The Potion
Chapter 26: The Potion
*Several years before*
Salazar sat behind the desk in his office, the room lined with scrolls and parchments. A window behind him lit the desk. Absentmindedly, he caressed a locket around his neck, a gift from his wife. He was avidly re-reading parchments on his desk, written by Herpo the Foul. He had read them so often he knew them by heart. Faded and stained, written in thin, scrawling Greek script, they contained a wealth of captivating, dark, and horrifying information. Some of it was too disturbing for Salazar to dwell on for long. It was unimaginable how Herpo had conceived, tested, and enacted such inventions.
Yet, these parchments contained everything Salazar needed to formulate a plan to separate himself from "that boy" and rid himself of him forever. According to Herpo, Erebus had been correct: to sever their connection forever, he must tear their souls apart. How easy would it be to ensure that Godric wanted to and did sever their connection? Salazar was convinced there was only one way to guarantee it. He had to destroy the object of Godric’s desire.
It would be difficult to get close, though. He would not be welcome at Hogwarts any longer. If seen, the alarm would be raised instantly, jeopardising his entire plan. Consequently, he decided it would be more prudent to go to Hogwarts in disguise. He couldn’t afford to mess this up. Searching the manuscripts, he discovered an ingenious means of disguise—a potion.
He was perusing this potion at his desk. His eyes traced the writing across the manuscript, and his finger ran down the list of instructions. He checked that he had made it to the letter—he had. There was only one more ingredient he needed. He reached for his wand to illuminate the manuscript in the fading light, but his wand was not there. He must have left it somewhere in the house. It was frustrating, but of no consequence.
Polyjuice Potion—that was what he was concocting. It allowed the drinker to transform into any other human, provided it contained the essence of the individual to be transformed into. That was the final ingredient he needed.
While perusing Herpo’s documents, he also found the means to create his own basilisk. This discovery sparked within him the desire to birth his own basilisk, planting the seeds of a backup plan.
He was still inspecting the manuscript closely when the door to the room opened. He did not look up. His wife, Juliana, entered, looking long-faced and sullen. This was not unusual. Their marriage had been a complete disaster from the beginning. Juliana had been emotional, passionate, and naive, whereas Salazar had been indifferent, unappeasable, and unapologetic. It had been doomed. Consequently, Juliana was rarely anything but bitter, depressed, and disappointed with him, their marriage, or her lot in life, while Salazar resented her constant presence and interference. He was unable to make her happy and did not particularly desire to. He felt no guilt towards her, only irritation and vexation. He had no wish to engage her in another argument, so he remained absolutely silent as she walked in. She, on the other hand, in her light, draping robes, braced herself for what would follow.
"In here again?" Juliana sighed, exasperatedly, with a hint of accusation. Her hands were on her hips.
"As you see," Salazar replied coldly, through gritted teeth.
Juliana walked in further, eyeing the room, the desk, the parchments on top of it, and then her husband. She could be cold too.
"You’re going to stay in here all evening again?"
"Most likely," he said.
He could feel that prickle of annoyance creeping over him again.
Then, to try to get rid of her, he suggested, "Why don’t you go out and amuse yourself?"
"I’ve already been out today," she said at once.
Salazar said nothing but continued to look at his papers intently. Juliana, however, revealed a thick, jagged wand from inside her robes and began to twirl it meaningfully between her fingers. Sensing this, Salazar looked up.
"Oh!" Salazar exclaimed indignantly, "that’s my wand!"
"I know," Juliana replied, looking pleased with herself for the first time, "it is, and I’m glad you’ve confirmed it."
Salazar stared at her in amazement, his eyebrows furrowed. "I’d like it back, please."
She carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. "Funny, isn’t it," she said, though she didn’t look at all amused, "I had no idea what wood it was made from. I thought it looked like a very nice wood—unusual. Wouldn’t it be nice if I got him a box made of the same wood for our anniversary, to keep the locket in, which I got him as a wedding present."
Salazar had a very uncomfortable feeling about where this conversation was going and looked at her closely.
"So, I thought, let's find out what wood the wand is made from. Let’s not ask him, or it would ruin the surprise."
She was still fiddling with the wand, aggressively.
"It’s snakewood," Salazar said innocently.
"Yes, I know!" she said, her voice strained. "Mr Ollivander told me that today. I went and asked him. Very unusual wand, he said. Not made by him or any other wand-maker he’d ever known. Then he was positively shocked to find out what the core was made from! So was I, as a matter of fact—basilisk horn, of all things. He said it’s probably the only wand in existence with such a core. What a rarity."
She stared at him with a terrified and disgusted look. Her hands were shaking now.
"Then I thought to myself, where could anyone find a basilisk horn?" she said, as though to herself.
Salazar’s eyes grew wide. "Juliana, I—"
"Greece," she said, answering her own question and looking at him furiously. "My brother died in an underground chamber, accompanied by the first dead basilisk in a thousand years. And then, who should turn up weeks later, with a wand made from basilisk horn and snakewood?" She stared at him with a wild look in her eyes. "You! What a coincidence. Then you ask me to marry you."
Salazar stood up, trying to appease and quieten her.
"Don’t you dare lie to me," she said fiercely and threateningly. "You killed my brother, didn’t you?"
Salazar looked down, feeling slightly ashamed, but then he looked back at her, calculatingly.
"Yes," he affirmed, "I did, but—"
Juliana made a gargled screaming sound and brandished her fists. She swept the scrolls and manuscripts off the shelves, and they fell to the floor. She began hurling them at Salazar, along with anything else her hands could grasp.
Salazar shielded himself with his hands and then said calmly, "I had to, Juliana. It was self-defence; he was trying to kill me!"
She was not appeased. On the contrary, she pelted him with objects more furiously, including his wand, which gave her so much displeasure to hold.
"Why did you ask me to marry you?" she questioned angrily. "Did you ever love me?"
Salazar scrambled to the floor and seized his wand at once. With a cry of "Immobulus," all the objects froze in mid-air.
He turned to look at Juliana and told her quite flatly, "Control yourself, woman. Of course not."
Juliana stared at him in horror, cradling her belly. Unable to stand the sight of him any longer, she let out a cry, turned, and left the room as quickly as she could.
Salazar found he was breathing rather heavily. He turned around in anger and marched back to his desk. Staring at it, he reasoned his plan was all he wanted to do, so he was determined to enact it. This was far more important than dealing with such annoying and, quite frankly, tedious domestic issues. He resolved in his mind to leave and put his plan into action at last.
Gathering his essentials took little time: a few vials, the potion, a stunned toad, and a chicken’s egg.
He picked up his travelling cloak, took a deep breath, and then he apparated from the house. With a loud crack, Salazar materialised in a thick, dark forest. The familiar scent of pine and damp earth hit him, reminding him of his childhood. His parents’ cottage lay a short distance away. He crumpled the fallen leaves as he made his way towards it, staying hidden among the trees until he was confident no one was watching from the house. He didn’t believe anyone was in.
For the first time, he found it odd that his father, despite being financially well-off, had chosen to live so humbly. Salazar sniffed sharply. It was no surprise that his father lived far away from everyone after what he’d done to Fordlow. He wouldn’t have felt enough guilt to do it, but perhaps he’d had enough sense.
When Salazar reached the door, he found it unlocked. There would be no suspicion he’d been inside. He closed the wooden door behind him and entered the simple kitchen. It looked the same as ever. He crossed over quickly, avoiding the table, and headed straight for his bedroom. By the light of the draped window, he saw the two beds, just as they had always been. Neatly placed blankets lay on each one, as though waiting for the day their occupants would return.
Salazar had no time to dwell on such things. He knelt by Godric’s bed, hoping his mother hadn’t cleaned up too thoroughly. He let out an excited grunt and pumped the air as he saw one of Godric’s fine red hairs on the floor. He fumbled in his magically enhanced bag, pulled out the Polyjuice Potion, and added the hair to the concoction. Tentatively, he ladled a spoonful of the gloopy potion into a vial. From Herpo’s calculations, he’d have enough mixture to transform for a few hours if he kept taking it. Steeling himself, he tipped back the jug's contents and gulped the revolting mixture down.
At once, Salazar felt his body convulsing and a peculiar rippling effect on his skin. He felt sick. Then it stopped. Despite knowing what the potion would do, he couldn’t help but question if it had worked. Had the transfiguration been successful? Had he transformed into Godric’s identical image? Quickly, he looked for a reflective surface. All at once, he gaped at himself in astonishment, or rather at Godric, who stared back at him. It was utterly staggering. Salazar raised a hand to his face and felt the contours and complexion of Godric’s face traced beneath his fingertips, and instead of his own smooth fine hairs, he felt the bristles of Godric’s beard. His body’s transfiguration was amazing. He couldn’t believe it. Intense exhilaration and excitement permeated his entire being. He was inside Godric’s body. This must be how it felt to be Godric. He removed his cloak. His hands instantaneously rested upon his tight stomach, and he laughed. He could feel the hard muscles creasing below his fingers. He could see red hair covering his groin. His hands migrated to his solid, thick thighs before unconsciously moving to his firm, generous ass. He felt an overwhelming desire to explore his new body, a freedom to give in to his temptation to see the whole of Godric. It was electrifying and intoxicating.
He didn’t know how long he had stood there. Suddenly, he heard a noise. Someone else had entered the house. He panicked and grabbed his cloak. He was just about to disapparate when the bedroom door opened.
“Godric!” exclaimed his father, who looked wildly happy to see him. “What a surprise! You never said—why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he chastised.
Salazar looked at his father, who beamed back at him. He rubbed the back of his head nervously.
“I—” Salazar stuttered, “well, it was supposed to be a surprise—”
“And a jolly good one too!” Razledorf declared buoyantly, striding into the room to get a better look at him.
Salazar had never seen his father look so happy. He certainly couldn’t remember the last time his father had ever looked at him like that, if he ever had. His sudden appearance had completely thrown him off. It was so weird looking at him through the eyes of Godric when his father assumed he was Godric. How should he act? What should he do or ask with this newfound freedom?
His father sat lightly on the bed. “Well then?” he asked expectantly. “How is everyone?”
“Oh, fine,” Salazar replied nervously. “Doing well.”
“Good, good,” Razledorf exclaimed. Then he looked at Salazar’s face interestedly. “What about you? Anything the matter?”
“No, no,” Salazar lied, then tried to sit down next to his father casually, in a manner as closely resembling Godric as he could muster. “What about you?”
“Yes, good!” He beamed, clasping Salazar’s shoulder with one hand and mussing his hair with the other. “We’re doing well.”
Razledorf sighed deeply and looked Salazar straight in the eye. “We’re so proud of you, Godric, so proud. I’m so proud. What you’ve made of your life is incredible.”
"Salazar felt a sharp pain, like a dagger twisting in his chest. 'What about Salazar?' he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. 'You must be proud of him too.'"
Razledorf visibly shifted uncomfortably. He seemed to be making some sort of excuse. “You’re always asking about him. I’m sure he’s done what he could, but I’m not going to deny that I’m especially proud of you—what you’ve done, who you’ve become.”
“Maybe he could have done more if you’d loved him more.”
Salazar stood up. Razledorf looked affronted.
“What’s gotten into you, Godric?” Razledorf asked, confused, stretching out his hand. “Don’t go, you’ve only just got here.”
Razledorf’s hand clasped Salazar’s arm. Something unexplainable about the warmth of the grasp upon his skin, the touch of his father, which he had not felt in such a long time, pushed him over the edge. A sudden rage engulfed him.
“What am I doing?” Salazar asked aloud. “Not living in your shadow any longer! You’re pathetic, putrid, and insignificant. You have no claim on me—no claim on anything. You have no right to anything. You do not deserve anything at all. You are nothing. If anything, you’re an abscess on life, on my life, that should be removed.”
With little more thought, he acted. Almost as suddenly as he'd decided. It felt inevitable in the end, as though he had always intended to do it.
As the brief, extinguishing green light of the curse faded, Razledorf’s face held a look of confusion and shock before he slumped back on the bed. Salazar didn’t flinch. He stared at his father's lifeless body for a moment longer, then turned sharply, his mind already on the next part of his plan.
There was little time to waste. The air at Hogwarts was unseasonably warm as he arrived at the castle’s entrance. The familiar grounds stretched before him, unchanged, yet he felt a chill that the warmth couldn’t touch.
He walked quickly up the dirt track to the Castle, overlooking the vast landscape he remembered vividly, stretching down from the hills to the lake and beyond. Odd groups of students passed him by, greeting him cheerily, presuming him to be Godric. He largely ignored them, choosing instead to focus on his goal. Salazar grimaced as he took another swig of the bitter potion, feeling the familiar, unpleasant sensation wash over him. Up ahead, he could see the round stones and slate roof of Godric’s hut sitting in the grounds. The rising smoke from the chimney suggested someone was home cooking.
Salazar breathed shallowly. He scarcely allowed himself to believe the day had come. He would finally end his torment. All he'd been thinking about and working towards for months. The plan was simple. But so much could go wrong. That was the reason for his second plan—his plan 'B.' The former was going so smoothly, though. He slowed himself down, purposefully quieting his footfalls. But he also allowed himself to savour his victorious moment for longer. All it took was for her to be in there. Through a small window, he could see her. She was there—Gladys Gryffindor. Time had not lessened the effect she had on Salazar, and he felt his insides convulse at the sight of her.
The wooden door was in view too. He approached cautiously, remembering the part he was supposed to be playing and the face he was wearing. Godric would not knock. Before he gave himself away, he opened the door quickly and bounded in. Before he could pause and reconsider.
He spoke cheerily, “Honey, I’m home!”
“Godric, dear!” she exclaimed, startled. “You’re back early. Did you manage to get away sooner? I’m so glad. Dinner’s almost ready. Come here and give me a kiss.”
She left a pot on the stove to come near him. The room was small and full of junk. There was a round table to the side with three chairs around it, and a large bed partly hidden by a drape. She pressed her hands on his shoulders and then her lips to his. It felt so unnatural that she must have noticed instantly. It was not a kiss he could ever remember giving to Juliana.
“What’s wrong? Something the matter? Oh, it’s not Rowena again, is it? Come inside and tell me all about it.”
She dragged him in. The door stood ajar still. He had not come here for pleasantries or to drag it out any further. Besides, his potion would run out if he wasn’t careful. He felt all funny, all of a sudden, but he was not sure why. Now was as good a time as any, he supposed. He drew his wand.
“What are you doing, Godric?” Gladys asked innocently, with an endearing expression.
“Oh, something I should have done a long time ago,” he said maliciously.
And he suddenly felt a rush of adrenaline, excitement, and joy as he brandished his wand. Now, at last, her time would be over.
He smiled callously as he cried, “Avada Kedavra.”
All his hatred towards women pulsated through him and out of his wand. The spell hit her squarely in the chest. She dropped suddenly and landed with a thud on the floor. He was victorious.
A tiny voice quivered from the doorway, “Mummy?”
Salazar spun around. A boy, barely three, stood in the doorway. His eyes were wide and glazed over, and he had a finger in his mouth. He held a toy limply to his side. The very spitting image of Godric. He must have been playing outside the hut and come in when he’d heard his father’s voice. He looked confused.