"The staff should bring your luggage soon, until then, make yourselves at home," Riddle says, "it's the door just down the corridor."

The fact that the west wing of the manor even has a corridor is wildly lavish. A place like this would be rented out for horrendous sums in London, but we are, in fact, in Little Hangleton, at world's end.

"I can't put into words how glad I am to have you here, I –"

"Listen," I interrupt him before he's unstoppable again, "Mr Riddle, I'm sure your wife still isn't thrilled. And I don't know what you said to her earlier to calm her down, but I don't think any of this is a good idea either, and I –"

"Tom," he interrupts me back, "heavens, please don't Mr Riddle me. My heart breaks when you do that."

"If Gwen calls you your father, that's one thing, but I'm certainly not going to –"

"At least say Thomas, will you?" He sighs. "I'm perfectly aware that you don't know much about me yet, but don't be cruel with mock politeness. And Cecilia … she's just like that. Short-tempered. But as quickly as she rants, she's fine again. It's not easy for her, you know. She needs a bit time, but I didn't have to tell her anything. Since she avoided a snake bite thanks to you, she's changed her mind all by herself."

I take a deep breath in, but it's all too fond for me. Too much uncertainty, too much exuberance, too much fatherliness and clearly too much fog in my head. And whenever I close my eyes for a moment, there's Morfin, too, covered in blood as he guilts my hands, and Merope as she traps Riddle to overshadow my damned life …

"Stay as long as you like," Riddle says, dragging me back to our here and now by it. "You are obviously free to leave at any time, but I … I'd be thrilled if you spent a couple of days with us."

"Thank you, sir," Harper says to cover for my own lack of gratefulness before she follows me to the mentioned door.

"We'll have dinner at 7 pm," he still calls after us, "I look forward to seeing you."

Well, I don't.

And as soon as we're alone, Harper already senses that.

"How are you?"

"Me?" I look at her. "Why do you ask that?"

"Because … Morfin is dead," she merely whispers, "and your father is alive. And his new wife yelled at you. And because this day is just plain crazy, Tom. That's why."

"I'm feeling quite well," I claim as Harper closes the door behind us. I instantly walk over to the window, it provides an excellent overview of the manor's main building. I can see the forest on the opposite hill.
Where he lived. Until today …
Where Merope made her plans.

"How are you doing?" I then ask Harper, not turning around.

"Well, too!" She lets her cynicism shine through every syllable.

"And what about Viper?"

"What about her?" she all but repeats.

"If you're afraid of snakes from now on, you'll hardly want one at home."

"Stop it, I'm sure it'll go away. It's only been a few hours …"

"True. And yet like from another life."

I hear her pour herself a glass of water with the carafe on the table, then she sits down on a creaky wooden chair, saying, "At the risk of you not wanting to have this conversation … I'm just going to start it. Aside from the fact that you kept it a secret from me – how did you know about the Slytherin bloodline?"

I inwardly groan, then turn to her and cross my arms over my chest while leaning against the windowsill. "I can't tell you that."

"But Tom –"

"I made an Unbreakable Vow," I cut her off. "I truly can't."

"Oh." She lets her gaze wander up to the ceiling. "That's an argument … All right, then. I'll get there myself." She exhales in frustration, then surmises, "After Elliott mentioned the Pure-Blood Directory in relation to the Gaunts at the Black Lake the other day, you immediately went to talk to Nott. And never in your life would you have visited his ossified family with him for no reason. So before you came to Brimington to see me, you probably found answers there – because the Notts were likely the ones writing all about those bloodlines. Elliott once mentioned that you've believed that for years anyway. No, don't respond – I know it's true, I don't need you for that. Anyway, you must have gotten certainty there. You probably found a family tree. Or letters or diaries. Oh, speaking of which, by the way – do you ever actually write anything into the calendar I gave you?"

"Oh, you mean along the lines of …" I shrug and suggest, "Dear diary, today I killed my uncle –"

"Tom," she moans. "You didn't kill him. It was an accident."

"I would've killed him if the accident hadn't gotten in my way."

"Well, fine," she hisses, "but that doesn't change the fact that it still wasn't murder! Not this time. And if you ever want to commit one, know that I won't ever look at you again, for the rest of my life!"

"You'd be surprised how well you can communicate without making eye contact," I say lost in thought as the basilisk crosses my mind.

"Why, Tom," she simply continues, "didn't you tell me you were the last Heir of Slytherin he wouldn't be ashamed of? Since when do you keep secrets from me?"

First and foremost, I keep staring at the opposite wall. "I didn't know how you'd react."

"How I would react?"

"You refer to yourself as a mudblood, Harper, you know exactly what Slytherin's views were …"

"Yes, but apparently you don't know me," she murmurs. "I've long since read up on Parsel myself, everything I could find. I'd already assumed that there was a connection. After all, probability almost rules out coincidence. There hasn't been another known Parselmouth since Slytherin … And it's all … quite mad, but also fascinating."

"Fascinating?" I repeat in irritation. "Just as fascinating as we're both doing well, huh? Hatred has dominated my family for over a millennium – truly brilliant!"

"You entirely believe that, don't you," she says while shaking her head. "Slytherin's reputation could simply have been a defamatory justification by the other school founders."

"What?" I screw up my face. "Harper, he wanted to purge the school."

"I know what everyone's saying. Mudbloods beware!" She waves it off and shrugs. "That's far too absolute for me. I don't believe a brilliant mind like Slytherin was so one-dimensional. I just discovered a book the other day that went into more detail about the school's founding days. The big four were really good friends, almost like siblings – do you know the Chronicles of Narnia?"

I blink a couple of times. "Harper, a way too rapid change of subject, honestly –"

"You do – moving on, then. I imagine the Hogwarts' big four to be a bit like the Pevensies, the siblings from C.S. Lewis' stories who reach Narnia through the wardrobe and –"

"I've read the Chronicles," I cut this short, "Peter as the heroic lion, hence Godric?" She nods. "Susan, the pensive Rowena," I add, "Sunshine Lucy as Helga and … Edmund, the traitor, in the role of Salazar?"

"He was no such thing," she claims. "He was last known as King Edmund the Just. Justice requires the constant weighing of good and evil, love and duty. Nothing less had Slytherin tried to do, if you ask me."

I raise a brow and pour myself a glass of water, too, as I say, "Speak your mind …"

"The four of them worked out the school concept together for a very long time. And they were all in complete agreement on one thing – the school was to be far away from everything and everyone, but above all hidden from the suspicious eyes of Muggles. And not least for the same reason, Hogwarts became a castle with thick walls that still resembles a fortress today. They had deliberately created a place of refuge for magic. Godric, Helga, Rowena and Salazar were fully aware that this was necessary. And it still is, if we're honest. The scepticism towards Muggles is no coincidence, Tom. As much as I hate to say it, and as little as it may apply to my own parents, there are certainly harsh opinions out there. And the hatred of the world of magic towards people like me, towards mudbloods, was therefore at least rationally explainable at the time. It's not nice. And it's difficult and full of prejudice, but still … understandable, given you don't think in terms of black and white."

"Sapere aude," I sigh. "You do what you always do – instead of settling for the established narratives, you want to read between the lines. Without blame, without polemics – but far too benevolently …"

"Salazar just degenerated into a dramaturgical archetype in the last centuries," she retorts, "but a human being is always more than just hateful. Rowena was more than clever, Helga had more to give than kindness, and Godric certainly could not be reduced to courage alone."

I eventually nod. "On with the lecture," I mumble as I take a seat opposite her in another chair. "So far, interestingly enough, this is conclusive …"

"It's not from Witch Weekly, after all," she says, giving me a wan smile. "I've been reading through Slytherin's biographies to find out more about Parsel behind your back, but in doing so I've noticed that he was probably protective of women in particular because of horrific experiences his own mother had."

I can't help but chuckle. "Harper, I really don't think he was advocating for equality of any sort all those centuries ago."

"Well, he supposedly had a plan to build catacombs to hide as many witches as possible in case the school got attacked. All right, I know, I know – the Chamber of Secrets that everyone's always talking about was probably meant to serve much different purposes in the end, but originally the idea apparently came about for noble reasons. Rowena and Helga, however, protested. They insisted on ultimate equality, and as much as I'd like to agree with them – as far as brutality is concerned, witches are at a higher risk physically. Torture stifles magic. 500 years after Salazar, the consequences of not keeping our world secret were to show themselves in their ugliest grimace, especially to the chagrin of countless women. The Witches' Hammer, Malleus Maleficarum, was published, and we all howled and burned at the stake, after being tortured, tormented and humiliated. Even in the New World, just think of the Salem Witch Trials … Slytherin's worry became bitter reality, as it had for his mother. And what if, above all, that was why he didn't want to trust anyone? If he didn't care about blood at all, but wanted to make sure there was no persecution of people like us? He might have feared danger within the walls of the school he helped found because the rest of the world already was a threat."

"But you know the stories," I say. "Legend holds he hid a monster in the castle – which would be a danger in itself."

"Yes, indeed." She nods. "You might think he just wanted to create a powerful force for enemies, but ultimately it could just as well have been wounded pride. I would've also been angry if my three colleagues, despite valid arguments, had not even been willing to discuss whether Muggle-borns should be taught or not. And I guess if you're just a little bit capricious, it can happen that you accidentally let a toad hatch an ordinary hen's egg out of sheer displeasure. And then you suddenly keep a huge snake as a pet."

She shakes at these words, but as always she knows more than I suspect. And I simply cannot suppress a telling sigh at this …

"Admit it," she demands. "Didn't you find it?"

"Harper –"

"Don't lie to me, Tom! When you were so worried about me after the Slug Club in the girls' lavatory, I made – to use your words – insubstantial speculations that you were hearing voices again. That was a snake, I'm certain, and I also returned to the lavatory –"

"Do you even have the slightest idea how dangerous –"

"Of course I do," she whispers. "Especially after today … And I don't even want to know how many times you've been down there yourself – by now."

"Twice," I admit. "And only after I knew for sure what I was dealing with. You, on the other hand, just stroll right into the girls' lavatory and mingle around the entrance?"

As her tired smile widens, I realise she just tricked me. I go quiet and my look is a reproach in itself. "For hell's sake, you didn't know," I growl, burying my face in a hand for a moment. "You merely suspected."

"Until now, yes," she retorts. "But there I have my confirmation. Whereas the thought of a basilisk, which you've already heard in various places in the castle, is frankly disturbing after today. How does it move about?"

"Pipes," I sigh. "The pipe system from Corvinus' time that spreads through the whole school."

"Incredible," Harper says under her breath. "So, what's it like?"

"Huge."

"Come on, you could embellish a little more with your monumental vocabulary …"

"The less you know, the better. And what if for once there's no excuse for Slytherin? What if he was simply cruel after all?"

"Then it still has nothing to do with you." She doesn't avoid my gaze for a second. "You are not your ancestors. Not him, not the Gaunts, not your mother, not your father."

We glance at each other for what feels like eternity, then there's a knock on the door.

"Tom?" Cecilia clears her throat. "Tom, do you have a moment?"

"Can't we just leave?" I whisper to Harper.

"Don't break your father's heart," she demands. "And I'm so looking forward to this dinner that we can't possibly leave now …"

So I hear myself call, "Just come in."

Hi all,

I confess, a logical error has crept in here as the Chronicles of Narnia had not yet been published in 1944 :') Although they were being written starting in 1939, they weren't published then. But there are so many nice headcanons and pictures of the Pevensie siblings as the founders of Hogwarts out there, and I love the 7 books and 3 movies a lot (I even wrote a huge Royals soap about King Caspian once, it's on here as well) that I just couldn't resist using the reference.

That being said, I hope you still enjoy reading and thanks for being here.

xx
Dalia