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Chance by BROKENwords453
Chapter 2 : Chapter Two:
 
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A.N. Back again. So in case you haven’t figured it out yet, the chapters will be given from different points of view so make sure to refer to the bold faced writing on top left of each chapter to find out who you’re hearing from and where they are at the time.
 


 

Disclaimer: Basically if you recognize it it’s not mine, and if you’re unfamiliar with certain countries, typically they’re nouns (places) that are capitalized, well those aren’t mine either if you don’t recognize them. Just putting that out there.
 



 

 






 

 

 

Salazar Slytherin: Western France
 


 

            Salazar Slytherin stood over his father’s sleeping form thinking only of revenge against the man ironically sleeping the sleep of the innocent. Salazar glared angrily into the face of the man who had sired him on a lowly peasant woman during a raid, but refused to claim or even acknowledge him as a son, bastard or otherwise. Reaching into the drawstring pouch that hung from his neck he pulled out a snake as he leaned against the wooden post of the bed letting the snake weave through his fingers as he whispered to it.
 


 

         Naturally he could tell no one of his plans if he wished to come out of this with his head still upon his shoulders, but he had time and for the moment he could savor his revenge and gloat with the only being who would not betray him. After a moment he whispered one more thing to the snake, this time with the strength of an order before lowering the snake onto the foot of the bed of Dantes Slytherin, Earl and owner of Chateaux DuVivre, aptly named for it’s prosperous community and land. He watched with cold detachment as the snake slithered over the cruel lord and sank it’s devilishly curved fangs into the soft fleshy part of the older man’s neck releasing the fatal poison of its venom into his neck. 
 


 

            Too late the old man shot up in his bed staring wildly about for the source of the pricking sensation before his gaze landed on the man who sat in a chair twirling a dagger between his fingers as he watched the old man with cold, cruel amusement. Eyes hardening he pointed an accusing finger at the younger man and shouted, “You!”
 


 

            Nodding as though in agreement the younger man seemed otherwise unphased as the dagger continued to flash and twirl between his dexterous finger and he replied calmly, “Me."
 


 

            The older man blubbered a moment in outrage before managing, “You dare use that dagger on me! What are you doing here, ingrate bastard?!”
 


 

            Fury rose up in Salazar like a wild thing but he kept it in check as he replied maintaining his calm façade, “Not I, father.”
 


 

           Pausing with the dagger in one hand he gestured towards his father’s bed with his other at the venomous snake that had risen upright and appeared to almost be listening to the conversation between father and son.
 


 

            The older man followed Salazar’s gesture and froze as his gaze landed on the snake sitting beside him on the bed his eyes bulging as he went still as stone as though that would stop the snake from biting him. Rising up, Salazar sheathed the dagger and approached the bed holding out his arm and whispered something and the snake obediently slithered across the old man’s covered lap and onto Salazar’s arm where it wrapped itself like a pagan armband about his forearm. The snake’s obedience and the strange hissing sounds did not escape the notice of the older man, and having already made the connection he knew he was a dead man anyway and decided to have his two bits.
 


 

            Nearly spitting with rage he growled out at the young man, “You have no business here!” 
 


 

            Stroking the snake, Salazar replied easily, “Oh, but I do father. You see I’m here for revenge, and so you see, where my father is there my business, as you put it, resides also.”
 


 

            Turning red with anger now the old earl spat in disgust, “You are no son of mine, bastard of Satan!”
 


 

            In the first sign of emotion that he had shown that evening Salazar abruptly turned and moved to stand behind the chair he had recently vacated and continued slowly, “I had not thought of it that way, but I suppose if what you muggles say about hell has any truth and Satan does exist then you surely are him. However, the issue is no longer whether or not I am your son. Rather I think the issue at hand, for the moment, is that you’re no longer my father, or at least you won’t be in a few minutes.”
 


 

            Holding up the snake for his father to see he watched with pleasure as his father’s face paled at the reminder before his expression changed dramatically. Grinning maliciously he said with inappropriate levity, “I may be a breath from the grave boy, but you’re following me there,” and so throwing back his head he shouted, “Guards! Guards!”
 


 

            Salazar grinned for he knew no guard would come for he had drugged the ale so that the guards would sleep the sleep of the dead without actually dying. Amazingly enough though he heard the sound of running feet and he let loose with a hissed, “Merde!” and pulled out his sword as the door on the other end of the chamber burst open and in the bed, his sire promptly collapsed sideways, dead.
 


 

            Through the door came five of his father’s men-at-arms and almost immediately they overpowered him. Presently he was disarmed and the head of the adder on his arm lopped off as he was dragged away to the dungeons. While under any normal circumstances being the caught perpetrator of patricide, particularly when implied deceased father was a member of nobility, was not a position to be envied. The punishment for such crimes most certainly included imprisonment, and in most cases death by some grisly method.
 


 

            However, all things considered, Salazar was quite optimistic about his chances of survival. Firstly, because this wasn’t the first time he would be a guest of his father’s dungeons, years ago when had first tried to get his father to acknowledge him his father had locked him up and he had escaped at the tender age of seven. Secondly, what sort of intelligent human being puts a wizard, whose affiliation with snakes was so well known it was almost common knowledge, into a dungeon that had an infestation so bad it was bordering the line of being labeled a snake pit.
 


 

            Dawn came quickly and Salazar spent the day playing the part of the obedient, despairing prisoner with no hope of redemption, but night came in due time. That night while the inebriated guard dropped off in a drunken stupor Salazar summoned his friends from all corners of the dungeon and sent a few of them to abscond the key ring hanging from the drunken sod snoring loudly at the entrance to the dungeon. He watched in some measure of amusement as he pictured the guard’s reaction were he to wake up to find a small army of serpents slithering over his body and watched as they returned to the cell bearing the keys to their master.
 


 

            Reaching down he took the keys and allowed one of the serpents to take a place on his arm as he unlocked the manacles at his ankles and then moved forward to slip his arm between the bars of the cell and turned the key in the lock not the least bit concerned by the loud grating sound it made. He found it rather insulting that they underestimated him so to put a guard such as this one to watch him. Walking out the cell as easily as though he were merely stepping out of his own bedchamber he moved forward and then stopped at the base of the steps leading up from the dungeon. Briefly he brushed the rotting straw from his clothing and boots leaving the material that his hands brushed over cleaner than it should be, so that his appearance once more returned to its usual immaculate, if rather plain, state.
 


 

            In truth he could have used his magic to release himself from the cell but there was something about using the snakes that made the event much more satisfying and so without a backwards glance he stepped over the guard’s sprawled legs and walked out the dungeon whispering words of glory to the snake on his forearm.
 


 

           In the Great Hall he did not stop nor at the Entrance Hall where he casually raised a hand that sent the wooden doors flying wide when it normally took many men to push just one of them open. With casual ease he strolled through the bailey and briefly concealing the snake in the folds of his clothing, he used his other arm to offer a friendly wave at the porter who returned it cheerfully. And so Salazar Slytherin left his father’s home with no intention of ever returning now that he had avenged himself and his mother.
 


 

                                                            ~})i({~
 


 

            Lazily, Salazar wandered out of France making his merry way in no rush for now that his task was completed there was nothing else to do. He had no family anymore and had no one special that he had left behind in the village where he had grown up. In fact, it was probably best that he did not return there, as he had never been much liked and viewed as an oddity. Although his father had raided the village and raped his mother, which meant his mother had no choice in the matter she was still scorned and considered a woman of easy virtue and for that reason they had had a difficult time of it living in the village.
 


 

            Before the raid, Jean DuClarc had been the village beauty, and as privileged as one could be without being a part of the nobility. His mother had been a muggle, the daughter of a rather successful goldsmith and as such she was given many advantages. While his father knew how to drink, steal, yell and debauch his mother had been able to read, write, do sums and conduct business as she kept records and sold her father’s work in the village market. It was she who taught and did her best to ensure that Salazar receive the best of whatever was available. She taught him whatever she knew and made sure he watched and paid careful attention to the practicing men-at-arms, and likewise she did the same so that he would have a dueling partner. She was never quite as good as he was, but Salazar knew that she was strong and could put up a good fight against some of the men-at-arms that he used to watch practicing.
 


 

            However being the bastard child of a fallen woman would have not elicited the scorn that he received on its own. There was more, as a child he had always been rather... unusual, as the villagers discovered when he had stopped a snake from biting a small child who had wandered to close to the shallow stream it inhabited. The child naturally ran to his parents to tell all and then the rumors started, and the fights. On one such occasion, Salazar was running from a rather large group of adolescents who decided to ambush him and to escape them he had run into the forest following the stream so he wouldn’t get lost. After a while he noticed that his pursuers were no longer behind him and he knew why. The witch lived in the forest, an old woman who captured children with her spells and put them in her stew pot. Then under the guise of a kind, beautiful young woman she walked into the village and delivered the stew to the child’s parents. It was said that for every parent that ate their child she gained more and more power.
 


 

            Stopping Salazar looked about himself suddenly wary for he had wandered into the witch’s territory and froze when a gravelly old voice called out, “What business have ye with me, young man? Wandered a bit far, no?”
 


 

            Had Salazar not been made of sterner stuff he probably would have started running through the forest screaming, instead though he straightened his back and puffed out his chest to make himself appear stronger. He turned and said commandingly, “You shan’t eat me witch. Not unless you wish to die, and you will, you know. Touch me and the serpents will come to your bed in the dark of the night and grant you a fatal kiss.”
 


 

            The old woman cackled and for the first time he began to doubt the rumors, for the woman before him was no beauty. Dressed in rags he could see the gnarled joints of her fingers and peeping through the grass those of her bare toes as well. Her hair hung in a wild mess grey and tangled straight down to the ground where a few inches lay pooled tangled among twigs and leaves. Her face was old and weathered, as though she stood outside to face the brunt of every storm that passed through and her eyes were strangely blank. He wondered about this until he realized that the woman was blinder than a bat in daylight. Curious he watched her relaxing as she laughed until she wheezed and when she calmed she finally stated, “Laddie, unless ye’ve got bones and flesh like bread and porridge I’ll not be eating you for sometime."
 


 

            Finding him with uncanny ability she focused her unseeing eyes on him. She smiled revealing a nearly toothless mouth before she continued, “Yer a wizard, hmm? Don’t believe me? Well I see things with my blind eyes that you lot with sight don’t see. I know ye have magic, and a good deal of it. Haven’t ye ever wondered why you could do what you do? Those snakes ye threatened me with, bet you those other lads don’t have such friends in low places? Magic, laddie, without a doubt ye are a wizard.”
 


 

            That day had marked the beginning of his magical education, as the rumors were somewhat true and Old Gwyn, as he later learned was her name, was a witch. However she did not eat children, or any meat for that matter. After all, how would an old woman living by herself get meat? She never went into the village and no one from the village came to see her, at least not until Salazar. In exchange for teaching him magic the young boy would bring her things every week, from meat to simple jewelry, little things and gradually the old crone grew to love him as her own son.
 


 

            The day when she finally died he mourned her as he had mourned his mother who had died three years previous before leaving to seek out his father.



 

 






A.N. So there's a little bit about Salazar. As you may have noticed there are some similarities between him and Lord Voldemort. I didn't have it up there, but while his father was French his mother was Irish so he was raised in Ireland hence the change in names from Dantes to Gwyn.

I'll go around once for each of the founders but after that there will be no specific pattern or order for the changes in point of view so don't rely on that for a hint of what's coming next. You'll just have to read to find out what's next.
 
 
 

 
 
 
 


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