Chapter Text
There are activities where you know exactly what will happen when you finish them. If you say Wingardium Leviosa and emphasise the words and perform the movement correctly, a feather will rise into the air. And if you add powdered asphodel to an infusion of wormwood and follow the instructions exactly, you will inevitably receive a powerful sleeping potion. These areas of sorcery have been extensively researched and are well known. Generations of experience have made the knowledge commonplace.
And then there are other things.
Things that have never happened before. And where, for this reason, no one, not even the wisest witch or wizard, could guess what will happen when they actually occur. Cause and effect have not yet been researched. And so, in principle, anything could happen.
When Harry James Potter was struck by a death curse, his mother sacrificed herself to protect him. The power of her love ensured that the curse, which was spoken with the intention to kill, had a different effect.
To those who heard about it later, it might have seemed as if the death curse bounced off the toddler to strike into the wizard who had caused it. And they weren't all entirely wrong, because the moment the curse hit the Dark Lord Voldemort, an age of terror ended. The wizard disappeared and whether he was dead, as some believed, or licking his wounds in dark hidden places, a time of peace was approaching. And Harry James Potter became a celebrity.
This is the official story and probably no one can refute it.
But it is not the whole truth.
Because at the moment when the death curse struck the toddler's forehead and carved a scar into his skin, something else happened. In that moment, when the line between life and death blurred and time had no name, little Harry saw something he was perhaps never meant to see.
He saw his former life.
For his soul had been on earth once before, many, many years ago. All at once, the memory returned.
And Salazar Slytherin awoke.
Some events that have a great impact begin with a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder. Others take effect slowly and quietly. As quietly as a feather floats to the ground or a flower grows towards the sun.
When Harry Potter remembered, his eyes glowed an even more intense green. But nothing else happened. When Hagrid, the half-giant, retrieved the child from the rubble and flew off into the night on an enchanted motorbike, the child did nothing unusual. It looked curiously at the strange, tall man, marvelling at the thousands and thousands of lights above and below them and finally fell asleep when the journey took too long.
And when an old wizard with long silver hair gently laid the child in front of a door with a wistful look, it didn't resist.
Perhaps because it couldn't. For as powerful and dark as the soul of Salazar Slytherin might be, it was still trapped in the body of a small child.
But perhaps he was already up to something at that moment. As a master of deception, he could have been acting out of cold calculation at that very moment.
But perhaps that is not the whole truth.
Salazar Slytherin remembered. He remembered his childhood as the only scion of a house of ancient nobility. He remembered how he had met the other founders. He knew exactly what it had been like to found the school, to live and teach there. He remembered what it was like to die on the battlefield. Yes, he remembered. But memory wasn't everything.
His thoughts were blurred and unfocussed. A laugh, a rustle, a spider on the wall could all distract him and his thoughts floated away. The founders of Hogwarts had been far ahead of their time in terms of erudition and knowledge. He himself had been a master of Occlumency, Potions and the Dark Arts. The knowledge was there, within his grasp, he could feel it. But it was not important.
His little body was full of childish needs. He wanted to be held in warm arms. He wanted to be fed, sleep and explore the world. When Aunt Petunia brought warm milk to his bedside, there were only smells, sounds and feelings.
And his thoughts collapsed like a house of cards.
A small, adult part of him imagined what it would be like if the others could see him like this. Salazar Slytherin, the dark, aloof wizard, was in the body of a toddler, blissfully sucking on a bottle of milk. He would never be safe from their jokes again.
And Godric, that damned Gryffindor, would almost choke on his laughter.
But maybe that was what kept him from letting his memories get to him. They were all long dead. He would never see them again, never again would they laugh together. And perhaps that was ultimately what made him decide to let go of his old life.
The body of a small child was not made for the grief of a lifetime.
The memories were too numerous, too extensive, for a child's mind. And like a garment that was too big, Harry had to learn to grow into them again.
If his new life had been a happier one, perhaps he would have let things be. Perhaps Harry Potter and Salazar Slytherin would never have become completely one. But his new life was not a happy one.
When Dudley cried, Aunt Petunia cooed and hummed until he was asleep again. And Uncle Vernon praised his son for his strong voice and strong will.
When Harry cried, nothing happened until he hiccupped and became hoarse. Or at some point Uncle Vernon would storm in, shake him roughly and bark at him to be quiet.
Dudley got presents and toys.
Harry had nothing but a pair of old socks.
If Dudley didn't like something to eat, he threw a tantrum. Then Petunia smiled and brought him something else.
If Harry didn't like something, he didn't get anything at all.
They all made him feel that he was unwanted, an intruder in their small, perfect family. Petunia scolded him whenever she was near him and when she fed or changed him, her hands were cold and unloving. Uncle Vernon didn't even look at him if possible and even Dudley screamed and howled like a banshee when he had to sleep next to Harry in a cot.
Harry could see the love and happiness of this little family.
But he wasn't part of it.
And the part of him that was Salazar Slytherin couldn't accept that.
And so events began to unfold.
It was mid-December when Harry came to a halt with Dudley and Aunt Petunia in front of the illuminated window of a toy shop.
Dudley raised his chubby hand and smacked the window pane. He was unusually tall for a four-year-old and the glass vibrated slightly as he pressed his hand against it with all his might. "I want in there!" he shrieked. "They've got tanks! And guns! And aeroplanes!"
Petunia didn't seem to appreciate the interruption. She was laden down with shopping bags and clearly not in the mood to go into another shop."But Diddykins! Father Christmas is coming soon! He'll definitely bring you some of these great things!", she chirped.
Dudley's lips began to tremble dangerously. "But I want it now! Right now!" It was clear that another one of Dudley's tantrums was imminent.
Petunia understood this and smiled hastily at him. "It's all right, my Sweetheart. We'll go in there for a minute and you pick out something nice, yeah?"
"Two," Dudley said. "I want two things!" Determined, he raised his hand and showed three fingers. "Two toys then," Petunia said sweetly. "Just don't be mad at your mummy, will you?"
Dudley's lower lip immediately stopped quivering. "Okay..." he said slowly.
Harry had only been listening to them with one ear. Holding his breath, he admired the stuffed animals on display in the window. There was a monkey beating a kettledrum, a peacock spinning round on itself and a snake coiled elegantly around a Christmas tree. It was emerald green and its fur shimmered slightly in the Christmas lights. It's black beady eyes flashed down at Harry. It seemed infinitely soft and cuddly. It would definitely listen to him when he told it about his nightmares. And if he held it close to him at night, he would certainly not feel quite so alone.
But Aunt Petunia would never buy it for him. There was no point in wishing for it for Christmas either. As on every occasion, he was given a pair of old socks. But there was something in a corner of his mind that knew a solution. Harry knew that voice. It had been with him for as long as he could remember. He instinctively felt that it belonged to him, that it was a part of him. But this part of his mind was full of bitterness, full of loss and it spoke of things Harry did not understand. Should he listen to this strange yet familiar voice in his mind?
The beady eyes of the snake seemed to wink at him.
And Harry made a decision.
The next moment, fear appeared on the four-year-old's features. "That snake is scary," he whispered, his eyes wide.
Dudley stepped up next to him. When he noticed the frightened look on his cousin's face, he began to grin. "Mummy," he said mischievously. "Harry's scared of a stuffed animal."
Petunia patted his blonde hair. "Not everyone is as brave a boy as you, my sweet Diddydums."
Harry took a precautionary step away from the shop window. "But it's true! Snakes are slimy and creepy! Good thing Dudley wants a gun, or an aeroplane! I'd be terrified if he scared me with a snake like that. I wouldn't dare come out of my wardrobe for fear."
It took a moment, during which Harry could almost see his cousin's mind working. Then Dudley's face lit up. "I want the snake, Mummy! Please, please! I want the snake!"
Harry looked at his cousin with eyes widened in horror.
A short time later, they left the shop with the snake, which was so much more marvellous up close.
Harry spent the rest of the day being chased around the house by a wildly shrieking Dudley armed with a stuffed snake. By evening, when Dudley had finally had enough and wanted to watch his favourite show, Harry decided it was time for the next step.
"Please don't put it in my wardrobe," he begged with pleading eyes. "I couldn't sleep with it staring at me all night," he whimpered.
Dudley grinned spitefully. With a triumphant cry, he grabbed the stuffed animal and threw it into Harry's wardrobe. Harry cried and clamoured until he was locked in the cupboard by his Uncle Vernon, who had been watching everything, with a smug glint in his little eyes, as punishment for his rebellion with the snake.
Harry was blissfully happy. That night he could hardly sleep for happiness. His little hands stroked the fluffy green fur of the stuffed animal again and again.
But as he grew older, he realised more and more clearly that a soft toy alone was not enough. No matter how tightly he clung to it, there was still something missing. Sometimes he missed a human hand, a little warmth, so much so that he cried all over his little stuffed snake.
And Harry knew he had to do something.
Perhaps Harry James Potter would have resigned himself to his fate. He was a little boy who had nothing on his relatives. He could never make them become better people. People who perhaps even loved him and considered him part of their family. But the part of him that was Salazar Slytherin would not accept his fate. For the founder of Hogwarts was not only cunning, resourceful and skilful.
Above all, he was ambitious.