The Monster
Chapter 27: The Monster
A small part of Salazar wished he felt guilt or remorse, but the dehumanisation of his heart and the impenetrable wall he had erected around it ensured he felt neither pity nor sorrow for the boy who had just lost his mother. In fact, of all the emotions he had known, he felt nothing but relief and consolation. Gladys was dead at last, and the misery she had inflicted on him was over. The tension in his life ebbed away. The bond between him and Godric was now severed with the removal of his one true love. Salazar would be free again, free from the bond of any other human being. Godric’s child, if anything, had learned a valuable lesson as he stood watching, his eyes brimming with tears. But Salazar did not have time to think about it now.
As he stole across the room, the boy asked feebly, “Daddy?”
Salazar pushed past him and stepped out of the wooden hut, onto the patchy grass and into the bright sunshine. By the light of the sky, he could tell evening would not be far off. He did not know how long the potion would last. He still had much to do.
He headed for the castle. Its imposing walls loomed over him as if aware of the deception and treachery they had just witnessed. The castle had always been a vanity project for Salazar. Why he had ever thought it was a good idea to build it was a mystery to him.
There was a nagging thought at the back of his mind: he had to prepare for all eventualities. He didn’t like to admit it, but not admitting it would be a greater error indeed. Godric was a formidable duellist, perhaps even better than himself. What if he could not beat him in a battle of wands? What if he was defeated and Godric was not slain? He had to have a backup plan. There was no shame in devising a second means of ensuring his death. That was just practical sense. He had done it before and could do it again. He had used one before to kill someone—a basilisk. He would birth it in the secret underground chamber. That way, he alone could access it and control it using Parseltongue. Nobody else would accidentally stumble across it. But at the right moment, he could unleash it, and with one look, Godric would be dead.
He was in the castle now. He passed a statue of Oswald, the architect, which had obviously been erected recently, and made his way to the first floor. The entrance to the secret chamber looked undisturbed. There was no another soul around. The place was eerily quiet. He squeezed himself into the entrance and lowered himself down. The floor was wet and slimy. He arrived at the great door, still emblazoned with the snake. He caressed it fondly. Memories he thought long forgotten resurfaced as he remembered his time teaching.
*
Salazar closed the chamber door again. He sighed and thought to himself, if only creating a basilisk was as simple as hatching a chicken egg under a toad! But it had worked. The sight of it was harrowing. Surprisingly long for an infant, and its eyes still deadly, Salazar could not look directly at it.
“Slithery-Slytherin!” cackled a high-pitched voice from above. “Thought you’d come back, did you?”
Salazar clenched his eyes—Peeves! The last person he needed to see. His potion had clearly worn off.
“Run along, Peeves,” Salazar breathed heavily, “like a good little boy.”
Peeves chortled to himself, full of mirth. “You’re always more fun evil. It's a shame you’re not around for long! So much chaos in so short a time!”
Salazar ignored him and made for the door to the corridor, but he stopped dead with his hand on the knob as Peeves’ words hit him.
“Slithery-Slytherin, what on earth have you got slithering in your hole? Such a lot of bother, but then you were always such a naughty boy! You should have just asked if you wanted a game of hide-and-seek with your ickle-lickle friend. He’ll seek all right, but you won’t find what you’re looking for!” He giggled to himself, barely making sense as he wiped his eyes. “Oh, they’ll spend such a long time looking!”
Salazar’s ears flushed red with sudden heat. “What on earth are you talking about, Peeves? You’re incessant and nonsensical. Nobody ever liked you!”
Peeves, however, cackled to himself and then drifted up through the ceiling. Salazar had to get going. He opened the door to the corridor. What next? he thought to himself as he re-entered the corridor.
“Professor Slytherin!” a voice exclaimed in surprise.
Salazar turned to face the speaker. It was a bright, gangly boy, tall and nearing the end of adolescence. He had floppy brown hair, and his eyes were soft and sad. He leaned roughly on a wooden stick. One of his legs was missing. His face was unmistakable.
“Tip!” Salazar said incredulously.
An image of a tiny, pitiful boy rose before his eyes, hobbling across the great hall, as the now grown-up version stood undeniably before him.
“Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here,” Tip questioned tentatively.
“Why should I not be? This is, after all, my school. My family paid for it. I paid my family for it with all I had.”
“I should get someone. I should get Professor Ravenclaw,” he said uncertainly.
“No, you shouldn’t. You should run along, Tip. I was just leaving.”
Salazar made to leave, but Tip blocked his way.
He stood resolute, his eyebrows creasing together. “Why were you in there?” he asked, pointing at the door. He shook his head, his voice cracking. “You’re up to something. I know it. You’re up to no good.”
Salazar breathed in deeply and closed his eyes.
“I really wish you hadn’t said that,” Salazar sighed regretfully.
But Tip, rooted to the spot, reached into his robe pocket and brandished his wand. A look of frightened bravery and determination furnished his face. He would not let Professor Slytherin pass. His wand shook in his hand.
“How stupid can you be?” Salazar said.
Then, with lightning agility, Salazar slashed his wand. At the same time, a thin red line appeared across Tip’s neck. Blood started dribbling down. Tip looked momentarily startled and confused, then collapsed to the floor. Salazar crossed over to him. A strange, uncomfortable sensation jolted his stomach as he leaned over Tip’s body. He looked all around him. Still, no one was there. Sense sobered him. He had to get rid of the evidence.
He enunciated, “Evanesco.”
The body vanished. It was unfortunate but necessary.
*
Salazar met no one else as he quietly descended the main staircase and left the castle. The sky had darkened into a purple swirl as dusk fell. It was quiet, but for the late chatter of birds, as though all the world was mourning in hushed reverence. The breeze carried a lightly fragranced floral scent. As he walked away from the stone walls, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Salazar could see a lonely figure some way ahead, walking slowly towards him. Salazar’s eyes narrowed. He could clearly make out the outline of Godric Gryffindor. He would have just come from his hut. The two men stopped a short distance away from each other.
This was it, Salazar thought to himself as his pulse quickened. This was the climax of the drama. This would be where it all ended. He was ready for him. He had prepared and planned for this moment for months—for years!
Godric’s eyes were heavy. His shoulders were slouched. His wand drooped at his side. He looked like a wreck of his former self, of the man he used to be. Broken. Salazar felt elated. Happy. Triumphant. Surely this would be easier than he had dared hope. He had his wand poised and ready. There was a glint of malice in his eyes.
But then, Godric threw his wand aside. It landed a few feet away from him amidst the soft grass. He looked up, pitiably, into the face of his former companion. Was he going to give up so easily? Salazar laughed to himself. Was that it? He had at least expected some resistance—some retaliation. Where was the fun in this if Godric had just given up? Would his victory taste as sweet?
“There you go,” Godric managed to croak, and with a great effort, raised his arms in apparent surrender. “This is what you were after, isn’t it?”
“Don’t kid yourself into thinking this is some sort of glorious heroism. There’s no honour in giving up. Look at yourself. You’re pathetic. You could defend yourself, but you’ve chosen not to. Or do you think that some sort of special, secret magic is going to save you this time?” Salazar scoffed.
“There are worse things than magic,” declared Godric, “but I don’t think you’ve ever understood that.”
He looked barely able to stay standing. Salazar shuffled uncomfortably. He could hear a steady thumping in his ears.
“Well?” Godric asked, looking up at him without the slightest trace of fear. “What are you waiting for?”
Salazar said nothing.
Godric grew angry. “Go on then!" He raged, frustratedly.
But Salazar stayed resolutely still.
Then Godric asked, unexpectedly, "Or did you just want to talk?"
Salazar grimaced. “I have nothing to say to you."
“Sure? 'Cause now’s the time. I’m all ears."
This had not been on the cards. His wand lowered slightly.
"Fine! I'll talk to you then! What gives you the right to end somebody else's life? Eh? Why do you get to act like an animal?”
“I don't have to justify myself to you."
"And yet, you haven't fired your wand. What are you after? Absolution?"
Godric looked weary, as if it took every ounce of his determination to carry on thinking.
“Or were you just trying to sever a bond?”
Salazar looked up sharply. Trying to, he repeated to himself. Surely that had been a slip.
"Still so confident,” Salazar spat. “Still trying to play the hero. Wasn't it you who said—when both desire the bond to break, it will. What could crush it more than crushing your heart's greatest love?” Salazar's voice shook with a mixture of rage and desperation. “With the bond broken, I can be free. Free to curse you as I see fit. No old magic to get in the way, this time. I can be the master of my own destiny, and rid myself of you forever!”
“Go on then,” Godric shouted, falling to his knees and pulling apart the collar of his tunic to expose his chest. “Do it. See if the bond’s severed.”
Salazar felt a sudden heat and stammered, “Of course it is. It would be impossible—”
How could it not be? How could such a bond survive such a betrayal? Salazar questioned himself.
But, then words of such immense weight almost deafened him in his head, as he remembered, long ago, a man once saying, ‘love - an enemy? Then, I should not wish to be that man’s enemy. I shudder at the thought.’
“You couldn’t possibly—that’s impossible! Not after what I’ve done.”
“What?” Godric asked.
Salazar's voice quivered. “Want to keep the bond—a connection. You couldn’t still—”
“What?”
“Still—” Salazar couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“Love you?” Godric whispered, staring straight at him. “I don’t know. I can’t feel anything anymore.”
“Nobody could,” Salazar spat frantically. “Never, it's impossible. That would be ridiculous after everything I’ve done! Even for you. This isn’t some kind of ludicrous fantasy—”
“Perhaps I did expect too much,” Godric sighed.
“Why?” Salazar gasped, sinking to the ground. “Why would you even joke about such a thing?” He couldn’t understand, pounding his head with his fist. “Why would it even enter your head? Where is the demand for retribution? Where is your need for justice? There’s no valour in such stupidity—just weakness!”
“I don’t know,” Godric shrugged. “All I know is, long ago, I lost my parents when a dragon murdered them. I felt so angry for so long and so much hatred that, when I was old enough, I hunted it down to kill it. But, you know, it didn’t make any difference. I didn't feel any better, and my parents were still dead. It just meant I'd spent so much time filling my heart with hatred.”
“Yes, but it deserved to die!” Salazar practically screamed. “It was a monster. It deserved to die!”
“Yes, it did,” Godric said plainly. “But I didn’t have to kill it. Why should I risk my soul for the sake of such a creature? It wasn’t worth it.”
But it did deserve to die. The words illuminated themselves in Salazar’s mind like a thousand incandescent candles. Each one burned into him, boring into his soul. Suddenly, a huge weight plummeted on him like he’d never experienced before. Guilt, remorse, and disgust flooded him, pouring over him like a vast tide, filling his empty heart, breaching his walls, drenching him. He looked at Godric, who emanated a radiance of unfathomable brilliance, starkly contrasting Salazar's own depravity and ugliness. The sensation overwhelmed him to the point that he thought he would die. He wanted to. He wanted it to end. What a wretched, vile man he was. What had he done? How could he live?
Staring intensely at Godric, Salazar gripped his wand with both hands. The tip glowed ominously before he plunged it deep into his stomach, releasing a loud groan.
“No!” Godric cried, arms outstretched.
Without thinking, Godric scrambled to get his wand.
“Don’t you dare!” gasped Salazar.
Salazar removed his wand. Blood oozed out of the wound and down his front.
He swished his wand with a trembling hand and stammered, “Petrificus Localis.”
Godric’s hands froze instantly. He tried to pick up his wand, but they were useless. Instead, he came hurtling over to Salazar, who was crumpled on the floor. Godric knelt down without thinking and cradled him as best as he could, his hands still fixed in position.
“You idiot!” Godric cried, tears forming in his eyes. “Fix it. Don’t you dare do this! Why do you get to die?” he thundered.
Salazar looked at him blearily. His breathing was shallow, and he kept coughing. Hot, wet blood flowed over Godric’s immobilized hands as he tried in vain to stem the tide.
“You stay here,” Godric said, about to stand up. “I'll get help!”
“No!” Salazar wheezed immediately, clasping onto him as tightly as he could. “Don’t go,” he spluttered. “I need to tell you something.”
“Shh,” cradled Godric. “It’s alright, don’t worry. I need to get you help.”
“In the school,” Salazar managed to croak slowly, “there is a secret chamber. Inside it—a basilisk.”
“What?” Godric asked incredulously. “What on Earth do you mean?”
“Ask the old Slytherins how to get in. Destroy it.”
“What were you thinking?” exclaimed Godric. Then he lost control as he felt Salazar again. “If I could forgive a dragon, Salazar, surely I could you.”
Salazar’s mouth was dry. He tasted the sweet bitterness of death as life ebbed out of him.
“You—good—Godric,” he confessed. “Better—than I—deserve.”
Salazar’s eyes were glossing over. He looked up. One more time. He got to see Godric. To see the face of the man he’d thought about more than any other. That pure, beautiful man. This was it, he thought. He couldn’t believe it. He was going. This was really the end. It had come so quick. He could smell his scent. The last thing he’d ever smell. The last thing he’d ever see. Godric held him tightly. He buried his head in his chest. Tears streamed down his face and into Salazar’s hair. The weight of the day’s events flowed out of him. He could no longer hold it back. He clung to him for as long as he could, not knowing how long, not noticing when his hands unfroze.