Chapter Text
Professor Binns was the very first ghost we were introduced to at Hogwarts. A History teacher who drifted rather than walked near the blackboard, his transparent figure wavering in the dim, dust-filled classes ambient light. He began his lecture in a slow, monotonous drone, as though the weight of centuries hung on each word he uttered.
“The first Goblin war,” he intoned, as if the phrase itself was an ancient relic he was dusting off, “Was not, as many of you might assume, a simple territorial dispute or a minor skirmish. It was, in fact, a complex conflict with the Elves—yes, the very Elves most of you having roaming around your house now. Though they are rarely remembered as the fierce opponents they once were.”
A few students perked up at this. I could see Darren Selwey, a ravenclaw a few seats up from me glance at his housemate Thea Warrington, with both eyebrows raised. Elves, after all, were not known for their involvement in wizard wars. They were associated more with ancient magic and quiet service, nothing like the fierce warriors Professor Binns seemed to suggest.
“Ah, but these were not the elves as you know them today,” Binns droned on, “not the subservient house-elves bound to wizards’ households. No, at that time, they were simply elves—keepers of ancient forests and wielders of unique arcane magics.”
He moved through the words with the steady rhythm of a well-rehearsed monologue. “This war, fought nearly five hundred years before the Goblin Rebellion of 1612, was sparked by a disagreement over the rightful ownership of a powerful artifact passed down from Merlin himself—the Moonstone Scepter. The goblins, renowned for their skill in metalwork and treasure-crafting, believed it was rightfully theirs. The elves—fiercely independent and guardians of many such magical artifacts—disputed this claim as it was their magic that was needed to awaken the Scepter.”
Professor Binns paused, more out of habit than any need for breath. “The war was not a mere battle of swords and incantations, but a protracted campaign of strategy, deception, and ancient magics that have been long forgotten in this day and age. Treaties between interspecies were signed, and broken, decades worth of alliances formed between covens, dissolved within seconds and yet,” he added, his voice almost lifting with the faintest hint of intrigue, “the records that survive are scant, leaving much of the reason for this conflict shrouded in mystery.”
Mio, ever the attentive student, raised her hand beside me while nudging my notebook towards me to take more notes. “Professor Binns, if so few records survive, how do we know about this war at all?”
Professor Binns turned slowly, his eyes as unfocused and distant as ever, though perhaps there was a flicker of something like approval at her interruption as I pick up my quill. “Ah, yes, Miss Granger. We know of this conflict through fragments—fragments of Goblin and Elven texts, oral histories passed down among their people, and, curiously, from an encrypted manuscript found within the Forbidden Forest more than a century ago.”
I could feel a sort of shift as some in the room (mainly Hermione) stirred with renewed interest. Though even Goyle, who had been nodding off, straightened up, a puzzled expression crossing his face. “What’s an enchanted manuscript?” I could hear him mutter to Crabbe.
Though Professor Binns merely continued on, oblivious to the whispers. “This manuscript, known as ‘The Lost Chronicles of Aeluin,’ remains mostly undeciphered. The few scholars who have dared to study it having gone blind, after undeciphering a mere five words. The only reason we know as much as we do now is because they’ve managed to string the nonsensical scratches together.”
He drifted back toward the blackboard, as though prepared to return to a more mundane topic. “Of course, such matters are well beyond the scope of your OWL syllabus…”
But Hermione’s hand shot up again, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Professor, could we study it further? As an extra credit project, perhaps?”
Binns blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “An…extra credit project? Well, I suppose…if there’s interest…”
Hands began to rise across the classroom—a rare occurrence during one of Binns’ lectures.
Class ended quickly, with Professor Binn's still droning on even as we all packed and left the room. My housemates had long disappeared by the time I reached the door. Making it very apparent that they were avoiding me, even to students from other houses. While Ron and his friends tried to follow Hermione and I during our free period, causing us to duck and hide in an unoccupied nearby classroom that had more dust that books or chairs.
The room resembled an old storeroom, filled with forgotten relics. Ancient desks with peeling varnish, stacks of unused parchment yellowed with age, and a thick layer of dust covering every surface gave the room an eerie, abandoned feel.
I brushed away some of the dust from a nearby desk, revealing intricate carvings etched into the wood. "Why do they keep following us?" I muttered, frustration evident in my voice. Hermione, ever the rational one, adjusted her robes and sighed.
"Ron's probably just heard all of the stories and wants to understand why you were sorted into Slytherin. It doesn't excuse his behavior, but maybe we can find an opening and just run past them," She suggested, her tone calm after being hunted along with me all day. We didn't have time to explore, as we quickly hid behind a tall black cupboard in the back as the golden trio entered the room.
"What stories?" I whisper to Hermione, as she shook her head before turning towards me.
"You have a rather long multi-series written about you. Mostly about defeating various monsters that even a conclave would have trouble defeating." Hermione leaned over and whispered in my ear as one of the boys tripped over a nearby desk. “Others about you saving wizard kind from catastrophes that most wizards wouldn’t dare approach. They’re all just rumors, really, but… well, it seems you have quite the legacy around here, even if you don’t remember it.”
I raised an eyebrow at her, disbelief mingling with confusion. “Remember it? These people are mad if they think they can read books about me written by people I’ve never met and take them seriously”
"They make you out to be some sort of hero out of a legend," Hermione continued, her eyes scanning the room, alert for any movement from Ron and the others. "After you know who was defeated, people needed something to believe in, and your stories provided that, even if they were exaggerated."
I don’t think exaggerated is even the correct word there I thought as I frowned,a sickening discomfort twisting in my stomach as I peep from behind the cabinet to see the boys looking under desks. The idea that my life, my struggles, were being romanticized and spread around without my consent was unsettling. I don’t even know why it was unsettling me so bad which added a bit of confusion to my already whirling thoughts.
"Exaggerated is one thing, but some of these ‘stories’ are outright fabrications," I quietly said, brushing off the last bit of dust from my hands as I tried to focus on the issue at hand. Hermione nodded, her expression sympathetic.
"It’s how people cope, I guess. They turn real-life figures into something larger than life. But it puts a rather unfair pressure on you," she replied.
Just then, a shuffle from the other side of the cupboard drew our attention. We held our breaths, pressing closer to the shadowed wall.
Huddled behind the tall black cupboard, our breaths shallow, we listened to the voices of Ron and his friends drawing closer.
I could hear Ron's grumbling as they searched for us. My heart pounded in my chest, the fear of being discovered mingling with the frustration of constantly being pursued.
"Where did they go?" Ron's voice was closer now, filled with annoyance. "I saw them come in here."
"Maybe they will slip out another door," Hermione said softly, "We just need to stay quiet and they'll give up."
Peering through a crack in the cupboard door, I could see Ron's frustrated expression as he scanned the room. His two friends, Seamus and Dean, looked equally annoyed but a lot less determined.
"Let's check the next corridor," Dean suggested, his voice low. "They can't have gone too far."
Ron's voice carried through the room as he spoke to his friends. "She's got to be around here somewhere. We can't let her go after everything. She just needs my help and guidance to get back on the right track. Just like how she needed Merlin in the first book!"
"Are ya even sure that she even needs our help, Ron?" Seamus asked, his voice tinged with doubt yet heavy with a Scottish accent. "I mean, maybe she's just trying to keep ta herself."
"Of course she needs our help," Ron insisted, his voice growing louder with frustration. "She just doesn't understand how things work around here yet. I heard that’s she’s been raised by-"
One of the boys stumbled into the stand we were hiding behind, causing a cascade of books to fall on top of their head as they all screamed as if attacked before they scurried out.
Hermione and I both lightly laughed at the sight of their terrified faces as they all scurried out of the room. After a few more moments of tense silence, the boys finally left, their voices fading as they moved down the hallway. As Hermione and I exchanged relieved glances before cautiously stepping out from our hiding spot.
"That was too close," I whispered, brushing the dust from my robes. "We need to find a way to stop them from following us everywhere." Grabbing Hermione's hand, we were about to leave the room when she softly tugged my hand to a stop and pointed at a raggedy old purple book lying a little further from the others.
"Amara, what is that?" she asked, tugging me over. I kneeled to grab it before we carefully flipped through the falling-apart pages.
"It's a potions book," I replied, examining the worn pages before passing it to her.
"The property of the Matron of Lore," she slowly read aloud as we exited the room.
Leaving the room, Hermione and I couldn't help but pass the book back and forth before we just decided to find a quiet corner in the library to further examine the book.
"Do you know who the Matron is?" I ask Hermione as we walked under archways full of books, and past one or two studious students.
As we both sat down, Hermione meticulously turned the fragile pages gently turning the pages, while her eyes scanned the faded ink. I could see her mind working, piecing together the information she found.
"Not a clue, but it looks like this Matron was quite skilled in potions," Hermione observed, her voice filled with a mix of fascination and skepticism. "Some of these annotations and spell modifications are really advanced."
I leaned in closer until both of our cheeks touch, my curiosity growing by the second. "Do you think we should try some of these modifications into our own potions?"
Hermione hesitated for a moment, her brow furrowing. "Well, we don't know who this Matron really is or what their intentions were when writing this. We should be cautious. But... if we get Neville on board, I don't see why not."
Excitement welled up inside me as we spent the next few hours in the library comparing our potion books to the Matron's, engrossed in the book, making notes and discussing the possible applications of the Matron's modifications.
Though all too soon, it was dinner time causing Hermione to prattled on to her table of blue with the book in hand and a promise of passing it along after she was done. While I sat with the Slytherins or more so at the edge of the table, as no one would allow me to sit near them, some simply ignoring me while others constantly sent harsh looks my way.
I couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness, as it seems like the discussion between Snape and I had quickly reached the nest.
I could feel the weight of their judgment, see their disapproving looks, and hear their whispered conversations. It seemed that everyone had taken a side, and I was left standing alone. But I refused to let their opinions define me. Them or anyone else.
Our conflicts had not gone unnoticed, and the whispers and glares intensified from other houses as well as I proudly sat at my seat at the table. Some students openly sneered at me, while others turned their backs, refusing to acknowledge my presence.
As dinner went on, I felt a familiar gaze on me. Looking up, I find Neville at his table, his eyes filled with excitement, as he waved wildly from his seat while loudly calling my name, disregarding the disapproving looks from our housemates. A warmth spread throughout my entire chest as I sent a tiny smile and wave back.
Though as I reached for my goblet, I felt an eerie almost scorching burn spreading from my rings, causing a shiver of unease to run down my spine and for me to almost drop the cup. Ignoring the disapproving glares from my Slytherin housemates, I focused my attention on the goblet before me as I lift the cup and act like I'm drinking a long drink.
The warning words of Grutaat, echoed in my mind. He had warned me about my rings, telling me that it would warm as a sign of danger, a warning for the heir. My heart raced as I contemplated the implications. What danger could be lurking in my drink? Who could have put it in there? The questions swirled in my mind, fueling my determination to uncover the truth.
Carefully, I grasped the goblet, feeling the warmth intensify under my touch. It was a clear sign that something was amiss. With a sense of urgency, I glanced my way towards both Hermione and Neville only to see her still engrossed in the potion book, and him eating while happily talking to one of his housemates. I could feel a small bit of relief in my stomach as my eyes continue darting around the room, searching for any sign of anything.
Only for my eyes to come up empty, as even Dumbledore seemed to be merrily enjoying his meal. Quickly deciding to forgo the rest of my dinner, I ignored the glances I could feel on my back and just calmly get up and walk out of the Great Hall. Before taking off running as soon as I was outside of sight.
I practically flew to the common room almost not giving the doors enough time to materialize as I slammed into them. With a strong hiss of “Salazarrr” The doors flew open as I tumbled from the hallway leading to the common room and down each metal step that led further into the nest.
My body didn’t even seem to register pain as I got up inside the common room, my heart pounding in my chest as I gasped out for air, I barely registered the gasp from the portrait that guarded the entrance. My mind was consumed by a whirlwind of emotions, and I couldn't shake off the sense of urgency that propelled me up and forward.
In my haste, my foot caught on a hardwood shelf, causing me to lose balance once again and tumble nearly half way across the room onto the dark green carpet below. Pain shot through my body this time, but my mind still could barely registered it. As my focus remained fixated on the task at hand, the need to calm my mind and figure out what the bloody hell just happened.
Pushing myself up, I scanned the room watching as the surrounding shadows grew darker, while my hands trembled as I reached for a nearby bookshelf, before pulling at it to help me stand. The fire in the fireplace grew with each passing second as the flames began to lick the top of the Slytherin banaster that hung off to the side of it.
“Nestling,” a voice hissed out, causing me to draw my gaze up towards a massive painting of a man, that was hung right above the main fire place. He had a long white beard that was sharply contrasted with his bald head.
Feeling a surge of confusion, I watched as the snakes around the room began to move and contort as if responding to the man’s voice. “Who are you?” I ask looking towards him and then back at the engraved snakes that were dancing across the concrete walls. As their emerald eyes glowed to a shade almost akin to mine.
The man regarded me with a calm yet intense gaze, his voice echoing through the room. "I am the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, first of my name and third in line to the Eldritch Throne," he intoned, his voice carrying an air of ancient authority. "One of the founders of Hogwarts, and a guardian of the secrets hidden within these hallowed lands."
His voice sent a wave of cool calmness through me as the common room floors began to heat, “What vexes thee, young one?” he asked, his gaze unwavering and filled with wisdom.
As I stood there, feeling the room come alive with energy, Salazar Slytherin's calm yet intense gaze bore into me. His voice reverberated through the space, carrying an air of authority and wisdom.
I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts before responding. "My rings warmed when I touched the goblet at dinner." I breathed out, before blinking back the tears that threatened to rise. I have dealt with this before with Dudley putting whatever he wanted into his leftovers before watching them be eaten by me. So why do I just want to curl up and cry? I had never wanted to cry before though my thoughts were quickly cut off by Salazar's face.
Salazar's gaze immediately shifted from curiosity to rage, his eyes blazing with fury. The room seemed to respond to his anger as snakes slithered out from hidden corners, hissing and coiling around the furniture and walls.
"What?" Salazar hissed, his voice filled with unbridled rage. The snakes in the room responded to his call, their hisses and movements filling the air, creating an eerie atmosphere.
I felt a surge of fear and adrenaline coursing through me, unsure of how to handle Salazar’s anger. The room seemed to close in around me, the presence of the enraged founder almost suffocating.
"I... I didn't mean to upset you," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.
Salazar anger simmered, his expression shifting to one of frustration and regret. The snakes, sensing his change in mood, gradually began to retreat, slithering away to their hidden places.
Breathing heavily, Salazar took a moment to compose himself, his voice now laced with a mix of disappointment and concern. "Hast thou reported this matter to thy head of house, Nestling?" he asked, his words urgent but tinged with sorrow.
But it was as if that little bit of emotion had flipped a switch inside of me and before long I found myself sobbing while crying out everything that has happened in the last few months. I had thought I was doing well, I had thought I had adjusted fine but after one thing came another and before long Salazar just had tears streaming down his face.
However, our moment of shared vulnerability was interrupted by the sound of the common room door opening. Startled, I quickly wiped away my tears and without a second thought, I bolted down the stairs, leaving Salazar behind.
Descending the stairs, my heart still racing with a mix of fear and confusion. I need a moment to collect myself, to find solace and reassurance in solitude. As I stumble into my dimly lit bedroom. The semi familiar surrounds provided a small comfort as I flop myself onto the bed. Intending to get back up and go take a bath.
Though as my door open those thoughts were quickly dashed. Tracey Davis confidently strides into the room before her eyes locked onto mine and she looked as if a bug was in her sights. Before a large smug grin found it’s way into her face.
"You think you're so special, don't you? Just because of your name, everyone talks about you, but what have you really done to earn it?” The corner of her eyes narrowed as she spoke with a suble quiver.
“You know nobody wants you here, right Potter?” Her squeaky voice was the first thing that I noticed about the girl, and it reminded me of a door hinge and her face wasn’t really anything to talk about either. As I send her a slide glance before I sat up and looked around the otherwise empty bedroom.
And yet the girl continued on, as if I had distraughtly responded to her painfully obvious insult. “Everyone’s family even told them to stay far away from you.” The girl said smugly as she gracefully glided towards her bed and picked up a pocket mirror laying on her nightstand.
I watched her reflection closely, noticing the slight tremor in Davis's hands as my mind began to wander. Why was she so angry anyway? Its not like I asked for any of this.
“So I would suggest you stay away from all of us, Potter.” She said a confident look on her face as she gazed into a small pocket mirror for a few moments, before turning back towards me. Only to see me slightly dozing off comfortably under the covers of with both curtains slightly drawn. Ignoring her screech like I did the rest of her speech. I figure I would just take a shower in the morning before everyone else was awake.
A while later, I woke up abruptly from a nightmare, my mind still filled with unsettling images of my past memories. Realizing that sleep was now elusive, I decided to take the shower I had skipped earlier hoping it might help clear my mind and provide some much-needed relaxation.
Quietly, I slip out of bed and made my way to the bathroom, careful not to disturb the only bitch in the room. The bathroom was dimly lit, with the sound of running water providing a soothing ambiance.
I turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature to a comforting warmth. As the water cascaded down, I let the droplets wash away the remnants of my troubled thoughts. The steam enveloped me, creating a sense of calm and tranquility.
With each passing minute, the weight of the day's events seemed to fade away. The sound of the water drowned out the echoes of Tracey's hurtful words, allowing me to find a momentary escape from the negativity that had surrounded me.
Lost in the rhythm of the shower, I allowed myself to relax, feeling the tension in my body slowly dissipate as the smell of soap and sound of water dripping off my hair enveloped me. The steam and warmth embraced me, providing a sanctuary where I could gather my thoughts and find a renewed sense of strength.
As I stepped out of the shower, the air in the bathroom felt refreshed, mirroring the newfound clarity I had gained. Wrapped in a warm towel, I took a deep breath, before getting dressed and heading out into the common room.
The room appeared empty and quiet. The absence of others brought a sense of tranquility, allowing me to gather my thoughts without any distractions.
As I approached the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, I couldn't help but feel embarrassed. His gaze, filled with a hint of sorrow, seemed to pierce through my thoughts, reminding me of the emotional outburst I had experienced earlier. But I knew I couldn't let the weight of guilt consume me.
Taking a deep breath, I looked up at Salazar, meeting his gaze with a newfound determination. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice steady but filled with sincerity. "I let my emotions get the best of me earlier."
Salazar's expression softened, his eyes reflecting a mix of understanding and compassion. "Emotions can be overwhelming, especially when dealing with so much when one is so young," he replied, his voice gentle. “ it's important to learn from our experiences and find strength in vulnerability."
His words comforted within me, reminding me that it was okay to feel and to make mistakes. Though I wasn’t quite sure my mind was ready to accept them.
I didn’t know how to respond as I looked at the man, though apparently I didn’t need to say anything as we both stood facing each other with curious gazes.
“You, are not alone in this nest child.”