Hearts and Hourglasses

Hearts and Hourglasses
Chapter 35 - Part Four
Comings and Goings

Whether you be a wanted criminal, a werewolf or a spy...

"Remind me again why we are here, Remus."

"Sirius..."

"I'm having doubts about this."

"You'll be fine."

"I've never taught before."

"That's because you didn't have a chance to. Now, keep quiet and behave. We're up next."

Sirius heeded him reluctantly, and Lupin turned his attention from his friend to the back of an old witch clad in green, who was bending over the table to sign her name on a long roll of parchment. A wizard and witch dressed in striking black robes lined with white were seated behind the sign-in table, which was under a white tent. The tent's canvas flaps billowed in the cool wind blowing against their faces.

There six such stations arranged in a semi-circle around "a dolmen that stood on the bank of a sizeable lake. On the far side was Malfoy Manor. Lupin's eyes were caught by the ruined west wing of the mansion. He could see workers fixing the damage, which had been caused when Hierthent had passed by too low. The dolmen, disassembled into its three component pieces, had seemed like meteorites, tearing gashes through the walls, floors and roof of the centuries-old manor.

Hierthent, itself, was too high up to be seen. At the request of the Ministry, the castle the castle had been taken to a mile-high elevation where its wide-ranged dispelling magic would cause no disruption except to wizards who attempt to reach it on broomsticks. However, Lupin had seen the fortress. It appeared like glinting shards of ice on a clod of dirt. He had wanted to visit it ever since its arrival, but what hope had a werewolf in gaining entrance to what was now the greatest archaeological find in magical history?

When news came that Hierthent was hiring, Lupin immediately tried for the opportunity. Dumbledore's owled request that Lupin and Sirius go to Hierthent was unnecessary. There had been some difficulty in disguising Sirius, since he was still a wanted criminal, but essentially, the journey to Malfoy Manor was uneventful.

Trouble came at the gates of the estate, where the entrance was barred to a considerable crowd of interested applicants. A small group of young wizards and witches were keeping the gates closed and screening each prospective employee before letting them enter. Lupin recognized their leader, Marcus Flint, a Slytherin who had graduated from Hogwarts in the year Lupin had first taught there.

Marcus remembered him as well and laughingly informed his companions that Lupin was the werewolf prof they were lucky they hadn't studied under. As soon as it was revealed he was a werewolf, the other applicants moved away from him and Sirius.

"At least he's found some decent robes to wear now," added Marcus with a cruel chuckle.

Embarrassed and flustered, Lupin reached out to take his credentials back from Marcus, but the recent Hogwarts graduate taunted him, refusing to return Lupin's papers. To the delight of his friends, he dropped them into a gutter, which was wet from a recent rain. Lupin automatically bent, scrambling to rescue the documents. He doubled over when Marcus kicked him in the stomach.

Suddenly, Marcus was grabbed by the front of his robes and flung against the gate by Sirius, who was furious at the disrespectful treatment of his friend.

A scuffle broke out with Sirius taking on half a dozen wizards, who proved little match for him. Lupin tried to break off the fight but was drawn into the quarrel as well. A cheering roaring circle formed around them, a few individuals slipping through the gates without having to be inspected.

And suddenly, someone yelled, "I know you!" He pointed at Sirius whose white wig was askew, showing midnight black hair underneath. His bushy white beard was now dangling from his chin. They hadn't used magic to disguise him since Dumbledore had warned them that Hierthent's dolmen stripped away spells cast beforehand.

Marcus choked, "Y-you're Sirius Black!" Upon that, the crowd dispersed as the spectators scattered and ran for their lives. Lupin had noted the very satisfied look on his friend's face and breathed out an exasperated breath before suggesting that they leave now before Ministry wizards arrived to apprehend them.

But fortune favored them this time. "Quick, get in!" Marcus gestured at them to enter into the estate.

"What?" Lupin was puzzled. Sirius was busy taking off his useless and irksome wig and beard.

"Hurry!" Marcus implored. When they still didn't move, he told his friends to escort them inside. Lupin and Sirius were surrounded and practically pushed and pulled through the gates. When they were finally inside, Marcus ordered the rest to make sure that no one had seen them enter before leading Lupin and Sirius over wide lush lawns towards the mansion. However, halfway, Marcus turned and started on a more circuitous path, which would lead them to the back of the manor instead of the front.

Along the way, they met another wizard, whom Marcus greeted as Terence.

"Who are these blokes, Marcus?" asked the slender Terence as he eyed Lupin and Sirius curiously. But before Marcus could answer, Terence recognized Sirius as well.

"You're Sirius Black!" he crowed with delight. And that was a statement repeated with enthusiasm every time they met another wizard or witch on the way "to the stations at which they had to register before being allowed to approach the dolmen. Once they were in line, Marcus left them but not before asking Sirius for his autograph.

Needless to say, Sirius was made very smug by all the recognition, so much more when he wrote his name on the parchment.

"You're Sirius Black..." The witch looked ready to swoon while her companion stared open-mouthed at Sirius, who was grinning widely, his confidence about his teaching ability regained. Lupin rolled his eyes as he pulled Sirius towards the dolmen.

"I could get used to this," commented Sirius with a playful smile.

Lupin dryly replied, "No doubt you'll be hired immediately, because you're Sirius Black."

"Don't worry, Remus. I'll put in a good word for you."

* * * * *

"This is really creepy," Ron muttered under his breath; Hermione nodded in agreement. Both were barely touching their breakfast, and it wasn't because the House Elves were being lazy and had served poorly prepared meals.

Harry finally lowered his spoon, turned his eyes from his cold oatmeal and looked towards the long bare area in the Great Hall where the Slytherin house table used to be.

"I still can't believe they're gone," George said is a low listless voice. All along the Gryffindor table, there were murmuring assents as everyone agreed with that statement. Finally, there was some noise in the hall that morning. It had been eerily silent with only scattered comments from the students as they wondered how the Slytherins were. They'd been gone for nearly a day.

"I have a bad feeling," Lee said softly, poking uninterestedly at the scrambled eggs on his plate.

"About what?" queried Ginny, who was gamely chewing a bit of bacon.

Lee elucidated reluctantly, "I have a bad feeling I miss them."

Once again, the entire hall fell silent. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs heard Lee's statement as it had echoed morosely in the unusual quiet. Guilty looks abound. Heads swiveled, eyes flicking to where the fourth table had stood before.

* * * * *

"I've never seen the students so demoralized." Flitwick levitated himself up a few feet before letting himself plop down into one of the chairs in the staff room.

Sprout tiredly massaged her temples. "I don't know how to explain this to my Hufflepuffs," she said with a sigh.

"Neither do I to my students," said McGonagall as she lowered herself into the chair next to Flitwick's. For the next few moments, all that could be heard were the sounds of the professors sitting down in their chairs. There was a notable absence. Severus Snape's chair remained empty.

"Does the Headmaster have any idea when they will return?" asked Sinistra.

Vector added, "Surely, they will return."

"I don't care if they do or not," said Moody gruffly, sounding irritated. The others shot glares at him, but didn't counter his statement. He didn't get along at all with any of the Slytherins, certainly not with their House Head. They'd all had quarrels with Snape, but it was usually on the issue of house rivalry rather than real dislike.

It was difficult to believe House Slytherin was gone.

* * * * *

Salazar's room was bare and empty. Rowena glanced around the dark shadowy walls, remembering when Wvelte was being constructed. Salazar had protested their awarding the building commission to Muggle-born Thomas Aquinas. How he had loathed the idea. He had even told Thomas not to bother with the design he had proposed for Salazar's bedroom. He didn't even look at the plans.

However, he had changed his mind somewhat when he saw the finished product.

"How do you like it, Salazar?" she had asked teasingly, watching him slowly step into the room. His eyes had been narrowed with suspicion as though he expected the floor to be booby-trapped and the walls and ceiling filled with dangerous devices as well. Rowena hadn't missed it when those green eyes widened with surprise.

The room was round and windowless, a circular fireplace standing in the center, its hearth already burning; the smoke was drawn up to a hole in the ceiling. The decor was spare and austere. Little furniture was needed with the numerous shelves lining the walls. Beside the door the wall extruded a long, curving shelf that ran a third of the length of the wall. This served as a table. Opposite it on the other side of the hearth was the only large piece of furniture in the room, a bed whose headboard was curved, allowing it to fit neatly against the wall.

"There are no spells," she had reassured Salazar as wariness quickly replaced the approval in his face. After a while, he allowed himself to relax. Slowly, he moved around the room, strolling leisurely in the twelve-foot space in between the table and fireplace. He ran his fingers across the smooth polished wood inlaid into the marble table. He peered into the shelves, whose sides glowed with a soft white light at his approach. When he reached the bed, he commented, "It is too close to the fire."

It was a nonsensical complaint. Twelve feet again separated the bed's edge from the fireplace. "It is far enough, Salazar," she said in a patient tone. He shrugged at her words and walked around the bed before lowering himself to sit on its side. Rowena smiled, amused as he tested the firmness of the mattress.

She nearly sighed in exasperation when he muttered, "It is too soft."

"No, it is not," she declared, feeling miffed. She had personally supervised its making.

Salazar remained seated, his eyes meeting hers steadily. "It is too soft," he repeated, his calm "I am right, and you are wrong" tone of voice irking Rowena.

"No, it is not," she said once again, marching to the bed and sitting down beside him.

"Too soft," he insisted. Rowena glared at him, keeping quiet this time. She refused to be drawn into such a silly argument, but Salazar wasn't giving up his position.

"It is too soft, Rowena."

"... It is not."

"Too soft."

She breathed out, exasperated. "Salazar, it is not too soft."

"I have more experience with beds than you, Lady Ravenclaw, and I am telling you this bed is too soft."

Rowena couldn't help it. Lifting an eyebrow, she lightly requested that he prove to her that this bed was indeed too soft. She was quite stunned when Salazar dryly said, "Muggles will fly before I make love to you on this bed."

She didn't know if she should be insulted or not, but she certainly was
bewildered and disappointed. Salazar saw the latter emotion in her face and breathed out loudly, "Rowena, my trouble is with this bed, not with you. It is too soft."

"I know, Salazar," she said softly, allowing hurt to underline her words. She unfolded her hands from her lap and placed them on the bed, pushing herself up to stand. Salazar followed suit immediately.

"I will have it replaced," she murmured, moving towards the door. Salazar intercepted her with an aggravated expression on his face.

"Why must you always have your way, Rowena?"

"Salazar, the mattress will be replaced. We are having your way, not mine."

"You are upset, because I did not accept your invitation."

"How did you expect me to react?"

The light in his eyes changed subtly, irritation vanished, gentleness took its place. Then, weariness softened his features. "Be angry, Rowena."

"... What?"

He sighed softly. "I cannot stand to see you hurt. You have me at a great disadvantage when you refuse to defend yourself."

"... I do not understand what you are talking about, Salazar."

His eyes turned shrewd and hard. "... You do not see what you are doing to me? I doubt that."

"Salazar-"

"I cannot hurt you, Rowena, because you refuse to hurt me. I cannot be angry at you, because you refuse to be angry at me. You are perfect. You are a goddess. I must treat you accordingly."

"... What are you saying? You wish to hurt me?"

"No." Salazar shook his head, chuckling hollowly. "Therein lies the problem."

Rowena stared at him silently for a long time before saying, "You are confusing me."

He opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated, shutting it abruptly with a frustrated exhalation. How frightening she is, he thought quite clearly, and Rowena at once glared at him, insulted.

Salazar frowned at her, realizing she had heard his thought. Before she could demand an explanation for what he had thought, Salazar took a step forward, lowered his head and kissed her.

... You are attempting to distract me, Salazar.

Unfortunately, I am not succeeding.

Why do I frighten you? ... Salazar, I will find out sooner or later.

He would never tell her why; however, regardless of all his effort to hide the reason why, she found out from his very own mind.

How frightening she is, she does not know even know how well she knows me. She manipulates on instinct. She controls without realizing, and they do not see it, do not mind it. I did not know immediately. I resented when I discovered that I do her wishes, both said and unspoken. However, over time, I find it increasingly hard to discern which are her commands and which are my own.

She makes it pleasant to be a slave. I wonder... Has she cast another spell on me?

Rowena closed her eyes, lifting her hand to her throbbing temple, at the same time yearning to press it instead against the ache in her chest. She remembered the hurt she felt when she heard those thoughts, the doubt in Salazar's mind. Yet, she hadn't confronted him, hadn't tried to make him see that his feelings for her were not caused by any spell save for love, which was also a magic of the purest sense.

No matter how much Rowena wanted to, she hadn't forced Salazar to acknowledge his love for her. For Salazar Slytherin, there was no such thing as love, and even if it did exist, he would never allow himself to fall in love.

No, he would rather think that what he felt for her was induced by a spell. He even considered it charming, amusing and intelligent. Salazar appreciated want and desire. He admired Rowena for getting and keeping what she wanted. As days and weeks passed, months and years went by, Rowena felt his like for her growing until she felt no resentment and only affection from him.

Stupid wizard. So long as she, rather than his heart, was the cause of his feelings for her, Salazar was content to stay with her. ... Idiot.

She recalled her frustration, her utter irritation with the manner in which Salazar considered their relationship. Many times, she had almost told Salazar that there was no spell. Other than the binding spell she had cast on him, which had been broken twice, she hadn't used any magic on him. However, she always stopped short of telling him, afraid that the fact that he was truly in love with her would drive him away, as it almost had many times before, before she had told him about the old binding spell.

Salazar, himself, kept Rowena silent. Under the illusion that what he felt for her was caused by her, he hadn't held back his own feelings (which he wrongly thought were induced). He was kind, gentle and tender. Romantic, teasing and loving. When his Slytherins made sly comments on his dealings with her, he would reply with a chuckle that it was all Lady Ravenclaw's doing. In the beginning, it had been infuriating, but it grew less each time Rowena reminded herself that no matter what Salazar thought, he wasn't under a spell. He loved her though he believed otherwise. Rowena knew Salazar would never admit it.

Now, he thinks I have been using Father's Imperius on him all along... It is better this way, thought Rowena with a weary smile. Spells, Salazar knew, he could fight against and succeed without losing his self in the process. However, true feelings were different and far more dangerous for they were his own needs, his weakness, and Salazar was never willing to be weak.

He will return. Rowena felt the heaviness inside her melting away. Despite all that had been revealed by the Basilisk's memories, the past was past. What their real selves did a thousand years ago was for that time. What they did now, they did in response to the present events that had transpired.

Salazar, she knew, had his Slytherins brought to Hierthent in order to gain a foothold in the fortress.

* * * * *

"Do not use Imperius on me again," Salazar said softly; Voldemort tilted his head slightly, acquiescing. Salazar stood up from the stone bench in his cell and approached the clear crystal barrier separating them. As he neared, Voldemort raised his hand to the barrier frame. The crystal vanished.

Voldemort smiled when Salazar paused just inside the prison. "The new Head insisted that you be released," he informed. The corner of his mouth twitched as he added, "He should be here soon."

As though summoned by Voldemort's words, the door to the dungeons again opened. Draco dashed down the steps so quickly, Salazar feared the boy would trip and break his neck. Lucius followed in a slower, more careful pace. Both hesitated when they saw Voldemort there ahead of them, same gray eyes considered the wizard with suspicion.

"What are you doing here?" Draco said in a curt tone, stepping in between Voldemort and Salazar. Lucius' expression alternated between pride and worry.

"I came to release Lord Slytherin when the decision had been made," replied Voldemort graciously, his eyes locked on Salazar rather than on Draco, who in turn pretended not to have heard Voldemort. Instead, the boy insisted that they leave the dungeons at once.

* * * * *

"I still can't believe Draco's the Head of Hierthent," Snape heard Blaise Zabini say. Several Slytherins with him nodded with quiet agreement. They were saving their breath for lugging their trunks to their rooms. The hallway was crowded with youngsters going here and there, in and out different rooms, bringing their possessions from the pile of baggage in the main hall too many flights below. Levitation charms helped, but the strain of holding heavy items aloft for so long usually had most of the students dropping their trunks upon reaching their assigned floor. Each year level had an entire floor to themselves. The higher the year level, the higher the floor level. Snape considered the transferring and transporting of their belongings an excellent test of their magic skills.

"I refuse to stay here if they're not going to get House Elves," declared Pansy Parkinson in a voice pitched high with irritation from having to do the very menial chore of lifting the end of her large heavy trunk and dragging it to her room. Her earlier euphoria upon discovering that each of them would have their own separate room had vanished entirely when faced with the possible reality of having no servants.

"What about the laundry?!" came another complaint, followed by, "I'm starving! We haven't eaten since we've arrive here!"

"We're not going to have to cook for ourselves, are we?"

"I hope not. I don't know how to cook."

"I can."

"I'm not eating your cooking."

There was the loud thump of a trunk being dropped, a yell accompanying it, then a series of smaller thumps made by someone hobbling around. "My foot!" said someone screeched. "It's broken!"

"Sorry, Professor," Crabbe apologized as Snape ducked his head aside, barely avoiding having his skull cracked by the steel lined edges of the boy's trunk, which was bobbing up and down in mid-air like a buoy in rough seas. Crabbe's arm was trembling, his sweaty hand clenched around his wand with effort as he concentrated to keep his trunk afloat.

"You're almost there," murmured Snape as he passed Crabbe. He doubted he was heard and soon all his mental faculties were concentrated on weaving a rather precarious path around the panting students trudging up the stairs, each with a levitated trunk or two.

When he reached the fourth year floor, he found it in a state similar to that of the floor three levels above, as were the third and second year floors. The next floor, however, was quieter. The first years, having not yet mastered Leviosa, had to manually carry and drag their trunks up the stairs to their floor, which was three flights from the main hall level. They were too exhausted to be noisy.

Snape's assigned room was in the floor directly below the first years'. Reaching the landing, he encouraged a nearly collapsing Graham Pritchard before turning around the corner to go to his room, where he had already deposited his belongings before going up to check on his students. The last thing he expected was to crash into Remus Lupin.

* * * * *

"You do not seem to be worried," Dumbledore said as Godric lowered himself to sit in the chair in front of his desk. Godric kept quiet, his expression unreadable. He only relaxed when Fawkes appeared on his shoulder. "What must be must be," he murmured, his words barely heard over the soft song Fawkes was singing.

"You trust Lord Slytherin?" Dumbledore asked, opening a drawer and taking out his tin of lemon drops.

Again, Godric didn't reply. His face turned curious when he was offered a lemon drop. "What is this?" he said as he took the frosty yellow bit of candy.

"It's a Muggle sweet I am rather fond of."

... "I like it."

Dumbledore smiled. "Few wizards would try lemon drops on such short notice."

Godric closed his eyes, a tired smile lightening his face with a hint of humor. He realized where this conversation was heading. He opened his eyes and leaned back in his chair; Fawkes hopped from his shoulder to perch on the back of the chair instead.

"He never liked Muggles; he barely tolerated them," he said quietly of Salazar Slytherin. Dumbledore simply nodded and waited for the other wizard to continue.

"There was always a conspiracy afoot to discredit and destroy, to cause havoc in the school. We saw through most; however, there were plots so well disguised that we had not realized them until it was too late."

"The Muggle-borns."

The weariness in Godric's face increased, but the light in his eyes remained steady as he regarded Dumbledore. "There were no Muggle-borns before in Hogwarts. There was such trouble between wizards and Muggles during those days that we dare not reveal the Muggle youths with magical talent. To do so would have their Muggle-kin reject them, and the families who did not abhor their magical brethren were ridiculed and driven off by the rest of their community. We decided it was best to let them live out their lives in peace rather than be shunned by their own kind. We even considered the idea of suppressing their magical talent before it manifest itself."

"However, this policy was changed."

"Yes," said Godric, "but only some time after our memories were placed in the Sorting Hat. There had been thought before of taking Muggle-borns in, but Salazar would never allow it. There were also few Muggle-borns then, a far lesser number than in this time. Half-bloods were also a rarity, and those Salazar only accepted because he believed that the wizard side was supreme over the other, though he still disliked the idea of wizard blood being sullied. Muggle-borns, in his eyes, were mistakes of nature."

* * * * *

"You are leaving?" Salazar watched his old teacher's face with keen eyes, careful for any deception.

Trenzel was amused. "Yes," he answered, "we are leaving."

"... Why?"

"Our business here is done, Salazar, and we do not intend to haunt Hierthent. Doubtless that was what you were thinking. I will just say this. Spirits have little interest in the events of the mortal plane once our reasons for becoming ghosts in the first place become irrelevant."

"... My students."

"They were our foremost concern, followed by your demise. Either can take priority; however, the main reason we wanted you dead was so that the Dark families would remove their children from Hogwarts."

"The Mudbloods?"

"Yes. It was Jiswell's idea. He had some of our people mindswitch with the Mudbloods accepted at Hogwarts. He knows of your hatred of Muggles. It is something we all share and understand."

"Is that all that was done?"

"No, Salazar; however, none of it matters now so I shall not bother to tell you all. If you have no further questions, I will take my leave. Jiswell wishes to leave as soon as possible lest he give in to the want of seeking vengeance on his many times great grandson for petrifying him."

Salazar hesitated before slowly saying, "I did kill all of you and nearly destroyed Hierthent."

Trenzel's translucent eyes grew opaque at his words, but they cleared quickly, and bluntly he told Salazar, "You are not the one who killed us." He turned away abruptly and floated to the wall, which swallowed him whole before Salazar could say another word.

* * * * *

Snape, sporting a blackened left eye, hadn't stopped glaring at Lupin and Black since they had been ushered into the staff room. Black, whose right eye was swollen shut, was eyeing Snape's throat as though he wanted to lunge for it, which is most probably what he was thinking of doing if it weren't for an unscathed Lupin seated in between the two.

"I will handle Herbology and assist Severus with Potions," Narcissa was saying. The floating quill copied her words down on a large sheet of parchment.

Lupin scanned the list of subjects for a long while, but Sirius immediately volunteered for The Dark Arts (which earned him another "I wish you would drop dead" look from Snape) and Transfigurations.

Snape had his usual Potions and would be handling The Dark Arts as well. Lupin decided on Astronomy (except on a certain night of every month) and Charms, which Lucius would also be teaching.

When Belsen Macnair arrived, he was immediately saddled with Care for Magical Creatures. Avery and Nott gambled for the subjects they would teach. Winner took Arimanthcy while loser took Ancient Runes. Both would handle Divination.

Only one subject remained. Nobody wanted to teach History of Magic.

To be continued...

Hearts and Hourglasses
Chapter 35 - Part Five
Thirteen Towers

"It's starting again, Albus." Mundungus Fletcher said in a heavy tone, plopping into the chair facing Dumbledore's desk.

"How many, Mundungus?"

"Six have disappeared since last week."

"No trace?"

"No trace, and the Muggles don't care. They're just tramps, they say. None of their concern. Our own Ministry of Magic says it's none of their business either." Mundungus sounded bitter.

Dumbledore closed his eyes for several moments before opening them again to look at the wizard seated in front of him garbed in a drab Muggle garment called a trench coat. A floppy gray hat with a flat top completed the ensemble.

As before, Voldemort's rising began with disappearances of homeless Muggles, who wouldn't be missed by their own kind. Dumbledore knew why they had vanished. They were Voldemort's bribes to win the Dementors over to his side.

"Arthur Weasley and Amos Diggory will be taking part in the monthly inspection of Azkaban tomorrow," he informed Mundungus, who snorted.

"It won't do any good," he said in a tired and angry voice. "The Muggles will be held in a place so deep and hidden inside the fortress, they'll never be found, and that's assuming the Dementors will keep them in Azkaban."

"Let us not lose hope-" began Dumbledore, but Mundungus interrupted him with an angry snarl. "Worthless words of encouragement don't work on me, Albus! You know that! I'm not one of your underlings, who require the comfort of your vast wisdom and experience!"

"Mundungus," Dumbledore said quietly, his soft tone causing the wizard to fall silent. World-weary eyes turned from near black to softer gray in the moments they were caught by the calm deep blue of the Headmaster's eyes.

After a few moments, Mundungus took in a long shuddering breath. "I'm sorry, Albus."

"No wrong perceived, old friend. You are just tired."

Mundungus gave out a short deprecating laugh at that. "Must you always try to put others at ease?" he asked with familiar amusement.

Dumbledore smiled wryly. "I usually succeed," he said humbly, drawing another chuckle from Mundungus. But the latter turned serious quickly and asked if Dumbledore could make arrangements for Mundungus to join the inspection team tomorrow.

"I have a hunch, Albus," Mundungus said before the other wizard could ask for his reasons for wanting to go to Azkaban.

"You are thinking they will switch six of the prisoners with the Muggles," said Dumbledore. Mundungus smiled and nodded once. Dumbledore tilted his head and considered. "Levi and Neris Lestrange," he began.

Mundungus continued, "Dolohov, Travers, Mulciber and Rookwood. I'll watch those six. Voldemort will be wanting them out first. If they pull a stunt similar to what old Crouch did to get his son out, I'll find them out."

However, as Mundungus Fletcher was giving his report to Dumbledore, six Death Eaters were already being taken by boat from the island prison of Azkaban.

Shivering in icy sea mist, Peter Pettigrew was nonetheless grateful for the cold fog billowing all around. The farther he rowed, the less he saw of the Dementor's black fortress as encompassing swatches of white and gray covered over it. He had never been in a place as horrible and as miserable.

Though his arms and shoulders were aching terribly, Peter didn't stop rowing. As soon as he lost sight of Azkaban, he turned his eyes to the six passengers occupying the dingy with him. They were all clothed in ill-fitting robes with the hoods pulled over their bowed heads. Their faces were hidden in shadows. Three were seated in the bench in front of him, the other three further behind. As though knowing that Peter was observing them, the smallest figure, seated in the middle and directly in front of Peter, lifted its head.

"You're the rat, aren't you?" said a woman's voice softly, a fine sharp and dangerous thread of steel running through the words. Peter almost released the paddles upon hearing Neris Lestrange. He barely kept himself from squealing in fright.

The one seated on Neris' right shifted, shrouded shoulders pulling back, back straightening, lifting its head. Peter recoiled when he saw its eyes. Blank black orbs, not a spark of light shone in them, so empty that Peter felt as though his soul was being pulled in to fill the nothingness. Only the dead should have such eyes.

"Levi, no," said Neris suddenly, and those eyes turned from Peter, releasing him. He gasped, desperately taking in air to cool his burning lungs. He hadn't been able to breathe when Levi Lestrange's eyes held him.

The other one beside Neris lunged for Peter's throat, knocking him from his seat to crash against the inner side of the bow. The sound of splashing water and wood clattering against wood echoed in Peter's ears. He had a glimpse of murderous blue eyes before sharp nails dug into the sensitive flesh of his throat. He choked as the hands tightened, his own hands clawing at them to release him.

"Warren!" In the back of his dimming mind, Peter thought it was Neris who had shouted the name though he was so close to fainting that he couldn't even identify if the voice was male or female. Just before he lost consciousness, he felt the vise-like grip around his neck loosen and let go.

* * * * *

"Why are you protecting the rat?!" Voldemort heard Warren Travers yell even before their boat reached the shore. Hidden in the shadows of the boulders lining a tiny beach, Voldemort watched as five wizards pulled and pushed the dingy through the cove, where the waters were swelling into six-foot waves - a lesser danger when compared to the thirty-foot waves crashing against the massive rocks sheltering the natural harbor.

Inside the boat with an unconscious Wormtail, Neris threw back her drenched hood and coldly told Travers to keep his voice down. The icy ocean wind blowing in from the sea and against Voldemort's face brought her words to his ears clearly. "We're not yet out of Azkaban's borders." At that reminder, Travers kept quiet in his characteristic mutinous air.

Despite the fact that Azkaban was considered impregnable and inescapable, there was a magical dampening and detection field for three miles around the island prison, which was why Wormtail had to row the boat instead of using magic to move it. Not only was magic weakened, any use of magic within Azkaban's borders would trigger an alarm system, alerting both the Dementor guards and the Ministry of Magic.

Voldemort didn't emerge from the concealing darkness around him as his exhausted followers finally reached the beach and dragged the boat out of the reach of the frothing waves. As soon as it was safe, one by one, energy and spirit drained for more than fifteen years by the Dementors and just now by a merciless stormy sea, they collapsed to the damp sands except for Neris Lestrange and Matthew Mulciber, who remained standing.

Neris woke up Wormtail while Matthew stumbled to their companions, shaking them awake from their short rests.

"We have to go," Voldemort heard Matthew say to each of them. Neris asked Wormtail which way to head. Before the groggy Wormtail could answer, Matthew suddenly yelled, "He's here!" Voldemort smiled as the wizard straightened, his fair-haired head turning quickly, a pair of pale green eyes staring around eagerly.

The others glanced at him with wide eyes. Antonin Dolohov recovered from surprise first. "Master is here?" he asked in a thick Bulgarian accent. "Where?" Augustus Rookwood said, standing up hurriedly. Travers and Levi followed suit, brushing sand off their old and ragged robes. Voldemort noticed that they had all lost weight from their imprisonment in Azkaban. Their faces had grown gaunt and thin from their ordeal, but he was pleased to see the keenness that remained in their eyes.

They were the most faithful and loyal of all his followers. They had suffered Azkaban rather than renounced him. They were rightly to be called his Death Eaters.

* * * * *

Though the decor was very feminine, Harry had to admit that Rowena's room was very cool. The walls, ceiling and floor were transparent, so it appeared as though the night sky dotted with countless twinkling stars was surrounding them instead. However the shape of the room was still clearly defined, as its edges where walls met floor and ceiling were glowing a soft white light of their own, making the room feel cozy as well as infinitely spacious.

It was nearly nine in the evening. Opposite Harry, on the other side of the table, Ron yawned and stretched while waiting for Harry to make his next move. They and Hermione were playing chess to pass the time while waiting for something to happen. Harry didn't know what to expect, but he suspected it would involve the full-length mirror in Rowena's room.

Rowena's mirror, with its beautifully carved silver frame, resembled the Mirror of Erised, whose current location remained a mystery. Unlike the latter, this mirror's base was in the form of a large coiled serpent. Instead of cryptic words carved at its top, there was one familiar word. Slytherin. When Hermione asked Rowena why this mirror hadn't disappeared with the rest of Salazar's and his House's belongings, she answered because the mirror had been a gift to her from Salazar.

While Hermione continued to query Rowena about the mirror, Harry and Ron found themselves more intrigued by the Founders' chessboard and chessmen sets. On the table between the two couches where they were seated was a large chessboard in the shape of a cross with one arm lobbed off. Harry could only guess that was the arm where Salazar's chessmen stood.

Playing Godric's chessmen, Harry ordered one of his knights to block Ron's bishop from taking his queen. Obediently, the tiny gold mail-clad warrior on an equally small winged horse flew two spaces forward and one space right before alighting in front of an imperious-looking fellow dressed in severe dark blue robes with bronze trimmings. The bishop looked upset, and brandished his sapphire-studded rod at the knight threateningly but without a single word. The Founders' chess sets couldn't talk. The magic to imbue objects with the ability to speak the human tongue hadn't been developed a thousand years ago even though the magic to animate objects had already been discovered.

"They understand us, though," Hermione said to Rowena as she fingered one of Helga's chess pieces. Ron had to nudge Hermione before she realized it was her turn to move. She gave an absent-minded glance to the board and ordered one of her pawns to move. Hermione was seated beside Ron in the same couch and talking to Rowena, who was sitting beside Harry on another couch. The Hufflepuff chess set was, by far, the most interesting collection. They were made out of obsidian, and inside each translucent piece was a tiny flickering ball of light where their hearts would be if they had hearts.

Rowena nodded. "Yes, one of the main purposes of Animation Magic -- and a necessary aspect -- is to make inanimate objects serve us. Unless they understand us, they cannot fulfill their purpose. However, it is not necessary for them to be able to speak to us so long as they obey us, which is why they can move but cannot talk." Hermione winced at this. Rowena noticed and asked, "Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing," said Hermione immediately, and Harry and Ron grinned. Both boys knew that Hermione still had hang-ups about the House Elves being exploited by the magical community even after having reluctantly decided that the House Elves were happy the way they were despite their lives of servitude. Hearing about magic being used to make servants out of non-living things must not sit well with Hermione's conscience, though really there was nothing she could do about it. Certainly, she couldn't start another S.P.E.W.

Rowena continued her explanation. "Speech Magic is also notoriously complicated though it is indeed extremely useful as well as powerful."

"Powerful?" Ron interrupted with a curious expression.

"Yes," answered Rowena. "To be able to express one's thoughts verbally means possessing the means to influence others, which in turn means power since it grants you the ability to manipulate other people."

Harry mused on this quietly, his eyes on the ivory and ebony chessboard before him. It made sense that speech could be powerful, even in matters of chess. In his first year at Hogwarts, Seamus's chessmen had given him a hard time, and in effect he had played the game the way they, the pieces, had wanted, instead of the way that he had wanted. He doubted he would have lost so badly to Ron had he been playing with a regular Muggle chest set. He also recalled losing spectacularly to Ron again while breaking in the brand new chest set which he had gotten out of a wizard cracker during his first Christmas at Hogwarts. He had listened to Percy's not at all useful advice.

Hermione then realized something. "But Voldemort said that that snake bracelet he found spoke to him."

"Serpent items are an exception." It was Godric who answered. Harry looked back to see the wizard standing behind their couch. Beyond Godric, Harry saw Helga keeping watch on the mirror, which was showing her reflection.

"Anything made in the form of a snake only obeys Parselmouths," said Rowena, "even though they understand the human tongue."

"Serpents are unique," said Godric. "One of our master artisans, Llewewyn, once told me that comprehension comes naturally to every serpent jewelry he had fashioned. Even those which haven't been animated."

Harry asked, "You mean even if it doesn't move, it can still understand Parseltongue?"

Both Founders nodded simultaneously, and Rowena added that though it is possible to separate Animation and Comprehension magic, either is useless without the other. There was little value in animating an object that didn't understand you, unless you intended it to be a pet or a curiosity rather than to be a servant. There is no value in making a thing understand you if it cannot do anything.

Ron gestured at the chessmen. "So, there are only two kinds of magic in these guys? Animation and Comprehension?" Hermione continued, "While today's chest sets have Animation, Comprehension and Speech magic."

"Correct," said Rowena, smiling. Harry grinned, and remembering how much trouble chessmen could be, he asked if there was Obedience magic. It was the wrong thing to say for the smile immediately disappeared from Rowena's face. Harry winced inwardly at his blunder. He had forgotten that the Imperius Curse was the foremost spell of obedience.

Godric saw his embarrassment and lightened the suddenly tense mood by saying in an amused tone that even if his chessmen were imbued with Obedience magic, he'd still lose to Rowena.

"A dose of Intelligence magic will do better," said a very familiar dry tone. Godric whirled around the same time Harry turned his head to see that Salazar's reflection had replaced Helga's in the mirror. "Unfortunately, for both Godfrey and his chessmen, there is no such magic, even in this time," quipped Salazar. The Dark wizard's flat visage smiled at their startled expression before glancing warily at Helga, who looked ready to smash the mirror with her staff.

"You," muttered Helga, her expression very dark.

"I suggest you take a deep calming breath," said Salazar, composing his features into one which exuded irritating patience, "and count zero to twelve before you murder this innocent mirror."

Fortunately for it, Godric managed to grab Helga's staff before its owner could break the mirror.

* * * * *

The eight of them appeared in a hall so familiar and dear to Mulciber, and he would have collapsed to the floor, so exhausted he was, had Lord Voldemort not been with them. Mulciber silently ordered his knees to stop trembling as he and the others turned to Master, who glanced at Wormtail and ordered him to show them to their rooms.

The thought of sleeping in a soft bed after so many years of restless sleep fraught with nightmares in Azkaban almost had Mulciber following Wormtail when the latter beckoned at them to follow him. However, Mulciber didn't follow Wormtail. Neither did the others. Wormtail's round face turned red, the bald spot on top of his head turned shinier with sweat as the six of them ignored him and paid heed only to Lord Voldemort. When Master would tell them to follow Wormtail, only then would they do so.

Master smiled, his regal face suffused with amused pleasure at this. Wormtail cowered when Master told them to follow him to their rooms. Six pairs of eyes stared at the short wizard with unfriendly intent, and Wormtail stumbled off in the direction, which led to the guest rooms. Neris glanced at Lord Voldemort questioningly. She only moved away from Master when he nodded at her to go on. Levi followed suit. Travers followed the Lestranges with Rookwood and Dolohov only a step behind him. Mulciber was about to follow when Lord Voldemort bade him to stay.

He turned towards Master; he could feel the others stare at his back as they wondered why Lord Voldemort told only him to stay. Mulciber could see in his mind the dislike in Neris' eyes. She suspected he was Master's favorite, for Lord Voldemort had personally trained Mulciber in the use of the Imperius Curse.

"My Lord." He lowered his head, bending down to one knee when they were alone. Mulciber heard him come closer. He kept his eyes on the granite floor, staring at only one spot, keeping his eyes as still as he kept the rest of his body when in Master's presence. He knew Lord Voldemort disliked restlessness, and he would never do anything to displease Master.

The hem of black robes fluttered into his field of vision; Mulciber saw the dark outline of a boot before dark folds concealed it. Still he kept his eyes fixed on that one spot though he couldn't see the floor now, just the lower part of Lord Voldemort's robes.

"Stand up, Matthew," ordered Master softly, and obediently, Mulciber stood up, but he still kept his head down as he fought a pang of sudden embarrassment when he remembered his poor physical state. His hair, always trimmed, neat and groomed, was long and disheveled with shaggy tangles. The same robes he had worn during his stay at Azkaban fitted him awkwardly, now three sizes too large for him.

His self-inspection ended abruptly when Master said, "Why were you captured, Matthew?" A numbing roar filled Mulciber's ears as he lifted his head to stare at Lord Voldemort, who looked disappointed. He barely heard what he said next. "Of all my Death Eaters, I had expected you to succeed me in leading the others. Your mastery of Imperius is such that you could sway the Ministry to do your bidding. Imagine my surprise when I learned that you had been incarcerated in
Azkaban while Lucius and his goons had gotten away."

Mulciber couldn't bear to hear the disappointment in Master's voice. It was an effort not to look away in shame. Somehow, he managed to continue meeting Lord Voldemort's gaze though the doubt in them felt like a blow. Mulciber quivered with effort to remain standing, but his legs soon could no longer support him. He fell to his knees, falling forward, bracing his arms against the floor to keep himself from completely collapsing.

He heard Master's next words as loud hollow echoes in his ears.

"Tell me what happened, Matthew."

The granite stone of the floor seemed to swirl in Mulciber's vision. There was a heavy emptiness weighing down on him, and he wondered if Master had cast a spell on him or perhaps it was simply his own guilt for failing Lord Voldemort. In either case, he felt terrible.

I failed him... The thought was like a dark cloud fogging his mind. Mulciber wished Master would punish him for his failure, cast the Cruciatus Curse on him. He deserved it, but Lord Voldemort didn't do anything. Mulciber forced himself to look up at Master and saw that he was watching him and waiting for his answer. How did the Ministry capture him? Him, who was Lord Voldemort's right hand.

The lump that formed in his throat made Mulciber's words thick as he began speaking while lowering his eyes back to the floor. His explanation sounded alien and pathetic to his ears. It was nothing more than an excuse.

He said, "I tried to find you, Master. I learned from a Ministry wizard under my control that the first person to arrive at the Potters' home was the Hogwarts' groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid. I know Hagrid, though he doesn't know me. You had told me to keep an eye on him years ago."

Lord Voldemort nodded, and Matthew continued, "I went to Hogwarts to talk to Hagrid. I thought that he might know your whereabouts. I pretended to be an Auror, but my efforts were to no avail for Hagrid had no clue as to where you might be."

Here, Mulciber paused for a few moments to gather his thoughts before
continuing. "Hagrid became suspicious of me and suggested that I meet with Dumbledore. I refused and took my leave, but not before casting a Memory Charm on him. However-"

Master interrupted, "It was useless. Giants are immune to Mental Magic."

Mulciber nodded. "Yes. I didn't know he was a half-breed though I should have suspected it, considering his size. I left Hogwarts, not knowing that Hagrid still remembered our conversation. He informed Dumbledore. The next day, Alastor Moody was after me." He stopped then, disliking the idea of excusing himself further by reminding Master that Mad-Eye Moody was virtually impossible to control with Imperius.

Inwardly, he quaked when Lord Voldemort murmured, "You were careless, Matthew."

"Yes, my Lord," he whispered submissively, keeping his head down. He was still on his knees, his arms remarkably still supporting him and keeping him from falling face down to the floor. He heard Lord Voldemort stepped towards him and braced himself for the Cruciatus Curse. He would take the punishment without crying. He deserved it.

How surprised he was when Master helped him to stand up instead.

* * * * *

"The former Thirteen, twelve in actuality, minus Cassius Ilias, have left Hierthent," said Salazar's reflection in the mirror.

Godric was surprised by this. Helga looked skeptical. Relief lightened Rowena's expression.

"They left?" Helga said dubiously. Salazar nodded, saying there was no need to worry about them. He repeated what someone called Lord Trenzel said to him, that ghosts have little interest in mortal matters. "They are satisfied that my students are now residing in Hierthent."

Rowena was the next to speak. Her tone was soft, but it seemed like a shout to Harry's ears. "Your House will not be returning to Hogwarts, then?"

Salazar's face hardened. His features became rigid as though carved in stone, however his eyes were soft. His tone was gentle as he said, "Is there any reason for my Slytherins to return to Hogwarts?"

"That is a silly question," Helga declared, startling Salazar, who was also unsettled by Godric's hard stare.

Helga said, "They are not only Slytherins. They are Hogwarts students. I do not care if you get yourself petrified by a Basilisk, but your Slytherins are just as important to me as my Hufflepuffs. I would never send them away for something you did. Bring them back, Salazar!"

The Dark wizard hesitated at this, and in the same moment, there came a soft creaking sound.

"... What's that?" said Ron as he tried to identify where the noise was coming from. Its volume was increasing, changing in pitch until it sounded like window glass trembling in their jambs during a storm.

Hermione gasped, "It's the mirror!"

There was a sharp crack just as Harry jerked his eyes back to it. A long thin vertical break ran straight from the top of the mirror to its base. He now saw two reflections of Salazar, both with identical surprised expressions. Then he vanished, and the mirror broke into fragments that fell to the floor to break into smaller pieces which glistened in the soft light as they lay strewn across the star-spangled floor of Rowena's room.

* * * * *

Salazar stared at the shiny glass fragments on the marble floor for a long while before frowning at the empty mirror frame of a molded bronze variety. Around the top, inscribed in large flowing letters, was the name Ravenclaw.

It broke, he thought, puzzled but not alarmed. Perhaps due to Hierthent's energies conflicting with Hogwarts'..., Salazar mused to himself. That was a likely explanation. Before leaving, the former members of the Thirteen would have made certain that Hierthent would defend itself by countering foreign energies. His mirror would be no match against the fortress' innate power, and it was likely that Rowena's mirror was also broken.

Salazar walked away from the mirror, unworried by the dangerous shards left on the floor. Hierthent cleaned itself. He headed to his bed, which had one curved side. It had been crafted for his round suite in Wvelte and looked ill suited in this square room assigned to him.

As he sat down on the bed, a glitter on his left arm caught his attention. Salazar glanced down to his wrist around which still the serpent band wound. It was little more than a container and a decoration. The serpent creature his original self had created had been torn apart by Hierthent's energies after delivering Salazar, Voldemort and his Slytherins to the white fortress. This piece of jewelry now had no creature to control.

Why though had the real Salazar Slytherin created such a beast? And why was it linked to this bracelet?

... A test perhaps? So many questions with no answers to set them straight. Fortunately, there was one who could tell him what he wanted to know. Salazar lifted his hand and asked the silver snake, "Tell me why you were created."

He felt the cool coils tremble. Its eyes shimmered. It turned its head towards him.

"Lord Jiswell Rathal ordered my creator to make me."

What?! Salazar stared into its shiny emerald eyes.

"Who was your creator?" he asked it quickly.

"Master Llewewyn," it said simply.

Llewewyn... He was a master in imbuing metal and stones with magic. They had commissioned hundreds of pieces from him and his apprentices from the golden plates and goblets used for dining to the house pins, which had caused a fair amount of trouble at Hogwarts. He had been one of Regius Ravenclaw's villeins. When he died, and Rowena took over the estates, she had given all the villains their freedom. Llewyn was one of many who stayed in the service of the Ravenclaws.

Why would he obey Jiswell? And for what purpose had this band been made? These questions Salazar asked the serpent, and its answers chilled him though he wasn't surprised. Disgusted, but still not surprised.

"Master Llewyn was threatened by Lord Jiswell Rathal," said the snake matter-of-factly. "Master Llewyn had no family, but his apprentices were like his children to him. One of them was kidnapped. When Master Llewyn hesitated to follow Lord Jiswell Rathal's orders, the boy's head was sent to him, and two more of his workers were taken. To save their lives, Master Llewyn crafted me as to Lord Rathal's specifications."

"What were you meant to do?"

"I was meant to kill you."

Salazar expected that. "I am not surprised," he said dryly, and the serpent twitched. It was like a shrug. "What happened? Were you able to kill me?"

It shook its head, and Salazar smirked. Of course, how did Jiswell expect a serpent to obey a non-Parseltongue speaker. His smile fell when it said that Godric had purchased him from Llewyn.

"Lord Gryffindor manhandled me," it revealed in a miffed tone, "so I bit him."

There was a knock at the door before Salazar could demand more from the serpent band. He let out a frustrated exhalation then calmed himself quickly. That would be Draco at the door. He had promised the boy a tour of Hierthent before accompanying him to his first class at Hierthent, which was Astronomy atop the tallest tower of Hierthent.

Taught by that werewolf professor who had given a lecture on Helga's Hawthorn Charm at Hogwarts. A pity it tonight isn't a full moon, thought Salazar as he stood up and headed for the door.

* * * * *

Neris couldn't fall asleep. "This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself. She was sitting on the bed, her thighs drawn up to her chest, her chin atop of her knees while her arms were wound around her legs. Beside her, Levi was sleeping soundly. She glanced with irritation at her brother and husband then sighed at herself for now being able to sleep though she was weary to the bone. By all rights, she should have already fainted from exhaustion.

But she hadn't, and Neris knew she couldn't. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to sleep beside him. All those years in Azkaban, she had only been thinking of him. Now, he was back. Lord Voldemort had returned. Months ago, when the mark on her arm had burned once again, she had embraced the pain as though it was pleasure. To feel it alive again... it was wonderful.

* * * * *

Hierthent's highest point was a wide white plateau large enough to accommodate more than a hundred people. Draco was trying to listen to Lupin who was facing a semi-circle of restless students who would rather spend this beautiful cloudless night doing something other than listen to a boring lecture. Lupin was talking about moonlight.

"Moonlight is the ubiquitous illumination in magic," Lupin said. "More rare events occur in the light of the moon than in daytime or moonless nights." There were snickers from the Slytherins at this. Lupin ignored them and continued his discussion. His demeanor was patient.

"Aside from creatures such as werewolves and mooncalves, there are herbs such as fluxweed which is useless unless picked during the full moon. However, there is greater potency in the light from comets. Comets are rarer than full moons." The rest of Lupin's discussion turned into background noise in Draco's head. He barely heard him talk about how even the Muggles noticed about the effects of cometlight. There were years, which Muggles refer to as "comet years, where the more spectacular comets became visible to the naked human eye. Wine made from grapes harvested during such years was said to be richer in taste.

Draco looked around and spotted Lord Slytherin at the edge of the tower. He was seated on the outer rim of a tall wide solid balustrade, which went around the perimeter of the turret. It was obviously meant to keep people from falling off the tower. Jumping off it was a different matter.

He glanced back to Lupin and saw that the professor was occupied with unfolding out a large star map. He hesitated, made up his mind and left the class. He knew his friends were glancing at him and that Lupin would notice that he was gone. He didn't care. What was Lupin going to do? Give him detention for walking out of his class? He was the Head of Hierthent. Draco could do whatever he wanted, and that included skipping school.

As he neared the spot where Lord Slytherin was sitting, the wizard suddenly pushed himself off the baluster to stand on the narrow space between the marble banister and thin air. Draco's stomach turned queasy when he saw Lord Slytherin only a bare step away from a long fatal fall. His back was towards Draco, his head was in its characteristic tilt whenever he was thinking about something.

Calm down, he told himself, his pace quickening, almost breaking into a run. Lord Slytherin wasn't going to jump off the tower. Of course, he wouldn't- Draco almost screamed when Lord Slytherin stepped off the tower and disappeared.

To be continued...

Explanation for the title "Thirteen Towers." Other then it is clearly
Tolkien-influenced. There are now 13 Death Eaters: Lucius Malfoy, (Tolon) Avery, (Oliver) Nott, (Belsen) Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, Levi and Neris Lestrange, (Matthew) Mulciber, (Warren) Travers, Augustus Rookwood, Antonin Dolohov and Peter Pettigrew.

Six are loyal to Voldemort and do not like the other six who had renounced their Master and escaped from Azkaban. The latter six are out of Voldemort's favor though they still follow him, because they are scared of him. They represent the two factions amongst Voldemort's followers: the ones who were incarcerated in Azkaban and the ones who got away. Peter Pettigrew doesn't belong in either camp, because they all hate him.