The Basilisk
Salazar dragged himself deeper into the snow, further away from the Castle. He had no idea where he was going, nor where he had been. He was wounded, both inside and out. The blood on his face had dried, and flakes of frost lined his features. Defeated and exhausted, he collapsed into the drift.
What had happened? he thought. How had it ever come to this?
He had no awareness of time passing. Gradually, consciousness and subconsciousness began to mingle.
He was once again in a cool, dark room in Greece, lying on a bed. The old Godric was next to him—the one with the bright, green, kind eyes. The one who had laughed and shifted his gaze shyly. The one who had been his friend, who had looked at him as though he had won the lottery every time he saw him. The one he had called his Godric.
“My Salazar,” Godric said, smiling to himself, “whatever happens, I'll always want to come back to you. You do know that, don’t you?” He sounded so earnest, as though desperate for him to believe it was true.
Salazar wept bitterly, without constraint. His emotions overwhelmed him.
“You’re the best,” he whispered.
Was it all just a dream? Had it been a dream? Surely I must have dreamt it, he thought, or why would he want to give it up?
He was filled with a sense of utter abhorrence, self-loathing, and self-destruction, though probably not nearly enough.
He choked on his tears, spluttering and coughing.
No more, he said to himself. No more. Godric had spurned him, hated him, despised him, and even betrayed him. Enough was enough. He resolved to show his strength, for he was Salazar Slytherin, the most powerful wizard in the world. Never again would he be at the mercy of another man.
Having mad this resolution, a wave of new emotions swept over him. They were sweet, seductive, and satisfying—the alluring thoughts of darkness, disinterest, and indifference. The temptation to yield to evil and darkness was blissfully overwhelming. The loss seemed incomparably desirable. The darkness had never seemed so tantalisingly inviting. His raw, unadulterated lust for power, revenge, and hurt had never felt so all-consuming. He understood now the desire to embrace the natural cravings of his heart, to succumb to its inevitable pull, and allow himself to be engulfed.
If there was one place he could go for help, he knew immediately where it must be. To be free from that man, there was only one thing to do: sever the cord with him, once and for all. He had to cut the ties that bound him to that boy. Only one man had ever severed a soul: Herpo the Foul. All his foul works and writings resided in an underground chamber in Greece. Therefore, that must be the place he should go. That must be the place he went.
*
Salazar landed in Greece. There was no snow, but it was much greyer than he remembered. Away from the cold, dull remembrances of Scotland, Salazar already felt better.
He had managed to apparate directly to the city in one piece, driven by his clear desire and resolution.
In the dusty, cobbled square where Salazar materialised, there was an octagonal fountain in the centre, highlighted by the moonlight. It was night, and the streams of water had been switched off, but there was still enough water in the shallow pool for him to wash himself. He did so gladly. As he washed the blood and dirt from his face and saw it swirl in the pool below, he felt a mix of self-disgust, hatred for Godric, and fresh exhilaration at his new purpose.
“Lumos,” he whispered.
He darted out of the square into the maze-like streets of the city, using his wand light to guide him through the narrow passageways. He looked all around him as he moved, not wanting to meet anyone. He searched the shadows and alleyways for signs of life as he passed.
He knew where he was going, where he must go. Panting, he made his way across the city, to the outskirts, and then into a large clearing. He remembered his last journey to this destination vividly. He retraced his steps to the large stone that jutted out.
He placed his hand on the rock and then started pacing around it, speaking the ancient words he had heard once before. There was a loud thud and scraping sound as the stone heaved aside, revealing the stone steps beneath it, descending deep into the bowels of the earth.
He was really here. He was ready. It was time to learn how to sever the ties with Godric forever, to be rid of him, to ensure there were no limits to his abilities or powers. He was certain that Herpo's writings, which resided in the chamber, would tell him everything he needed to know.
The passage was dark, but Salazar could see flickering candlelight at the bottom of the staircase. Someone must be there. A thrill crept over him. It must be ‘him’, he assumed. It must be Erebus. That would be even better, he thought. He could find out more information from him. At the foot of the steps, Salazar entered the main chamber.
A figure stood in front of the table, behind the plinth. Salazar could see the back of his head. The rest of the chamber was deserted. He slowly descended.
“What took you so long?” the man said with the unmistakable voice of Erebus.
He continued to look down, flicking through some parchments on the table. Salazar said nothing.
“You had me worried for a moment, I’m not ashamed to admit it,” Erebus confessed, turning to look at his guest over his shoulder. “Thought I might have made a mistake!” He spoke as though he had said something ridiculous and highly amusing. “But then I remembered, I’m never wrong,” he sneered, “and here you are, proving my point.”
Salazar reached the bottom of the chamber. The atmosphere felt charged and earthy, with the torches casting flickering shadows. From the back, Erebus appeared to be wearing a highly decorative ceremonial cloak, embroidered in red and gold. He turned round, now face to face with Salazar, who got his first proper look at him since the summer. It was clear that he was naked under the garment, as it clung loosely to him, exposing one of his large nipples. It gently caressed his skin as he moved. His hair was as dark as ever, and his eyes were as big as the ones that had been haunting Salazar’s dreams.
“Is it very vain of me to say I knew you’d come?” he said, devilishly charming.
Salazar suddenly saw plainly, for the first time, what a stark contrast Erebus and Godric made. Whereas Godric had been deceptive, faithless, changeable, ‘good’, Erebus was true, constant, and ‘dark’. What if Erebus was the answer? Salazar thought. What if he had had the answer all along? He suddenly wondered what he had been doing for the last year. What on earth had he been fretting about?
Salazar said, “I don’t know what kept me!” amusingly, “What spell I must have been under.”
“Drink?” Erebus asked, indicating two goblets on the table and picking one up.
Salazar smiled and then nodded. There was nothing pure or brotherly about his feelings now. Erebus pointed his wand at the goblet, enunciated a word, and a red liquid filled it to the brim. He handed it to Salazar, who had to come closer to take it.
Then Salazar suddenly got a waft of Erebus’ scent again. It lodged itself in his nostrils. His stomach melted, and his shoulders relaxed. This was agonising pleasure.
“Your health,” Erebus said, raising his goblet a fraction.
Salazar’s eyes widened, and he looked down into his cup.
Erebus smirked, “You think I would poison you?”
Salazar stared back, “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“Fair enough,” Erebus said, sauntering along, “but I did have something else in mind for you.”
“For me?” Salazar replied, frowning. “Like what?”
Erebus paused and said nothing. Then he came back and placed his goblet on the desk. Salazar drank his. It tasted like sweet, strong wine.
“If I want you to do something for me,” Erebus said caressingly, “it’s only fair that I do something for you.”
He took the goblet back and then placed his hands on Salazar’s shoulders. Salazar couldn’t remember the last time he had been touched by another human being. Slowly, Erebus slid Salazar’s cloak off and let it fall to the floor.
“Now, that's better, isn’t it?” Erebus said, then continued seductively, “And what is it that Salazar wants? I wonder. Why did he come all the way back here?”
Salazar could feel his chest rising and falling quickly, his breathing becoming heavier.
He cleared his throat. “I want to know more about Herpo,” he said slowly, his eyes briefly darting to the knife. “I want to know more about the knife.”
He remembered his purpose in coming.
Erebus smiled expectantly. He moved towards the plinth and began encircling it, feeling the plinth with his hand.
Speaking with his eyes on the knife, he said, “I’ve already told you about it.”
“Yes, but I want to know more about it. I want to know about Herpo, how he divided his soul. How does one sever a soul? Their own soul?”
“You never did prick your finger,” he said distractedly. “Did you?”
Salazar looked confused. What did that have to do with anything?
Erebus appeared to have made up his mind about something.