lately,"

"Have I?" he asked, not tearing his eyes away from the window. In reality, he had been being quiet lately, intentionally, "You can't tell me you don't miss the girl?"

"I don't think anyone was," said Ravenclaw, standing up to sit next to Salazar, "But it's not as though we'll never see her again. Merlin taught her time travel, she can visit us any time she chooses to!"

"You'd think she would've by now, wouldn't you?" he asked, miserably. It had been months.

"You're one to talk, old Snake!" exclaimed Godric. "Didn't write to me for six months while you were on a trip to Wales!"

Salazar went quiet.

"Hey!" exclaimed Helga, suddenly, "What's that?"

As the founders watched, an eleven year old girl appeared into the landscape beyond their window. Ivy Potter had landed in a landscape similar to the one she had just left. A snowy, December day. Had she known it, she had landed perfectly, on the same date as what it would be back in the present day.

She was in the place which would one day become the Astronomy tower.

"Quick!" shouted Salazar, overjoyed, "Grab the brooms!"

It took a while, but they eventually got Ivy into Godric's office. This was made more difficult by the fact that all that she and Salazar wanted to do was hug each other.

"So?" asked Godric, when the two women had finally pried them apart. "What brings you here? Doing alright in… 1990… something?"

"Yeah, I'm doing fine," said Ivy, hurriedly, suddenly remembering why she was here in the first place, "Listen,"

And she relayed everything from Halloween onwards. About the troll, the dog, and the unicorn blood.

"And-" she said, when she had finished, "A centaur told me to ask you four if you knew of anyone who would be desperate enough to drink unicorn blood," But she stopped suddenly, because their faces had hardened to stone.

"What is it?" she asked, quickly.

None of them spoke for a while. They were all staring at her, in silence. Ivy got the impression that none of them wanted to be the first to speak.

"Well-" said Salazar, hesitantly, "Yes, you could say that…"

Ivy raised an eyebrow at him, and tilted her head to one side. She hadn't ever seen the founders so slow to answer her. They were sturdy, anchors in time of need.

It seemed uncharacteristic.

He drew a deep breath. "Have you heard anyone refer to somebody called 'You Know Who', or 'He Who Must Not Be Named'?" he asked, staring at her.

Suddenly, Ivy remembered something Rose had said less than two months ago.

Do you honestly think I spent ten years being trained to defeat You Know Who for nothing?

She nodded her head slowly.

"Well… I don't think I should need to tell a mind such as yourself that some wizards go bad, would I?" he asked, rhetorically. "And several centuries in the future, one wizard became as bad as they come. He was called Tom Riddle,"

A shudder swept around the room.

"Yes. Was in the past tense," mumbled Salazar, "Don't ask me why, but he fashioned himself a new name. Lo-" he swallowed, "Lord Voldemort,"

"Lord Voldemort?" asked Ivy.

"Yes. But- don't refer to him as that in your time! His name is feared all around. He's… very dangerous, and Merlin doubts he is gone for good,"

"What does this have to do with-?"

Salazar interrupted her, "The night you were sent here, Lord Voldemort- or, you know who, set out to kill you and your sister- I don't know why, Ivy! - but, when he tried to kill you, the killing curse rebounded off of you, and hit him. We know he still exists in some form, and he most likely is looking for a way to regain a body, so he could resort to unicorn blood!"

Ivy pondered this point. She was remarkably unfazed as she filled in the gaps. Dumbledore must have mistaken Rose as the one who killed Voldemort. That was where she had gotten her lightning scar.

That night, as she lay in bed, she imagined scenes of horror, as Lily faced losing her daughters. Cries of pain, tears, terror. Imagined. But it felt so real.

Was she being too harsh on her?