Chapter 1
As Avaluna, the female protagonist and counterpart to Harry, stepped out of the Great Hall, her mind swirled with the weight of what had just happened. Her name had emerged from the Goblet of Fire, thrusting her into the perilous tournament against her will. The distrust in Ron's eyes and the murmured accusations from her peers only deepened her isolation. Seeking solace in a place untouched by judgment, she instinctively made her way to the Chamber of Secrets—a hidden refuge beneath Hogwarts, one that only she could access.
The chamber remained as she had left it in her second year, with the lifeless Basilisk still sprawled across the floor. Yet, something new caught her attention. The imposing statue of Salazar Slytherin, from whose mouth the serpent had once emerged, held an air of mystery. A closer inspection revealed an entrance concealed within. Curiosity and desperation urged her forward, and she stepped inside.
What she discovered was astonishing—a hidden sanctum beyond the chamber, untouched by time. A regal bedchamber lay before her, its furnishings rich with dark green and silver accents. Adjacent to it, a study lined with towering bookshelves brimmed with ancient tomes and weathered journals. Drawn by an inexplicable pull, Avaluna selected a book titled Magic in Its Entirety. As she flipped through its pages, she was captivated by its contents—an intricate history of magic's origins, the evolution of magical beings, and the emergence of different magical races.
From that moment on, the chamber became her escape. Whenever she found herself suffocated by the stares and whispers at Hogwarts, she retreated to this sanctuary, immersing herself in the knowledge preserved within Salazar's hidden library. She studied books on magical cores, the etiquette of high-born witches and wizards, the responsibilities of heirs and lords, and even spells lost to time—neutral and dark alike. One particularly intriguing text delved into the workings of advanced healing magic, spellcraft, and elemental manipulation.
With each passing day, she refined her abilities. She experimented with her magic in new ways, even using it to weave her unruly hair into intricate braids. However, she lacked proper attire, forced to make do with the ill-fitting, secondhand clothes passed down from Dudley. Despite this, her growing mastery over her craft granted her a quiet confidence.
{Author's Note: I'm working on another book, Enchanted Legacy: The Chronicles of Magic and Culture, which will explore wizarding traditions, culture, etiquette, and the origins of magic in much greater detail. If you're interested in diving deeper into these topics, please check it out once it's released!}
Her newfound knowledge proved invaluable during the tournament. In the first task, she tapped into her Parseltongue abilities, forging an understanding with the dragon—exploiting the serpentine connection between their species. For the second task, she unearthed a lesser-known water-breathing charm buried within Salazar's collection. Using it, she successfully navigated the Black Lake's depths, rescuing both Ron and Fleur Delacour's younger sister. While she forgave Ron for his earlier betrayal, a subtle rift remained between them.
The third task, however, ended in tragedy. She and Cedric reached the cup together, but triumph turned to horror as they were transported to a graveyard where Voldemort's followers awaited. Wormtail's merciless curse struck Cedric down before she could react. Bound and helpless, Avaluna became an unwilling participant in the Dark Lord's resurrection, her blood fueling the ritual that restored him to his full strength. When the duel between them commenced, their wands locked—brother cores refusing to harm one another. Seizing the moment, she grabbed Cedric's lifeless body, reached for the Triwizard Cup, and vanished back to Hogwarts in a blur of light.
After the harrowing ordeal, Avaluna found herself drawn once more to the Chamber of Secrets. Before returning to the Dursleys for the summer, she gathered a selection of books from Salazar's collection, determined to continue her studies in secret.
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The weeks following Avaluna's return to the Dursleys were suffocating. Silence greeted her at every turn—not a single letter, no comforting words from her so-called friends. Each night, she was haunted by visions—flashes of green light, desperate screams, and the chilling echo of Voldemort's return. The scene replayed in her mind relentlessly: Not Ava, please, not Ava! Then Cedric's lifeless body, Voldemort stepping out of the cauldron, his gaze locking onto her like a predator finding its prey.
Unable to escape the torment of her own thoughts, Avaluna sought distraction the only way she could—through the books and journals she had taken from Salazar Slytherin's hidden study. Among them, she found a peculiar set of three journals bound in aged leather, each penned by Salazar himself.
The first detailed his early life—his family's mysterious disappearance, his struggles to survive during the witch hunts, and his journey to mastering his magic in secrecy. She could feel his emotions seeping through the ink, his loneliness mirroring her own.
The second chronicled the founding of Hogwarts, from the moment he met the others to the castle's creation. For the first time, she understood the depth of his connection to the school—not as a place of power, but as a refuge for those who had nowhere else to turn. His infamous departure was not fueled by hatred for Muggle-borns, as history claimed, but by a desperate attempt to protect Hogwarts' safety. He feared that bringing in Muggle-born students, without proper precautions, would expose the sanctuary they had built. He proposed a radical solution—erasing the memories of their families and keeping them at Hogwarts permanently. But the other founders condemned the idea as cruel and unethical, leading to the breaking of their alliance.
The third journal was the most perplexing. It described rituals and enchantments, detailing a particular spell connected to an ornate ring. The ring, adorned with a serpent-engraved emerald, was more than a mere artifact—it held a fragment of Salazar's soul, preserved for a time when Hogwarts might need him.
Avaluna's hands trembled as she dropped the ring onto her bed, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The idea of summoning a long-dead founder seemed absurd—impossible even. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to ignore it. In the days that followed, she memorized the ritual, using it as an anchor against the nightmares that plagued her. Eventually, she strung the ring onto a simple cord and wore it around her neck. It became a silent companion, a reminder that she wasn't entirely alone.
Then came the revelation that shattered what little trust she had left.
She had spent weeks drowning in isolation, only to learn that she was never truly alone—she was being watched. Guarded. The Order had stationed members nearby, yet none of them had reached out to her. Her friends had been sworn to secrecy, forbidden from sending so much as a simple Are you okay? Fury and betrayal simmered beneath her skin. She hadn't expected much—just a sign that someone cared. But apparently, even that was too much to ask.
The Ministry trial was a blur of frustration and defiance, and returning to Hogwarts only deepened her wounds. The one person she had once seen as a mentor—Dumbledore—refused to even meet her gaze. Ignored by the very man who had once guided her, she felt utterly abandoned.
Her first Defense Against the Dark Arts class under the pink menace—Dolores Umbridge—was unbearable. The detentions were worse. The visions returned with a vengeance, her scar burning as Voldemort's emotions bled into her own. But for the first time, she found a way to use them. When she foresaw Arthur Weasley being attacked, she acted—saving his life. The knowledge that she had turned a weakness into a weapon gave her a sense of control she hadn't felt in months.
Yet, Snape's Occlumency lessons only made things worse. Each session tore down what little defenses she had left, exposing her to his own buried memories. She saw her father—her hero—tormenting a young Severus, laughing as if it were nothing more than a game. And then, the final blow: Snape's own voice, cold and venomous, spitting Mudblood at her mother. The weight of conflicting emotions crushed her—grief, shame, anger, and something deeper she couldn't quite name.
The creation of Dumbledore's Army was a beacon of hope. Teaching others to defend themselves, guiding them through spells both light and gray, gave her a purpose. But the fragile balance she had built crumbled when she saw him.
Sirius.
Trapped. Tortured. Held in the Department of Mysteries.
Driven by desperation, Avaluna led her friends into a trap, playing directly into Voldemort's hands. And in the chaos that followed, she lost the only family she had left. Watching Sirius fall, hearing Bellatrix's laughter ring through the air—it was too much. Blinded by grief and rage, she raised her wand and, for the first time in her life, cast a truly dark spell.
Crucio.
The power surged through her veins, raw and unfiltered. Bellatrix recoiled, but it wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough.
Then, Voldemort arrived.
Every fiber of her being burned with hatred, her body screaming for a fight. But before she could act, Dumbledore—who had ignored her for an entire year—stepped in, claiming her battle as his own.
The injustice of it all shattered her.
Back at Hogwarts, while others were taken to St. Mungo's, Avaluna returned to the one place where she could breathe—the Chamber of Secrets. There, in the suffocating silence, she let herself break.
Her fingers found the ring resting against her chest. The ritual echoed in her mind.
"You all want to use me to fight your battle? Fine. You'll get exactly what you deserve."
She traced the runes, carving them into the stone floor with steady hands. The ring lay at the center, her blood and hair offered as the binding agents. She whispered the incantation, repeating it over and over, until hope began to slip through her fingers.
Then, the air shifted.
A flicker of light. A ripple of energy. And then—solid form.
Salazar Slytherin stood before her.
His presence filled the chamber, his emerald eyes assessing her with quiet intensity. He appeared in his early thirties, his long black-and-white hair reaching his shoulders in loose waves. He was tall, lean but strong, clad in deep green and black robes.
But while she observed him, he observed her.
A girl on the brink of collapse—her eyes red and swollen from too many nights of tears, her tangled hair falling in disarray. Her oversized, threadbare robes barely fit her frame, worn and tattered from months of neglect. But it was her eyes that caught his attention—Avada-green, glowing with a fire that had not yet been extinguished.
A silence stretched between them, unspoken yet heavy with meaning.
She had summoned a legend.
And for the first time in a long time, Avaluna was no longer alone.
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For what felt like an eternity, silence stretched between them until Salazar finally spoke. "You are the one who sought my return."
Avaluna swallowed, steadying herself. "Yes, I am."
Salazar studied her with piercing eyes before giving a slight nod. "Looking at you, I can already tell that our old ways and traditions have long been abandoned. And from what I sense of Hogwarts' crumbling wards, our world has truly fallen into ruin." He arched an eyebrow. "So, explain."
His words snapped Avaluna out of her shock. She straightened, gathering herself. "I am Avaluna Potter, heiress to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter." She noticed his gaze flick to her unadorned hand and hesitated. "I... haven't received my heir ring yet. And as for etiquette or proper attire, those are not in my control."
Salazar merely raised an eyebrow, then gestured for her to continue.
So she did.
She spoke of Voldemort's rise, of her parents' defiance, the Order of the Phoenix, and the night of their murder on October 31st. She described how she had somehow survived the Killing Curse, only to be left at the doorstep of the Dursleys—her so-called family. The words came tumbling out, grief and long-buried anger woven into every syllable. She ranted about her childhood—forced to cook meals as soon as she could reach the stove, tending to her aunt's precious garden, enduring punishments for being a 'freak.' She told him of Dudley's favorite game, Avaluna Hunting, of being bullied at school, of wearing Dudley's oversized, discarded clothes and surviving on scraps.
Then came the letter.
The moment her world changed.
She told him about Hagrid, her first trip to Diagon Alley, the sheer wonder of it all. Meeting Ron and the Weasleys at King's Cross, her unlikely friendship with Hermione, the troll in the bathroom that cemented their bond. Her voice was bright with nostalgia—until it wasn't. As she delved into her first year, her expression darkened.
She recounted how an eleven-year-old was expected to protect the Philosopher's Stone, how each 'obstacle' in the underground chambers seemed perfectly suited for a first-year's skill set—as if designed for her. She spoke of the trials: Fluffy, the Devil's Snare, the enchanted keys, the life-sized chess game, the potion riddle, and finally, facing Voldemort—possessing Quirrell—alone. She described the pain of burning his face with her bare hands, the overwhelming terror of it all, and waking up in the hospital wing with Dumbledore brushing it off as just another adventure.
When she finally finished recounting her first year, Salazar was silent for a long moment before he spoke.
"...Are you certain you are speaking of first year?" His voice was unreadable, though something dark lurked beneath the surface.
She let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, that was only the beginning. Hell is just getting started."
Salazar exhaled sharply, running a hand through his long, dark hair. "As much as I would like to hear more of your so-called education, I would prefer if you looked less like a starved beggar and more like a person—no, a proper heiress." His gaze was sharp but not unkind. "Come."
He turned and led her toward his private bedchamber—one she had never managed to enter before.
"It was locked when I tried," she admitted, glancing at the imposing door.
Salazar smirked. "They do not call me the most paranoid wizard of my time without reason. My chambers are bound to my magical signature—they will only open for me." As if to demonstrate, he placed his hand on the door. The runes along its surface glowed, and the heavy stone parted silently.
The room was as grand as she had expected—dark green and silver tapestries, intricately carved furniture, and an air of authority that made it clear this was the domain of one of Hogwarts' greatest founders. Salazar strode toward a cabinet, opened it, and pulled out a set of fine robes. With a flick of his wand, he transfigured them into a suitable female cut.
"These were my newer robes," he said, inspecting his work. "I have adjusted them to fit you. It is not ideal, but considering the circumstances, it will suffice." He handed them to her and motioned toward an adjoining door. "The bath is through there. Clean yourself up. Then, we will continue."
Avaluna nodded, clutching the clothes to her chest as she disappeared into the bathroom.
And for the first time in a long time, she was no longer alone.
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After freshening up, Avaluna stepped out of the bathroom, feeling lighter. The grime and exhaustion of the past few days had washed away, but the weight of everything she had been through still lingered.
She froze mid-step when she saw Salazar reading through her parchment—the notes she had meticulously written while studying his journals and collected books.
Feeling a nervous flutter in her stomach, she hesitantly said, "Those are just my notes... nothing extraordinary. Just my thoughts on what I read."
Salazar lifted his eyes from the parchment and fixed her with an unreadable expression. "It is not nothing," he corrected. "Your notes show insight, a deep understanding beyond surface knowledge. You comprehend what you read, rather than just memorizing it." He set the parchment down. "That is a rare skill."
Avaluna felt her cheeks warm at the praise, her lips twitching into a small smile.
"Come," he said, standing. "Shall we begin your second year?"
She nodded. "Yes."
Taking a steadying breath, she began her tale.
It started with the disappointment—no letters from her friends all summer, the growing loneliness weighing on her. Then came the visit from Dobby, the house-elf who spoke in riddles and warned her not to return to Hogwarts. At first, she had been confused—until he ruined her life in mere moments. His disastrous attempt to "protect" her resulted in her being locked inside her room, her windows barred, meals cut down to barely anything.
She clenched her fists at the memory. "I was treated worse than a prisoner. Again."
Salazar's expression darkened, but he did not interrupt.
She recounted how the Weasleys—Ron, Fred, and George—had broken her out with a flying car, and for a brief time, she had felt happiness. Family. Belonging. But as always, peace never lasted.
Returning to Hogwarts had been a relief, but the year quickly took a darker turn. The Heir of Slytherin had returned, or so the school whispered, and students were being petrified—first a cat, then a boy, then more. The whispers turned to her, the only known Parselmouth in the school. The only one aside from the Dark Lord himself.
She glanced at Salazar then, watching his reaction carefully. His face remained impassive, though she could sense something simmering beneath the surface.
Avaluna continued, explaining how Hermione had discovered the truth—the creature lurking in the Chamber was a basilisk. A fully-grown, ancient serpent that moved through the pipes of Hogwarts, striking fear into the castle. And Dumbledore—the so-called greatest wizard of their time—had done nothing. It had taken a second-year girl, Hermione, digging through the library to find what the headmaster should have realized immediately.
Salazar let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. "So... a mere child uncovered the monster's nature, yet the supposed leader of the wizarding world did not even suspect?" His voice dripped with disdain.
Avaluna scoffed. "Oh, it gets worse."
She told him of the diary. Of Tom Riddle. How she had been lured into the Chamber to save Ginny Weasley and found herself face-to-face with the memory of Voldemort, a fragment of his past preserved within the diary.
At this, Salazar's expression twisted with something close to disgust.
"I knew he carried my bloodline, though I loathe to admit it," he said, his tone sharp. "But he is not my direct descendant. I can only assume the Slytherin line weakened over the centuries to produce something as disgraceful as him."
Avaluna smirked slightly. "That's not even the most interesting part."
She told him of the battle. Of how, in that moment, she had been alone, with no one but a phoenix, a hat, and a sword. How she had fought the basilisk—his basilisk—Jörmungandr.
When she spoke of its death, she noticed the flicker in Salazar's expression. Something akin to loss.
"You killed my familiar."
Avaluna inhaled sharply at his words. She had expected anger. Rage. But his voice carried something different—disappointment.
She straightened her shoulders. "I didn't have a choice."
Salazar studied her for a long moment before sighing. "No, I suppose you did not."
There was a brief silence before he finally spoke again. "And the end?"
She described how she had driven a basilisk fang into the diary, destroying the piece of Voldemort's memory trapped inside. How Dumbledore had later spoken of "powers transferring between enemies" and had conveniently failed to explain what that meant.
Salazar hummed in thought. "The Dark Lord passed on a fraction of his power to you that night... a Parselmouth, and likely more." His gaze sharpened. "But this connection runs deeper. I want to know—has a Slytherin ever married into the Potter line?"
Avaluna frowned. "I don't know. It's possible."
Salazar's expression was unreadable, but his mind was clearly racing with possibilities.
Finally, after a long pause, he let out a breath. "If your second year was like this, I do not know what to expect from your third."
Avaluna smirked. "Third year is the best."
He arched a brow. "Let's see."
His gaze flickered toward the entrance of the Chamber before returning to her. "I would like to continue, but it is late. You should return to your dormitory."
She hesitated before shaking her head. "No one will question my absence... and I have taken in too much today. I do not want to face them. Not yet."
Salazar regarded her for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. You may stay here." He sighed. "It is hardly proper by noble standards, but given the circumstances, we will see what can be done."
He snapped his fingers, calling upon Hogwarts' house-elves. Within seconds, a small elf popped into existence.
"Oh, great Slytherin sir is back! Tipsy felt it but didn't believe it!" the elf squeaked excitedly.
Salazar nodded. "There is much I wish to discuss with you, but first, bring us dinner. And prepare a place for the Heiress Potter."
Avaluna gave her food order, and within moments, the elf disappeared, returning shortly with trays of food.
"Your meal is served, sir, and Mistress Potter," the elf said with a small bow. "Please call if you need anything else." And with a soft pop, Tipsy was gone.
Salazar gestured to the table. "Come. You must be starving."
She nodded, sitting down across from him, and for the first time in what felt like ages, she ate a meal without rushing. Without fear.
Afterward, as Tipsy cleaned up, she asked, "Do you need anything else, sir?"
Salazar glanced at Avaluna before shaking his head. "Prepare a bed for her here and bring her belongings."
Tipsy nodded eagerly before disappearing once more.
As the elf finished setting up, Salazar finally stood. "Let's rest. We will continue tomorrow."
Avaluna exhaled, feeling exhaustion settle deep into her bones.
Tomorrow.
For the first time, she looked forward to it.
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End Note:- Thank you for reading this chapter! I truly hope you enjoyed diving into the magical tapestry of this story. There are two more chapters ahead, and I can't wait to share them with you. If you happen to spot any spelling or grammatical errors, I'd deeply appreciate your feedback, as I don't have a beta reader. Your support and suggestions mean the world to me. Happy reading! 🌟