Greatest of the Hogwarts Four

Chapter 5: The Snake-speaker

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"I can't imagine why you keep trying to refuse my hospitality, Young Master Slytherin. I have treated you as dearly as one of my children, have I not? I have shielded you from the Council, who most certainly would have found you by now. You must understand, you are too vital to be beheaded just yet. But even you shouldn't press your luck. We are never as important as we imagine ourselves to be."

Lord Malfoy explained this all very patiently as Salazar hung upside down, under the Body Bind and unable to move any of his limbs. Instead, he kept a steady glare trained on his captor, who was most unperturbed as he continued his patient lecture, as if Salazar was a misbehaving schoolboy.

"Eventually I will let you go. But before I do, you'll have to perform a certain service for me. I could even let you go now. Just tell me: what was in the portion of the Prophecy that Ravenclaw excised from the official version the Patriarch saw?"

'That goddamned Prophecy. I wish I had never heard of it.' Salazar remembered a few lines he had glanced at, before he had carried the tablet back to the castle. They hadn't seemed very important or earth-shaking to him, and Rowena hadn't even mentioned which part she had struck out from the whole. He ground his teeth in frustration.

"Honestly, I don't know." 'And I wouldn't tell you anyways, you slimy git,' he added mentally.

Lord Malfoy's eyes narrowed as if he perceived the unspoken insult. "Somehow I believe that you really don't know. Unfortunate for you, I must say. Oh well, I guess we'll have to do it the hard way." He turned on his heel and left Salazar hanging there, with the blood rushing to his head.

Salazar decided to chance a spell. Before Malfoy had put the curse on him, he had reached into his pocket to grasp his rosary. Now, with his fingers frozen around the trinket, he whispered the countercurse to the Body Bind. Instantly, he fell on the floor, landing directly on his forehead.

Rubbing his pained head and wincing as his fingers found a bruised patch of skin, Salazar decided to take stock of his situation.

There were a few things in his favor, the first being that Lord Malfoy, not having found a wand on him yet, believed him capable of wandless magic. The belief had been shored up by Artemis' exaggerated account of how he dispatched his would-be executioners with his arms tied behind his back. Since Artemis had not yet seen him reach for his rosary, both Malfoys believed he was a Metaphysicist, or a wizard able to perform spells only by thought. This was a feat not accomplished since Merlin dispatched of an entire coven of Dark Witches with both hands tied behind his back and his wand snapped in half. Nevertheless, it was something Salazar was positive was not one of his talents.

The other was that obviously, he was too valuable to be killed, for some reason yet discovered. That was about the end of the things in his favor.

Against him were several more factors. The castle itself, once he had crossed the threshold, was bound by a magical compact that only allowed someone to leave the grounds unless they had expressed permission from the master; in this case, Lord Malfoy. Also, if he somehow miraculously escaped the castle, he had no idea how to get past the wards that surrounded the entire estate. And where was he going to flee to? The Council, no doubt, had squads dispatched looking for him.

In the few weeks since he first learned of his compromising situation, Salazar had tried to escape three times. The first time he was merely a test run; he tried to slip out at night through the window of his room. Unfortunately, the glass seemed to have an automatic Reparo charm built in. As soon as he managed to break it open with a spell, the window simply flew together again. Lord Malfoy was alerted to the spell when one of the house-elves complained about the visible cracks in the oft-broken window, and expressed his extreme displeasure to Salazar in the strongest tones possible, emphasizing the point with a hex that left Slytherin with throbbing boils in a most uncomfortable place.

The second attempt had been undiscovered as of yet; he had tried digging an experimental tunnel in one of the wine cellars, but found that the soil repelled any spells directed at it. He had just missed getting struck in the head by a rebounding Blasting Hex.The last time, he had tried to nonchalantly meander off into the woods surrounding the castle on a day when he had permitted outside for a stroll. A very large Crup that seemed to have been crossed with a large Doberman pinscher had brought him back in its mouth like a chew toy.

It would be prudent to mention here what had become obvious to Salazar- that Lord Malfoy was a collector of rare magical beasts. The unicorn itself had been the first tip-off. Unicorns were not native to Britain; normally they ranged throughout the forests of Gaul, usually preferring warmer places near the coastline. Unicorns were forbidden from exportation by the various wizarding governments of the Gallic provinces, due to the fact that they were extremely rare and usually perished in the harsh English winter. Thus, the large expense and hassle made collecting unicorns and other outlawed beasts a raging fashion among the richer British wizarding families.

During his stay at the Ravenclaw residence as a boy, Salazar had often seen the small herd of Thestrals that Rowena's family had kept. They were a funny sort, the Ravenclaws; always dark and mysterious. They kept Thestrals and Augereys, and took an awkward young novice from the abbey in and taught him magic. Yet they cast out their daughter for speaking death omens. Rowena had also predicted that her family line would not survive for fifty more years. Perhaps that was it.

The Malfoys were much like the Ravenclaws, in that most of what they did they did for vanity. The elaborate decorations, the menagerie of magical beasts; who are they trying to impress, wondered Salazar. Malfoy doesn't seem the type to invite the neighbors over for tea.

Lord Malfoy, however, seemed more involved than most wizards in regards to his 'pets'. He was something of a magical breeder. The one time Salazar had seen his personal study before, during his brief, ill-fated introductory tour of the castle, it had been filled with books on the subject. There were anatomical charts covering all the walls, showing the intricacies of a dragon's digestive tract, or the skeleton of a chimera. Several tiny models of various Pegasus breeds cantered around on his large, impressive desk.

This study was where Salazar found himself now.

Malfoy, perhaps unthinkingly, had locked him in here while he went to perform various wards on his chamber. Magical wards which, the master of the castle had assured him, would not allow him to even leave his room.

Salazar exhaled his breath sharply in annoyance. That would make his escape attempts even harder. He paced the study, looking for something that might delay Malfoy or help him circumvent the wards.

Quite accidentally, he lifted up a corner of the elaborate Persian rug and saw what looked like a trap door. "Hullo..." he muttered. Dragging the entire rug over, he saw that indeed, it was a trap door. Salazar carefully checked it for spells and hexes, of which there were none. He frowned. Too easy. Malfoy must have made a mistake in leaving him here with an exit. Opening the door, Slytherin saw stairs leading down into pitch darkness.

Salazar contemplated his options. The first was the dark, unknown passageway to possible death. The other was remaining here and being taken back and imprisoned. Footsteps outside the study forced the matter. Jumping down onto the first few steps, Salazar closed the door partially, stuck his hand out, and straightened the rug to something close to its initial arrangement. He shut the trap door completely just as he heard the doorknob to the study turn.

Slytherin smirked to himself as he heard Malfoy's anguished yells.

***

The staircase was dark gray stone, almost black, to match the complete darkness the entire corridor was shrouded in. Salazar plucked a torch from a bracket. "Ignis," he muttered. A sudden burst of flame as the torch combusted, and he was able to see more clearly...which meant all he could see was the dark gray stone and the occaisional drip of green mold, which he could smell anyways.

There was a distinct, anguished roar from down the corridor, and Salazar stopped dead, the blood receding from his face. Lord Malfoy had told him what was in the dungeons. He had mentioned if off-hand, as if pointing out a particularly interesting table setting:

"The dungeons are where I keep my...less than successful experiments."

He was quite certain he didn't want to find out what a 'less than successful breeding experiment' resulted in, from the sound of that roar.

Again he was faced with two options. Salazar sweated. He felt that he should be brave, and stalk right down the steps with a bold, properly steely expression on his face, prepared to meet any obstacle ahead of him. However, a large portion of his brain kept screaming at him 'THIS IS STUPID'. Why was he preparing to walk into the jaws (literally) of danger? It wasn't as if Malfoy was going to torture him...yet.

He would have turned back, and was already making up his mind to do so, when another sound reverberated down the hallway that was definitely not a roar.

"Who's there?"

It was not the voice of any of the Malfoys. Neither was it any of the house-elves. It was different...sibilant, almost. It was smooth and cold. The voice reminded him of-

Rowena.

'It couldn't be,' he scoffed. 'You're imagining things.' But it had that same feminine quality. Definitely a woman.

Again: "Who's there?"

He couldn't help it. Perhaps it was another prisoner, like him, in need of aid. He let his legs carry him down the steps, the torch lighting only the few yards in front of him. He stumbled a few feet, then turned and nearly screamed.

It was a hallway of monsters. There were thick, heavy iron bars sunk into the stone, and on either side of the corridor were cages- there must have been fifty- with horrible creatures inside.

A leopard-like creature with horrible, misshapen bat wings jetting at odd angles out of its spine hissed at him. The spittle from the creature was greenish and smoked when it hit the ground. A serpentine blue dragon, stuck to the wall like a gecko, turned an eyeless head to face him, its tongue flitting out, trying to grasp his scent. Suddenly launching itself from the wall, the small dragon squirmed at the bars, trying to wriggle through them. For a moment, Salazar's heart lept into his throat as the creature seemed to work a coil of itself through a gap.

Then, a brief sizzle of magic, and the dragon flew back, snarling in rage and sporting a livid burn mark. The eye sockets were grown over with skin, and Salazar's stomach lurched to see the squirming muscles beneath the semi-transparent membrane.

These were Malfoy's failed breeding experiments. Most were deformed, the first byproduct of a radical cross-breeding program that later would turn into a successful breed. Salazar saw a sad-eyed dog with a forked tail hacking as if it was about to cough up its internal organs; obviously, the first result of the Crup and Doberman hybrid.

'Why doesn't he kill these things and be done with it?' thought Salazar, goosebumps rippling across his skin. 'Of course, it all fits with the whole 'evil Dark wizard' image he's got for himself'.

Several of the beasts, though, were simply too dangerous to let run free.

A chimera glowered sullenly at Slytherin as he passed by. The beast was huddled in a dark corner of its cage, its eyes glowing coal-red out at him. The forked dragon tail flicked out into the pale light, then back into the shadow again.

The second-to-last cage had no bars, but was sealed with an solid iron door. The only possible viewspace was a rectangular space near the top of the door, sealed with something that looked like glass. Tapping cautiously on the clear stuff, Salazar realized what it was.

"Diamond," he breathed. Impossibly dense. And so clear, too, to look through! He had never seen one of its quality. Then he noticed the various inscriptions around the door. And marked very prominently, in the center, in the midst of three concentric circles, was an upside-down pentagram. Salazar's mouth thinned to a small line. A demon-summoning circle. He tried to read the letters, but something about them made him not want to look at them for very long. Profane runes, of the sort only used in Dark Magic. The Devil's language.

"Very bad, Master Malfoy," he whispered to himself. Summoning devils was risky business, mostly for the wizard doing the Summoning.

A scratching and keening at the door, and Salazar jumped back a little. He looked through the diamond viewer and saw skeleton bones arranged in a mock-feline form.

"A Leonid," he breathed. Well, that solved the mystery of who had been trying to capture the boy. Salazar was even more glad that he hadn't revealed what little he knew about the Prophecy. This also raised his suspicions about Lord Malfoy. A breeder of dangerous beasts, and a raiser of demons. Not to mention putting Dark Magic spells on his daughter-in-law and enslaving a tribe of elves.

"Who is there?" The voice called again. "I am down here."

The last cage wasn't set into the side of the corridor; it was at the end. Unlike the others, which were made of iron, this door appeared to be solid bronze, polished to a reflective shine. Salazar opened the door. It was unlocked.

Wondering if he was insane, Slytherin entered the cage and discovered it wasn't actually a cage at all, but merely an entrance to a cavern. It appeared to be an ancient cave, secluded in the rock upon which the foundations of the castle had been laid. There were dripping stalactites on the ceiling, and stalagmites jutted up here and there on the ground. The stone was sanded smooth by water, cut into flowing twirls and petals of rock.

At the very bottom was a subterrenean pool. As he approached it, Salazar heard the voice again.

"Who are you? You look like a human...but you smell like a snake."

The owner of the voice raised its head above the surface of the water. Salazar, who felt like he needed to scream, but also felt that this would be foolish, instead bit on his knuckle. The huge snake head turned sideways and regarded Salazar with one yellow eye.

"The fact that you are not dead confirms what I suspected." The giant snake...chuckled?

'No,' Slytherin realized. 'Not a snake. A basilisk.' Checking all his important limbs, he was glad to find that they were all in working order. He was not a statue, which was, suffice to say, a relief.

The basilisk continued. "A Parselmouth cannot be killed by my gaze." Salazar was immensely confused.

"Parselmouth?" The term sounded a bit familiar.

"A human who is uniquely gifted with intelligent speech. Namely, one who can speak to my kind." The basilisk sniffed a bit, and Slytherin was struck by the thought that the giant snake was a snob. It amused him, or would have, if he wasn't still half-terrified.

"You're speaking plain English, though!" Salazar said, a bit of nervousness cracking his voice at the end. The basilisk sighed and slid forward a few feet, barely making a ripple in the pool. "Yes, to you...but to others of your kind, the ones without minds able to function on a higher level...all they would hear is 'hiss, hiss'."

Raising itself until about four feet of its pale green body rose dripping from the pool, the basilisk looked down at Salazar and slid its tongue in and out. "At first I thought the man had brought me a mate. I admit you're a bit of a disappointment. You do have a nice scent, though," the snake said, lowering its head down to look at him more closely.

Salazar sat down suddenly, his knees giving out, remembering his first impression of the voice. "You're a female!" he blurted out.

The basilisk winked coyly. It occurred to Salazar that the only two girls who had ever looked at him that way were an obsessively controlling Seer and a fifty-foot long snake.

"You're not one of Malfoy's brood," the female basilisk said, her voice tinged with hatred at the word 'Malfoy'. "They would never dare to come down here." She thrashed the end of her tail, sending up a spray of water. "Except the old man. He's the one who brought me here," she hissed angrily.

"Er...where did you live...before?" Salazar said, his thoughts completely occupied with something along the lines of I am having a conversation with a snake. The basilisk drew half of its length up onto the rocky beach of the pool and coiled around him once, something that Slytherin was not completely at ease with. It seemed like a prelude to being crushed. But instead, the snake flicked its tongue out once more and spoke.

"I was taken very young, from my home, a cave that opened to a river." There was a sadness in her sibilant voice, and she changed the subject. "I hate this place, with this stagnant, foul water and the gibbering of insane beasts all around me. Malfoy tried to tame me...but he cannot speak Parseltongue. He is not worthy of me." Her yellow eyes burned with hatred.

"But you, my little man-snake, I will assist. We both want to escape, no?" She drew her mouth into a very wide serpentine smile, exposing several rows of gleaming teeth.

***

Not so very long ago, a young sorceress lived on the Mediterranean coast in a splendid redstone villa.

Proserpina was a member of a very rich Byzantine wizarding family- her sister was a prominent Oracle at the temple of Apollo, and her brothers were important Apothecaries, selling expensive dragon's blood potions for youth and virility to the upper crust wizards of Rome.

The young sorceress had an affinity for all types of animals, but especially magical beasts. Since her parents were rich, the young girl had amassed a number of pets: Fwoopers in magnificent colors, several Kneazles, and a Puffskein or two. In the yard, she had a pen in which she kept several fancy hippogriffs, and was constantly begging her parents for a phoenix.

As she grew older, Proserpina was found to have no talent at magic. Her family decided, according to the logic of the time, that the only way for her to be of any use was to marry her off to a decidedly wealthy older wizard. They set about finding such a man.

To their delight, an older wizard, from the faraway lands of the Ommiads (which are now called Spain in our day), sought her favor. He gifted the girl's family an extravagant amount of money for her dowry, and promptly whisked her away to his palace in a green valley.

When the girl arrived at her new home, her husband treated her very well, and provided her with a wonderful menagerie to keep her happy- all of her old pets, but even more exotic ones as well. The wizard gave her an entire herd of unicorns, a wonderful golden phoenix, and a dragon that was tame enough to take food from her hand. While Proserpina did not necessarily love her husband, she was content and did not really expect to love him anyways. In those days, it was a godsend to be able to merely tolerate your spouse.

One day, the wizard called to his young wife and she came to his study, a place she usually avoided because of its musty smell and dull books detailing obscure portions of magical theory. There were beautiful stone statues of women holding lanterns and scrolls, whom the young girl assumed were Muses.

Her husband invited her to look at a tiny egg that sat in the ashes of a magical flame. As she watched, the egg cracked open, and a curious-looking snake emerged, crying like a bird. There was a red streak down its back. The baby reptile cast about, looking for a parent, and its eyes settled on the young girl. They were bright yellow eyes, lamp-like, and they seemed to pierce the young girl's heart. And from the jaw with its tiny milk teeth, the snake was speaking:

"Hungry! Hungry!"

It should be obvious now: the snake was a basilisk. The statues decorating the study were no ordinary decorations, but the last remains of the wizard's previous wives. The wizard was a descendant of Herpo the Foul, and had been trying to recreate his ancestor's success at making a basilisk. The problem was that he was not a Parselmouth, like his great-great-great-great-great grandfather. So the wizard sought out young girls who were likely prospects. It wasn't all guesswork, though; there were clues in a wizard's appearance that related to his ability, claimed his ancestor. In one of his textbooks, Herpo had outlined the major characteristics of a Parselmouth:

"The eyes of a snake-speaker are ringed with gold about the iris; observed carefully, one will notice a slight peculiarity of the pupil, being somewhat less disc-shaped and more oval, somewhat in resemblance of a cat's eye. Furthermore, the corners of the mouth are slightly upturned, and the tongue comes to an unusually sharp point at the end. Be advised, most Parselmouths are dark-favored in hair and skin, but not always. They are often posessed of wild moods, and under no circumstances should be made to drink flavored milk."

The wizard had failed with his four previous subjects, so he had been especially cautious about dealing with this Roman witch. But it had worked! The wizard tied a cloth over his eyes and ordered his wife to care for the infant basilisk. Proserpina, initially revolted by the animal, grew quite fond of it after some time. It was actually a rather docile thing as a baby, gorging on goat's milk until it fell asleep for half the day.

When it entered adolescence, the male basilisk began to exhibit behavior that distressed Proserpina. Its hunger began to border on bloodlust. This was all communicated to her directly from the snake's mouth. Several servants were mauled to death, and a few others turned to stone. The sorceress was growing frantic at the uncontrollable nature of her charge.

The Dark wizard (for that was what he was), on the other hand, was pleased. Like his ancestor, he had bred the basilisk solely for terror. Proserpina was to be the beast's handler, and would direct commands to it from him. Eventually, his wife caught wind of the scheme and grew distressed. She did not want to be a party to cruelty and mayhem. Confronting the Dark wizard, Proserpina refused openly to use the animal for evil purposes.

"But," her husband said slowly, "it is an evil animal. That is its nature- to kill and destroy, without feeling. It knows nothing else." The young witch was devastated.

That night, Proserpina stole away to the courtyard, where the basilisk was sleeping curled around several large trees. Catching her scent, the snake greeted her affectionately as he always did. Proserpina embraced the serpent's head as she would have embraced a child.

Then she drove a sword into its brain.

The Dark wizard was in a terrible wrath when he discovered this, and cast the young witch out of his lands. He sent her back to her family with an explanation that she had been caught in a licentious affair with the gardener. He demanded his dowry back. Shamed, Proserpina's family exiled her, and she was shunned from wizarding society, forced to live among Muggles. She left her home country and returned to the Ommiads.

She married again, this time to a full-blooded wizard, but was oddly barren. When she could not conceive, the wizard left her in disgust. Proserpina was poor and desparate.

Her last marriage was to a wealthy Muggle merchant named Antoni Slytherin.

***

"I don't understand why you insist on brewing your own potions. You're horrible at it," Godric said, sniffing the cauldron with a disgusted look on his face.

"And what would you know?" Rowena replied waspishly. She wasn't used to the heat; even in one of the dungeons, the humidity seemed to seep in. The sleeping potion, which was supposed to be dark green, was a sickly yellow. "Drat!" Rowena yelped, as the newt eyes she added caused the stuff to boil over.

"For your information, missy, a warlock-errant must be schooled in all types of potion-brewing before he even thinks about going on a quest. Healing potions, sleeping potions, wakefulness potions...I even learned a Love potion once...you know, not that I'd ever use it," he said gruffly, as Rowena looked at him pensively, no doubt imagining him giggling as he grated Ashwinder eggs into a cauldron while wearing some sort of emasculating apron and pining after some blonde bimbo.

"And no, I won't tell you how to brew one!" he added quickly.

Ravenclaw's face was the picture of innocence. "Wasn't even considering it." She turned back to her sleeping potion, studiously ignoring Godric's broad, frowning face.

"Merlin knows you wouldn't need it. You've got that Nathaniel fellow wrapped around your finger, though he would refuse to admit it." Gryffindor studied her reaction out of the corner of his eye. He found using peripheral vision helped to see a person's true feelings. The Ravenclaw woman remained as cool as a cucumber, though.

Gryffindor wouldn't let it drop, though. "Gabriel told me about another fellow...what was his name? Simeran?"

There was a sudden loud thump as the cauldron hit the floor. Rowena stood, her back to Godric, shaking slightly as her ruined potion spilled all over the floor. Turning a tearless but ashen face to him, she frowned. "His name was Salazar Slytherin. He was like a...like a brother to me."

Godric was quick enough to catch the dull tone in her voice as she said 'brother', but did not press the subject. Brusquely cleaning up the mess, he shoved Rowena out of the dungeon. "Well, I think you've outlived your usefulness here. I'll whip up a sleeping potion, and that Revealing Elixir that you were talking about." He did not like to be around anyone lovesick. He had been around too many people like that. Far too many. Himself included.

Rowena looked at him with rebellious eyes. Godric knew she was considering staying around just to spite him. He considered asking her nicely to leave. No, that would never do.

"Woman, is this my castle or not? Get out of this dungeon, before I have you on the stocks!" he roared. Coolly, Rowena gathered her skirts regally about her and left with her chin tilted up in the air.

***

Nighttime at Godric's castle provided excellent viewpoints for stargazing. His castle was situated near the coast, and the gentle, sandy hills that lay next to the forest afforded a magnificent panorama of open sky. Shivering slightly in the wind, Rowena fumbled with the straps on the telescope that she had borrowed from Michael, the weather-warlock. She had never relied much on astrology; planets and stars rarely arranged themselves to reflect events that were of human comprehension. But, seeing as how so many important forces were at work here, perhaps they would give her some insight. Upon being released from the box, the magic telescope shot out three spidery legs that sank into the sand.

On a fresh sheet of parchment, Ravenclaw began to sketch the angle between Venus and Jupiter. She had gotten only halfway when a sudden thudding sound caused her to look up from the telescope towards the forest. Rowena had only a vague impression of a dark shape hurtling towards her, then a sudden jolt, then nothingness.

***

Charlemagne had cast aside his light, well-balanced blade for the ugly heavy thing that he had taken from the Saxon girl. Grunting slightly, he tried out a few practice swings on the open ground near his tent. The thing weighed too much to be of any practical use- yet how had a young snip of a girl managed to wield it? He shifted his weight, bringing the heel of his right foot up and stepping forward with his left. He made a backthrust at the wooden dummy in front of him and nearly faltered because of the weight.

"That girl..." he growled. He had destroyed countless Saxon villages before. Filthy pagans. They barely subsisted, scratching roots from the ground and living in thatched houses. There were stories, though, ones that he had dismissed as rumors, that some of the villages had warrior mages that summoned demons to destroy their foes. However, one couldn't always count on the reliability of such tales, considering that they came from half-starved, tired, and highly superstitious common infantrymen.

"Your Majesty?" The lieutenant was back again. "The men are all wondering about the dragon, sir. They think it's a bad omen." He hesitated. "There were some desertions. We've brought them back. What is your will?"

Not really listening to his lieutenant, Charlemagne instead studied the sword pensively. Upon closer inspection, the black blade proved to be a polished and very finely honed piece of granite. A stone sword? He had never heard of such a thing. No artisan alive would be able to hew granite that thin without shattering it. Curious. He stroked the hilt fondly. Cleaned up, and hung above his mantle at home, it would be an impressive thing. Of course, he would tell his wife it had been taken from a massive Saxon warrior that he had defeated in a duel. More exciting, that.

He sheathed the sword in a scabbard strapped across his back and turned to face the young officer. Charlemagne's face was blank and pitiless.

"Execute them."

The lieutenant saluted, then sprinted to the top of the hill and waved a black flag. Even from far away, the distinctive hiss and thud of arrows was clear.

"Field reports, colonel?" The king asked another man in red-and-gold. Charlemagne nonchalantly picked up another sword and began sharpening it with a stone.

"We've come across a camp. Gypsies. They have a Moorish look about them."

"Ah!" The king's eyes were alight. "Bring them to the riverbank."

***

The gypsies wore exotic clothes that made Gallic battle dress look dinghy. Many of the women had gold hoops in their ears and silk headscarves wrapped around dark hair. The men glowered fiercely at their guards and held their chins up haughtily. Even the children seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation; they clung to the skirts of their mothers, trying to make themselves invisible.

Charlemagne came over the hill on horseback, dressed in chain mail. He surveyed the people, and, next to them, the spoils his soldiers had collected from the camp: wheat, wine, bolts of cloth, pottery, several donkeys, and two chests of gold.

"Hear me, gypsies of the west," the king said. "Charlemagne's kingdom grows larger day by day. Soon, your people will owe their allegiance to me. I will reward you highly, if you will but perform one service for me." Pointing with his sword, Charlemagne indicated a narrow pass through the mountain range ahead. "All I need to know is if the pass ahead is clear."

Silence from the nomads. The king was beginning to lose his patience. "I speak as your king! Is the way open?"

The leader of the gypsies spoke boldly. "My people bow to no king. We come and go as we please. Every caliph and emperor in the south knows this."

Furious, the king urged his horse forward. The gypsy leader looked surprised for a moment as the sword slashed through his chest, then fell dumbly to earth. His sword still dripping, Charlemagne turned to face the shocked crowd. "I am no demon-worshipping Moor!" he roared. "I am on God's mission, do you hear? He has seen your filthiness and depravity, and I am sent to cleanse the earth of devilry and paganism!" Turning to his soldiers, he barked a command:

"Baptize them!"

Charlemagne's soldiers advanced on the gypsies, spears bristling outwards. The men screamed curses and the women cried for mercy as they fell backward into the swift-flowing river. A group of friars that travelled with the army sprinkled holy water over the bodies as they rushed by. Women, weighted down by heavy clothing and struggling children, were the first to go under. Some of the stronger men managed to keep their heads above water, until the rocks downstream rose up suddenly in front of them.

"Be glad you die with clean souls," Charlemagne murmured. "The peace of the Lord be with you."

***

"That woman should have been back by now," Godric said, frowning. He was conferring with Thror and his three brothers on the situation in Britain. There was usually very little communication between Gallic and British wizards; relations could not exactly be termed as friendly. But the recent actions of the Patriarch were troubling enough to put old grudges aside. Gryffindor put the Seer out of his mind.

"And he executed Slytherin without a writ from the Council?"

"Yes. He simply announced the sentence that day at the meeting. And this latest action is not isolated. Increasingly, the Patriarch has been acting more and more autonomously. He fancies himself king of wizards." Nathaniel sighed wearily.

"And your people just simply sit by?" Godric said with disapproval.

"Well...Slytherin's well-liked by most of the people. His execution wasn't announced publicly yet. No doubt the Patriarch is stalling until he can manufacture some sort of evidence that Slytherin was trafficking with that Gallic Dark Wizard cult that we had just given a beating not two months ago-" Godric grunted with approval at this- "and something about a Muggle king."

"Ah." Gryffindor looked slightly more grave. "Yes. Charlemagne poses a problem. I have heard tales from the Muggles who come to my kingdom. He is obsessed with conquering. He already united the Muggles of Gaul and wreaked havoc on the more primitive tribes to the north. At this very moment, he presses south, towards the Ommiad Emirates."

"Muggle business," Michael said derisively.

Thror rounded on his brother stormily. "Careful, my very wet-behind-the-ears baby brother. Don't display your ignorance too boldly. What Muggles do affects us too. And, who knows? He could be a wizard posing as a king."

Godric shrugged. "It is possible. But I've heard tell that the one thing that drives him almost as equally as conquering is religion. Believes he's on God's mission." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Where has that woman got to?" he said irritatedly. "That Revealing Potion's going to curdle soon, and it'll be useless."

Nathaniel got up with a shade too much alacrity. "I will look for her."

Gryffindor regarded the man thoughtfully. "No," he said decidedly. "I know my grounds better than anyone. You won't be able to find her- not with a new moon outside." He looked at the four brothers with a loaded gaze. They fidgeted slightly in their seats. "I'll go," Gryffindor said again, forcefully, and stamped out of the hall.

***

"We have done a terrible thing."

"Nevertheless, it is less monstrous that what would happen if we let her live. In a thousand years, never has such a thing occurred. It is a sign of the evil times we are living in."

Rowena's eyes snapped open, and she tried to shout, but her mouth was stuffed full of what felt like grass. Twisting her arms, she found them arrested by ropes that bound them behind her back. She was seated up against the trunk of a vast tree, and, looking up, Rowena saw the great black canopy of a wild forest. There was no fire, or tents, as she would have expected in a bandit camp.

The heavy thud of hooves reached her ears. Judging by the sounds, there were at least thirty armed bandits on horseback. Rowena's heart beat wildly, but she remained still.

"We should have killed her while she was asleep," came a third voice.

"No. Perhaps she can be reasoned with," said the first voice.

"You don't realize the gravity of this situation, do you?" The second voice spoke with authority.

Rowena decided to chance it. "I can assure you that I am a reasonable person," she called. "I just hope you sirs are." Struggling (because her arms were still bound), she managed to stand with her back to the tree trunk.

An odd laughter came from various places around her, sort of screechy and high. "Hear her! Hear her!"

"Light a fire, someone," called the first voice. There was a heavy scrape of stone on stone, and a pile of brush ignited, giving Rowena a good look at her captors for the first time. Her knees nearly buckled.

Forming a half-circle around her, about thirty centaurs stood, pawing the earth, looking at her with varying degrees of malevolence. A palamino centaur with long, curling white hair and a beard that flowed down his chest approached her. Rowena noticed that he wore a silver chain draped around his waist where the man-like torso merged with the chest of the horse. This, then, was the second one who spoke with authority.

"I am Celedon, the Elder of this tribe. Seer," he began gravely. "I truly regret the circumstances that we are meeting under. It is so rare that we come in contact with a human whose sensibilities are almost as refined as ours." He paused, and looked up at the sky for a long while, collecting his thoughts. When he spoke again, it was quieter. "Do you know why we must kill you?"

Rowena jerked slightly in her bonds. "No, really, I can't say I do." She was irritated by the centaur's overly dramatic and pompous tone. It reminded her of that idiot Elsworth Laveda back at the Council. 'Swaybacked old nag,' she thought furiously.

"Do you know of the Four Magi, Seer?" The draining of color from Rowena's face was signal enough for the old centaur. "Yes, you are not the only one who is aware that they have come into this world again. And yet...there is a slight wrinkle this time. You see, the first of the Four Magi to be revealed has always been a Seer, because it is with this First that the Prophecy detailing the appearance of the Magi is brought into this world. Then, after fufilling his or her purpose, the Seer quietly exits life after the Prophecy is related. Yet you," the centaur said pointedly, "are very much alive."

"I don't see why this means anything catastrophic," Rowena said tersely.

"Seer, you know too much. With the deliverance of Prophecy, the Inner Eye is opened fully and completely, and it cannot be closed again. Perhaps you have not noticed it yet- perhaps you have not had the time to concentrate enough to feel it- but whatever limits there were on your Sight, they are gone. You have complete knowledge of the future, and that is something no living thing should have."

Rowena was shaking slightly. "I can control it- I've been controlling it-"

"You will exist in a state of unreality, floating between past, present and future with no way to tell what is here and now," a roan centaur standing next to the leader said quietly. "You will be worse than mad. It will begin very soon."

"Isn't this really my decision, though?" Ravenclaw said, trying to keep her voice calm. "Why should a tribe of centaurs care whether or not I go mad?"

"Seer Ravenclaw, there are many evil forces abroad in the world at this time. When your condition worsens, there is a very good chance that a Dark witch or wizard may take advantage of your unlimited foresight and incapacitated condition. You are an ultimate weapon, and an affront to the natural order of things."

A young black centaur with dark skin and white hair looked uncomfortable. He was pawing at the earth nervously. "I still don't like it- we never kill humans unprovoked, and she hasn't done anything wrong-"

"Rowanoak! What insolence! We act for the good of all! Have you not read the disaster written in the sky?" Celedon cantered up to the younger centaur and glared fiercely at him. "As soon as-" A shrill whinny interrupted the confrontation.

Godric Gryffindor charged into the ring of centaurs like an enraged bull. Most of them leaped nimbly out of his way, but a few were caught by surprise and fell under broad sweeps of Godric's sword. "Kidnappers! Rogues!" bellowed Godric. Several of the centaurs had arrows on the strings, but Gryffindor was clashing with Celedon, and they could not risk hitting their leader. Celedon struck at Godric with his hooves, rearing and plunging. "You!" the eldest centaur cried. "How dare you!"

"Never- never in all my years did I think I would see your race sink to the level of criminals, Celedon!" Sparks flew as the sword parried a heavy blow from the centaur's hoof. Godric's armor had several heavy dents in it already, but he urged forward like a madman. "And I heard you! Threatening- to murder- a defenseless-woman!" With each word, he performed a particularly complicated twist and jab with his sword, causing Celedon to back away from the onslaught.

"She is a harbinger of destruction! The other Seer will find her soon, he will! And he will use her for great evil! You cannot stop him from taking her, Godric!" Celedon was pleading now, no longer striking out at the man. He was shrinking back now, almost crouching.

'No,' Rowena thought to herself suddenly, 'he's really getting smaller!' And indeed, Celedon was. The hindquarters of the centaur were withering into dust, and the front legs contorted. Godric stopped advancing on the centaur, his face grim with recognition.

"No!" cried Celedon. "Anything but this!" His hooves cracked off, and the hindquarters had long since crumbled into nothing. Within a few moments, a weeping, feeble old man lay in the grass. He tried to stand, but, unaccustomed to two legs, fell forward onto his face. Godric sheathed his sword in disgust, crossed over to Rowena, and, using a knife, cut her bonds. Rowena sank to her knees and began to rub her arms, which had become asleep. "What happened?" she whispered.

The centaurs were still in shock, staring at the shaking body of their Elder, who clutched his silver chain and howled piteously at the sky.

"When a centaur dishonors his race, he no longer belongs to it," Godric muttered. "It is the way they are. At least they won't entertain any more notions of killing you."

Gradually, the herd began to drift off into the woods, turning their backs to Celedon. The young Rowanoak, however, approached the old man gingerly, and, after a moment's hesitation, picked up the crying man and slung him over his back. With an apologetic glance at Rowena, he then walked slowly into the forest. Godric and Rowena could hear Celedon's mournful wailing all of the way back to the castle.

***

"I don't think it's going to work!" Salazar said, his voice loaded with frustration. He had been Blasting at the wall of the cave where the Basilisk had told him to, but there was no way of telling how thick the rock face went. He could be trying to tunnel through a mountain. Also, some of the magic from Malfoy's castle must have seeped into the ground, because every so often, Salazar's Blasting Hexes would rebound and nearly miss his head.

"Patience, my little man-snake. I have been waiting for nearly twenty years. Surely a few hours will not tax you."

"The problem is that Malfoy will soon figure out that I'm down here." Salazar cast another spell, and scoffed in disgust as it chipped away a small bit of the rock. "Time is a leisure which we do not have."

The basilisk suddenly became rigid. "Someone has come down the trap door."

"Malfoy?"

"One of his brood."

Salazar digested this. It was probably Artemis, who was no threat. However, he wouldn't put it past Lord Malfoy to put his son under the Imperius Curse and use him to get to himself.

"Salazar, Salazar!" Artemis called. He seemed to be on the verge of hysteria.

"There's a woman with him, too," the snake whispered. Slytherin tensed. Should he call out?

"Salazar, I want to go with you!" called Artemis. "I don't want my father to kill you!"

Slytherin decided to act on faith. "Artemis," he called, sounding more confident than he felt, "close your eyes as you come in."

The young Malfoy walked in, his eyes screwed shut and one arm held outward, feeling around for a wall. His other arm was wrapped around Rosalind, who had buried her face in Artemis' chest and was weeping. She seemed to be unable to take three steps on her own and kept sagging suddenly under her own weight.

Salazar felt a flash of irritation. This was going to be a burden on his escape.

"You can't tunnel through, I know. But I can! Only a Malfoy can alter the foundations of the castle. It's in our blood."

'Splendid,' Salazar thought sourly. 'More Dark Magic.' "Turn your head, please. It's okay, he can help us," he said to the basilisk. She obliged, directing her gaze away from the humans.

"Artemis, you can open your eyes, it's safe." When he saw the giant snake, Artemis suppressed a yelp, but Rosalind shrieked and clung tightly to her husband. "Hurry!" Salazar said impatiently. "There's not much time!" He drew out his rosary and placed Artemis' hand on it. "Reducto!" bellowed Slytherin. An immense red beam sliced a perfectly circular tunnel through the solid rock.

"AAAH!" The basilisk eagerly surged towards freedom. Salazar clambered up onto her back, and helped Artemis heave an incapacitated Rosalind onto the serpent's back. Artemis scrambled up behind his wife, who was shaking uncontrollably.

Salazar, however, was marvelling at the speed with which the basilisk was flashing through the tunnel, single-mindedly set on the spot of light ahead. The light grew swiftly larger and larger, and then the basilisk had thrust her whole length out of the tunnel.

They had emerged out of the side of a cliff.

The three humans were much too surprised to yell at first, but when the basilisk hit the sea with a resounding smack, the situation caught up with them and Rosalind began screaming again and Artemis swooned. Salazar, to his credit, did not faint, but threw up quietly, taking care to bend his head over the water and not to hit the snake.

'Ah,' he thought weakly, as his stomach roiled, 'freedom!'

***