The Friar's Tale: A Harry Potter fanfiction
I wrote this a while back, then lost it! This is a one-shot/short story about The Fat Friar. Constructive criticism welcome! I may edit this and repost anyway. :)
Title: The Friar's Tale
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: 4,288
Chapters: One Shot
Characters: Slytherin family, The Fat Friar, Helga Hufflepuff.
Summary: On his deathbed, a remorseful Salazar of Slytherin begs the Friar to protect Hogwarts Castle from a horrible monster he claims to have wrought upon the school. Over the next thousand years, the Friar keeps watch - and rushes to action when he fears the monster has arrived.
The Friar had been in his fifth and final year - the seven-year system would be adopted later - when Salazar of Slytherin left; he still remembered how sad the Heads had been. He'd heard Helga herself begging Salazar not to leave, saying he would be forgiven, that his sins could remain in the past. But Slytherin fled despite Helga’s tearful pleas, and as far as the Friar knew, not even his children had attended Hogwarts.
The Friar, meanwhile, had become respected both in the Muggle village where he lived and within the wizarding world. His Christian name had been forgotten by most; even the Friar rarely answered to it. “The Friar” or “Friar” suited him fine.
One day, much to the Friar’s surprise, he received word that he was wanted at the man's bedside. The Friar was surprised further when Salazar sent his sons and grandsons out of the room upon his arrival. One of their wives stayed behind.
The Friar couldn't help but be saddened by the man's appearance; once somewhat burly with a strong, powerful voice, he was now frail, and called to the Friar in a weak voice. It would not be long at all before his death.
"He's not quite right in his mind, either," the woman warned the Friar. “Often he won’t finish a sentence, or speaks utter nonsense altogether! Sometimes he shouts in the night, it’s such a disruption -”
"Thank you," the Friar interrupted. He ushered her out the door as well, took out his Bible, and prayed as Salazar listened.
When the Friar came to a pause, Salazar said: "Prayers won't do me any good now, Friar. Too much damage has been wrought."
"Ours is a forgiving God, dear Salazar."
Salazar was mumbling now. "It will kill all of them... head of Medusa... just as I planned, but not as I meant... Septimus...”
"Septimus is one of your sons, correct?"
"You need to listen. I would destroy it myself, but I am too weak, and my sons... I taught them too well, especially Septimus. Muggles... he calls them descendants of Cain... I never said any such thing, Friar, but his ugly wife puts food in my mouth while he takes out my words, twists them like a wet rag, and wrings them out to dry on his fence."
"What are you saying, Salazar?"
"Septimus has done harm; of that I can be certain. A week ago, a little girl who showed signs of being a Muggleborn witch fell through ice on a warm day. The village blamed fairies, but I know it wasn't any fairy. What they might do at Hogwarts... they don't know I only wanted it to be protected. Not that I was doing good, by any stretch. I would have seen every one of those muggleborns die with Lucifer’s wicked smile on my face, as I fear Septimus would now. I was a cruel and arrogant man, and have damned not only myself, but my entire family.”
"What are you talking about?" the Friar demanded.
"Monstrous beast... I saw it in a dream, Friar. It will happen, and it will be in my name, in my doing. One of them will find it, my statue magicked with all instructions they need."
"What is this beast?"
But Salazar was staring at the wall and mumbling: "Godric, old friend, forgive me... we founded as brothers, parted as Cain and Abel... I was not your keeper."
"I need you to focus. Tell me how and where this monster can be found."
"You won't find it.”
"Then what can I possibly do?"
Salazar grasped Friar's hand and held it tightly. "You need to know. Warn everyone at Hogwarts. Protect them. Promise me."
"How can I when I don't-"
"Promise me."
There was so much in the man's eyes; fear, anger, sorrow, regret... nothing like the tough, boastful, angry man who had stormed out of the castle.
"I promise," the Friar said truthfully. "I'll do everything I can."
Salazar rested his arm and closed his eyes. "Then it is done."
"You haven't told me what the beast is," the Friar reminded him.
Salazar didn't respond; the Friar touched the tortured man's forehead, said a few prayers, then summoned his family to give them the sad news.
When the Friar reached Hogwarts after a long journey, he found the castle’s inhabitants to be in the most dreadful state. It turned out that Rowena, too, had died following terrible the death of her daughter. Distracted by grief, and with none of the Founders who'd known Salazar properly left, the Friar's warnings were not taken seriously.
"We've searched the castle," the new headmaster wrote after a month, "and there's no monster to be found. Salazar probably meant his House, which does not appear remotely cursed apart from producing some questionable students. You're wasting everyone's time over the ramblings of an addled, dying man. Save your worries for real threats."
Try as he might, the Friar could never let the dying man's words go. When found that his soul had not been quite ready to rest, he naturally made Hogwarts home, just in case the ramblings of an addled, dying man hadn't been.
After several generations, the Slytherin family - as they were now referred to, with surnames being commonly used - decided that it was time to bury the hatchet and let their children receive the sort of magical education home-teaching could not provide.
The decades had not been kind to them; of all the three sons, only Septimus had living descendants. Of those descendants, there were ten children in total: The Slytherin Ten, as they were called.
By now it had been 200 years since Slytherin’s departure, and much had changed. The grounds had expanded into part of the forest, which greatly angered many of the inhabitants, particularly Centaurs. New students were unaware that there had ever been any forest on the grounds, knowing only that the remaining acres of forest were strictly forbidden.
While there was competition between the Houses, it was mostly friendly. Slytherins tended to clash with the Gryffindors, mostly because of differences in personality. Gryffindors were all about following ideas and causes; Slytherins tended to have a more narrow priority list, at times narrowed all the way down to “me, myself and I.” Moreover, while very few demonstrated the vitriolic hatred towards muggles and muggleborns that Salazar Slytherin did, many of them did have a strong bias against them. No muggleborn was ever Sorted into Slytherin, although half-bloods frequently were.
Still, not all Slytherins were dreadful, and there was relative harmony between them and the other Houses. When the Slytherin family returned to Hogwarts, the Friar took it as a sign that the fence had been mended once and for all.
Such naiveté.
The first students were cousins, Salazar VI (who insisted upon being referred to as exactly that) and Salazaria. They both wore smug expressions upon being Sorted, and the way the Bloody Baron put it, all but declared the House their own.
The Friar remembered their how-many-times great grandfather’s warning, and kept an eye on them. He also asked that the Baron alert him to any mention of monsters underneath the castle. While they didn’t mention any such things, the Baron did report that they were creating a divide within their House. When their cousins and respective siblings joined them, the divide grew wider, and soon the Friar didn’t have to ask anything. Everyone knew that only the Head of House had more power over the Slytherins than Salazar and Salazaria.
One day, the Friar happened to overhear Salazaria telling a group of first years about the supposed origin of muggles.
“It’s simple,” she was saying loudly. “My grandfather - Salazar Slytherin the Fourth, you know - explained it best. There were once three wizards -“
“-when?” a student named Elladora interrupted.
“I’m getting to that, you stupid little girl.” Although her lip trembled briefly, Elladora’s eyes widened, as though thrilled that a real Slytherin had taken the time to insult her. “There were three wizards, brothers, and they lived in a time before the Romans or the Greeks. Well, one of the wizards killed his elder brother.”
“Why?” Elladora gasped.
“The elder brother was a very powerful wizard, and the younger one was jealous. When their father found out, he cursed the second brother so that neither he nor any of his progeny possess any magical traits whatsoever. The youngest brother, meanwhile, went on to be the ancestor of all wizards and witches. That was how it was always intended, and it is an atrocity that you have been taught otherwise.”
“But if they were cursed, how do Muggleborns exist?”
“How are some babies born with three legs? Unnatural occurrences happen all the time.”
The Friar could no longer remain silent. “Respectfully, Miss Slytherin, this is not at all true.”
“Excuse me?”
“No one knows whether wizards or muggles came first.”
“It’s in the Bible. Haven’t you read the Bible, Friar?”
The first years snickered.
“Yes, I have. This is not what the Bible says, which should be clear to you - unless you do not speak Latin.”
“Of course I do!” Salazaria insisted. But her face had reddened considerably.
“Tell me, then, the meaning of draco dormiens nunquam titilandus.”
“Dragon… sleeping...” Salazaria struggled, repeating the words “dragon” and “sleeping” over and over, sounding more pitiful each time. After a minute, the Friar realized she was actually sweating.
She’d learned some Latin; the Friar gave her that. But there was one key difference between Salazaria and her peers - those in the higher social classes learned Greek and Latin, much like their muggle contemporaries. For all the Slytherin family considered themselves above all other British wizarding families in purity and tradition, their refusal to associate with muggles had given way to a vulnerability they had not foreseen.
“It translates as-“ the Friar began, but Salazaria interrupted him.
“I was stalling. Even if I hadn’t been, my family speaks something far better than Latin.”
She then began to hiss loudly just as classes got out; fifty students stared at her as she hissed; roughly half looked impressed while the other half looked terrified. Her siblings and cousins began to join her, and they formed a circle of hisses.
“Parseltongue!” a boy cried. “You speak Parseltongue!”
Almost everyone was whispering now. Young Elladora looked trapped; her eyes were wide as though she was contemplating an escape, but her feet were frozen to the ground.
“As did Salazar Slytherin himself,” Salazar VI said, drawing next to his cousin. “It is the ancient language of wizards, and the only ones who speak it are the truly valiant. Ask yourselves: Will you run away like a coward, or stand behind me and my family, the valiant? Latin a language we manipulate for spells, the language of muggles. Parseltongue is a gift.”
From that point forward, old grudges and hatred began to bleed into the castle once more. Stiff, hostile competition was held against the other houses, especially Gryffindor. Muggleborn students were shunned and taunted, called names the Friar was shocked to hear come out of their mouths. As the years passed, the House began to gain notoriety as the House of the Bad Seeds.
The Friar hoped that once the last of the Slytherin Ten left the school, all would be restored; but it was not to be. Salazar VI came back as a professor, working his way up the ranks to becoming Head of House. He made certain that the animosity towards students deemed less worthy remained, and even reportedly encouraged duels and hexes. This was never proven, however, and Salazar VI faced no punishment. But as far as the Friar was concerned, lack of proof did not necessitate innocence.
And Salazar VI had new anger; he'd been deeply in love with his cousin Salazaria, but not only had she married Cadmus Peverell, (formerly of Ravenclaw, no less), she'd died in childbirth. Cadmus died a short time later, supposedly of a broken heart. The baby was left in the care of Salazar and his wife, who, to their credit, raised him as their own.
The years passed, and the Friar watched the descendants mill through Hogwarts, waiting for the day they unleashed the monster.
When the Slytherin family - now the “Gaunts” - left Hogwarts in 1850, the Friar hoped it would be the last he heard of them.
The Gaunts were destitute, crude and extremely violent, to the point at which even other Pureblood families shunned them, refusing to believe that they spoke the truth about being descended from Slytherin himself. They'd intermarried so much in an effort to maintain a pure bloodline - a few pairs of siblings had produced progeny - that they were half out of their minds.
The final straw was when then-Headmaster Professor Nigellus Black got into a row with Cadmus Gaunt, whose sons attended Hogwarts. According to Phineas Nigellus, this did not explain why he was found lurking in a girl's bathroom. For all of his flaws, the Friar appreciated his protectiveness over the students when it mattered.
“Your whole family has been a laughingstock!” The headmaster was heard yelling. “And if you truly are related to Salazar Slytherin, he must be rolling in his grave!”
The boys were literally pulled out of Hogwarts by their father, and did not return.
The Friar hoped this truly marked the end of the Slytherin line at Hogwarts - and that if the monster was still alive, it would never be awakened.
The Friar would never forget the pain and devastation of the 1930's and 1940's.
Between Hitler and Grindlewald, roughly 100 students from Eastern and Central Europe fled to Hogwarts; the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff houses took most of them in. Then the Blitz began, and those students didn't even feel entirely safe at Hogwarts. Students lost their childhood homes, family members...
And then the Chamber opened.
It started when Forsythia Brown was found laying unconscious, against a wall that had been written on in blood: THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
It was decided that poor Forsythia had been Petrified. By the time they worked that out, two more students had been attacked. All were Muggleborn; it took the Friar no time at all to work out what had happened. He immediately flew into the Headmaster's office.
“Slytherin's monster,” he told Dippet, who had been conversing with Albus Dumbledore, the Transfiguration professor, and a young student who appeared to be in some sort of trouble. The Friar paid them no mind.
Dippet looked up at the Friar. “I beg your pardon?”
“Salazar Slytherin told me on his deathbed that he'd left a monster at the school before he left. I didn't know what he meant at the time, of course. That must be what is hurting the students, and one of them will die if we don't find the monster at once.”
Armando looked weary. “Respectfully, Friar, I have already heard of your belief in some monster. It's in the files. Every Headmaster before me has all but turned the castle upside down.”
The Friar somehow doubted that, but he also didn't know whether it would've mattered. “I think Slytherin found a way to ensure only his progeny would be able to find and open the Chamber. It fits, doesn't it? The writing on the wall mentioned enemies of the Heir!”
“See? Slytherins were always horrible; that boy deserved the jinx I set on him!” The student blurted.
The Friar remembered the regret in Slytherin's eyes. He'd tried to make amends, in the end. If only this Heir could know that. If only all of the Slytherins could know that.
“You may leave, Robards,” Armando barked.
Once the young boy was gone, Armando continued: “I will certainly look into it, of course. It does seem fitting. But even if this is true... how will we ever find the monster?”
Much to his remorse, the Friar could not provide a steady answer. So instead he searched, going through every wall, through the lake, even the forest. Even if the Friar needed sleep, he would not have allowed himself much. He realized, in hindsight, that he ought to have done this years ago.
Meanwhile, the Robards boy had wasted no time in telling each of his friends what he had heard; the whole school now knew, and enjoyed asking the Friar himself questions, when they managed to catch him.
“Salazar Slytherin really told you on his death-bed?” A Slytherin Prefect asked one day. His name was, the Friar believed, Tom Riddle.
“I have been asked by Dippet to speak no further on the matter,” the Friar replied.
“But then how will I protect my friends?”
Tom's voice, however, did not sound pleading. If anything, he sounded impatient, and looked utterly unconcerned for anyone's safety.
“Is something else bothering you?” the Friar asked with a frown.
“It's just... there's all this death these days.” Tom's voice was sad now, except it was too sad. “I wonder if there's a way to prevent it.”
“We'll catch the Heir,” the Friar told him.
“No, I mean, prevent dying. You're alive in a fashion, are you not?”
“It's hardly living, Tom.”
“Exactly. What if we could just not die at all? Live forever?”
There was an almost mad glint in Tom's eyes. It reminded the Friar of someone, but he could not place who.
“Mortality is a natural part of life,” the Friar said firmly.
Tom nodded. “I see. Well, I must run, I have Transfiguration.”
The Friar did not see the boy much after that.
Soon after that conversation, a girl died.
The Friar's heart - not beating, but not gone - was heavy as he flew into the bathroom, where professors were crying out over Myrtle Warren's lifeless body.
She came back as a ghost, but was far too absorbed in tormenting Olive Hornby to provide any details about her death. From what little the Friar could get out of her, she'd seen eyes, and that was it. The Friar wasn't sure what to make of that tidbit; were they the eyes of the monster? Or had she been hallucinating in her dying moments?
The attacks stopped after Myrtle's death; rumour had it a monster had gotten into the school “by way of misunderstanding.” Around the same time, for reasons unstated, a Rubeus Hagrid was expelled. It didn't take the Friar long to make the connection.
But the Friar knew Rubeus; it happened that he had been born in the same village as the Friar, and they had many conversations about it, making comparisons between the many centuries. Rubeus was a truly kind soul with a profound love for all creatures. How could it be him?
“You're his Head of House,” the Friar told Albus Dumbledore. “I need you to realize... I've met the Slytherin family, Dumbledore. Rubeus is not the Heir of Slytherin.”
“We all realize that. That is why he has been expelled, not arrested. He is currently in the care of Ogg.”
“If you know he's not the Heir of Slytherin, then why -”
“Official word is that he unknowingly brought the monster into the school..”
The Friar shook his head. “No. He may be a little overly trusting, but he knows his creatures. He'd never let one hurt his classmates, and I trust that he would know if it would do so.”
“I realize that.” The Friar could hear in Albus's voice that he meant it. “I'm afraid, however, that all I could do was push for the expulsion, as opposed to Azkaban, and demand that he be allowed to remain here. It's not ideal, Friar, I know - I have done all that I can. I will promise you that Rubeus is in good hands.”
But one question remained: Who was the Heir?
The Friar's recalled his conversation with a certain Slytherin Prefect, and suddenly, he had another memory: he'd seen the boy flipping through a book on ancient wizarding families many years ago. And the glint in his eyes... was the glint of his many times great grandmother's.
“Tom Riddle,” the Friar said at once.
“Excuse me?”
“I think he may be the Heir.”
Albus sighed. “I feared it might be so. Do you have concrete proof?”
The Friar told the Transfiguration professor everything; Albus listened carefully.
“I'll try talking to Dippet,” he said, “but I've made similar observations, yet for all of them, Tom has found a way to play Dippet like a puppet.”
“But shouldn't he face justice?” the Friar thought back to that poor girl on the floor... the Petrified students...
“We can only hope,” Albus said.
The Friar's world was quiet after that; but he never forgot, and when Tom Riddle left Hogwarts, he was not relieved. No, he dreaded what the boy - man - would do once he was no longer under the careful watch of Albus Dumbledore.
Two and a half decades later, a new war began. They called the Dark Lord Voldemort at first, but soon began to use “You-Know-Who”, or “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”
Voldemort. Vol de mort. Flight from death. The Friar didn't need to ask who was behind all of this.
He comforted many students; mourned many others. Too many. The world felt hollow, especially upon receiving word that Edgar Bones and his family had been killed. The Friar had been quite close with Edgar Bones when he was a student. His devastated siblings asked him to officiate the funeral, and the Friar did so - how could he possibly say no?
Then, one day, it was over. They said Voldemort was gone, all thanks to a one year old boy. It seemed impossible.
“Is he really gone, though?” the Friar asked Albus. “I can hardly believe it.”
“That's because, I'm afraid to say, you shouldn't.”
The Chamber reopened. Students were attacked. It amazed the Friar how history had a way of repeating itself.
Rumours began to circulate that Potter was the Heir of Slytherin. It was true that he could speak to serpents; the Friar had seen it. But somehow, he still did not think it was him, and tried to persuade his house of that. However, several of them were fraught with worry, desperate to blame someone.
“Scapegoats are a dangerous route to take,” the Friar warned Hannah Abbot one day.
“I know,” she admitted.
“So don't take it. I know you know better.”
For a terrible night several months later, the Friar thought another student had died, this time a Gryffindor girl by the name of Ginny Weasley.
Albus told the Friar everything; he didn't quite understand it, but it seemed that Tom had left an imprint of himself in a diary, which in turn possessed the poor girl. The Friar had never suspected that he would be capable of such a thing.
“Oh, yes,” Albus said. “I think he'd already made steps towards immortality at the time of your conversation.”
“That's - that's pure madness.”
“I quite agree.”
Apparently, Tom had succeeded, because he came back. Two years later, his Death Eaters took over Hogwarts.
Those were the darkest days of all; students were hexed for the most minor offenses, and no dissent was allowed. It was all fear, all hatred, not at all the Hogwarts the Friar had loved for so long.
The Friar remembered something Salazar Slytherin had told him: If they knew about Hogwarts... they don't know I meant only for it to be protected.
How was this protection?
The Friar did the best he could to protect. He led students away from the Carrows, the Carrows away from the professors. He lied frequently in the students' favour so they'd be safe. He even helped a few escape, hoping that they would find their parents soon.
And when the final battle began, he helped in his way, breaking things above the Death Eaters heads, comforting scared students, everything he could possibly think of.
When the Friar saw Tom's body on the ground, he knew this time, it was really over.
The castle was rebuilt slowly but surely; by the following September, it was ready for students. Still imperfect, still damaged, but ready.
“I have just one question,” the Friar told Harry one day.
“Yes?”
“Was Tom - Voldemort - the last of the Heirs? Can we be certain of that?”
Harry nodded. “Yes. Absolutely certain.”
The Friar passed through the doors, nodding to many of the professors. He then went into his own House, where a portrait of Helga Hufflepuff was placed over the fireplace mantle.
“You've done so much to protect this place,” she told him. There were tears flowing down her cheeks, much like the day Salazar Slytherin left.
“I have. I think it's safe now - from Slytherin's Heirs, at least.”
“He would have been proud. Not the one I knew, the one on his deathbed. Although...” she paused. “Perhaps the old one, too, in his way.”
“I daresay he wouldn't have wanted what the students have gone through, I'll say that much.”
“So where does this leave you?” Helga asked. But the Friar could tell she knew. She was crying for a reason.”
“It means,” he said, “that I will see the other Helga, the one whose grave lays in Hogsmeade, very soon.”
“I will.”
The Friar closed his eyes and waited.
Title: The Friar's Tale
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: 4,288
Chapters: One Shot
Characters: Slytherin family, The Fat Friar, Helga Hufflepuff.
Summary: On his deathbed, a remorseful Salazar of Slytherin begs the Friar to protect Hogwarts Castle from a horrible monster he claims to have wrought upon the school. Over the next thousand years, the Friar keeps watch - and rushes to action when he fears the monster has arrived.
The Friar had been in his fifth and final year - the seven-year system would be adopted later - when Salazar of Slytherin left; he still remembered how sad the Heads had been. He'd heard Helga herself begging Salazar not to leave, saying he would be forgiven, that his sins could remain in the past. But Slytherin fled despite Helga’s tearful pleas, and as far as the Friar knew, not even his children had attended Hogwarts.
The Friar, meanwhile, had become respected both in the Muggle village where he lived and within the wizarding world. His Christian name had been forgotten by most; even the Friar rarely answered to it. “The Friar” or “Friar” suited him fine.
One day, much to the Friar’s surprise, he received word that he was wanted at the man's bedside. The Friar was surprised further when Salazar sent his sons and grandsons out of the room upon his arrival. One of their wives stayed behind.
The Friar couldn't help but be saddened by the man's appearance; once somewhat burly with a strong, powerful voice, he was now frail, and called to the Friar in a weak voice. It would not be long at all before his death.
"He's not quite right in his mind, either," the woman warned the Friar. “Often he won’t finish a sentence, or speaks utter nonsense altogether! Sometimes he shouts in the night, it’s such a disruption -”
"Thank you," the Friar interrupted. He ushered her out the door as well, took out his Bible, and prayed as Salazar listened.
When the Friar came to a pause, Salazar said: "Prayers won't do me any good now, Friar. Too much damage has been wrought."
"Ours is a forgiving God, dear Salazar."
Salazar was mumbling now. "It will kill all of them... head of Medusa... just as I planned, but not as I meant... Septimus...”
"Septimus is one of your sons, correct?"
"You need to listen. I would destroy it myself, but I am too weak, and my sons... I taught them too well, especially Septimus. Muggles... he calls them descendants of Cain... I never said any such thing, Friar, but his ugly wife puts food in my mouth while he takes out my words, twists them like a wet rag, and wrings them out to dry on his fence."
"What are you saying, Salazar?"
"Septimus has done harm; of that I can be certain. A week ago, a little girl who showed signs of being a Muggleborn witch fell through ice on a warm day. The village blamed fairies, but I know it wasn't any fairy. What they might do at Hogwarts... they don't know I only wanted it to be protected. Not that I was doing good, by any stretch. I would have seen every one of those muggleborns die with Lucifer’s wicked smile on my face, as I fear Septimus would now. I was a cruel and arrogant man, and have damned not only myself, but my entire family.”
"What are you talking about?" the Friar demanded.
"Monstrous beast... I saw it in a dream, Friar. It will happen, and it will be in my name, in my doing. One of them will find it, my statue magicked with all instructions they need."
"What is this beast?"
But Salazar was staring at the wall and mumbling: "Godric, old friend, forgive me... we founded as brothers, parted as Cain and Abel... I was not your keeper."
"I need you to focus. Tell me how and where this monster can be found."
"You won't find it.”
"Then what can I possibly do?"
Salazar grasped Friar's hand and held it tightly. "You need to know. Warn everyone at Hogwarts. Protect them. Promise me."
"How can I when I don't-"
"Promise me."
There was so much in the man's eyes; fear, anger, sorrow, regret... nothing like the tough, boastful, angry man who had stormed out of the castle.
"I promise," the Friar said truthfully. "I'll do everything I can."
Salazar rested his arm and closed his eyes. "Then it is done."
"You haven't told me what the beast is," the Friar reminded him.
Salazar didn't respond; the Friar touched the tortured man's forehead, said a few prayers, then summoned his family to give them the sad news.
When the Friar reached Hogwarts after a long journey, he found the castle’s inhabitants to be in the most dreadful state. It turned out that Rowena, too, had died following terrible the death of her daughter. Distracted by grief, and with none of the Founders who'd known Salazar properly left, the Friar's warnings were not taken seriously.
"We've searched the castle," the new headmaster wrote after a month, "and there's no monster to be found. Salazar probably meant his House, which does not appear remotely cursed apart from producing some questionable students. You're wasting everyone's time over the ramblings of an addled, dying man. Save your worries for real threats."
Try as he might, the Friar could never let the dying man's words go. When found that his soul had not been quite ready to rest, he naturally made Hogwarts home, just in case the ramblings of an addled, dying man hadn't been.
After several generations, the Slytherin family - as they were now referred to, with surnames being commonly used - decided that it was time to bury the hatchet and let their children receive the sort of magical education home-teaching could not provide.
The decades had not been kind to them; of all the three sons, only Septimus had living descendants. Of those descendants, there were ten children in total: The Slytherin Ten, as they were called.
By now it had been 200 years since Slytherin’s departure, and much had changed. The grounds had expanded into part of the forest, which greatly angered many of the inhabitants, particularly Centaurs. New students were unaware that there had ever been any forest on the grounds, knowing only that the remaining acres of forest were strictly forbidden.
While there was competition between the Houses, it was mostly friendly. Slytherins tended to clash with the Gryffindors, mostly because of differences in personality. Gryffindors were all about following ideas and causes; Slytherins tended to have a more narrow priority list, at times narrowed all the way down to “me, myself and I.” Moreover, while very few demonstrated the vitriolic hatred towards muggles and muggleborns that Salazar Slytherin did, many of them did have a strong bias against them. No muggleborn was ever Sorted into Slytherin, although half-bloods frequently were.
Still, not all Slytherins were dreadful, and there was relative harmony between them and the other Houses. When the Slytherin family returned to Hogwarts, the Friar took it as a sign that the fence had been mended once and for all.
Such naiveté.
The first students were cousins, Salazar VI (who insisted upon being referred to as exactly that) and Salazaria. They both wore smug expressions upon being Sorted, and the way the Bloody Baron put it, all but declared the House their own.
The Friar remembered their how-many-times great grandfather’s warning, and kept an eye on them. He also asked that the Baron alert him to any mention of monsters underneath the castle. While they didn’t mention any such things, the Baron did report that they were creating a divide within their House. When their cousins and respective siblings joined them, the divide grew wider, and soon the Friar didn’t have to ask anything. Everyone knew that only the Head of House had more power over the Slytherins than Salazar and Salazaria.
One day, the Friar happened to overhear Salazaria telling a group of first years about the supposed origin of muggles.
“It’s simple,” she was saying loudly. “My grandfather - Salazar Slytherin the Fourth, you know - explained it best. There were once three wizards -“
“-when?” a student named Elladora interrupted.
“I’m getting to that, you stupid little girl.” Although her lip trembled briefly, Elladora’s eyes widened, as though thrilled that a real Slytherin had taken the time to insult her. “There were three wizards, brothers, and they lived in a time before the Romans or the Greeks. Well, one of the wizards killed his elder brother.”
“Why?” Elladora gasped.
“The elder brother was a very powerful wizard, and the younger one was jealous. When their father found out, he cursed the second brother so that neither he nor any of his progeny possess any magical traits whatsoever. The youngest brother, meanwhile, went on to be the ancestor of all wizards and witches. That was how it was always intended, and it is an atrocity that you have been taught otherwise.”
“But if they were cursed, how do Muggleborns exist?”
“How are some babies born with three legs? Unnatural occurrences happen all the time.”
The Friar could no longer remain silent. “Respectfully, Miss Slytherin, this is not at all true.”
“Excuse me?”
“No one knows whether wizards or muggles came first.”
“It’s in the Bible. Haven’t you read the Bible, Friar?”
The first years snickered.
“Yes, I have. This is not what the Bible says, which should be clear to you - unless you do not speak Latin.”
“Of course I do!” Salazaria insisted. But her face had reddened considerably.
“Tell me, then, the meaning of draco dormiens nunquam titilandus.”
“Dragon… sleeping...” Salazaria struggled, repeating the words “dragon” and “sleeping” over and over, sounding more pitiful each time. After a minute, the Friar realized she was actually sweating.
She’d learned some Latin; the Friar gave her that. But there was one key difference between Salazaria and her peers - those in the higher social classes learned Greek and Latin, much like their muggle contemporaries. For all the Slytherin family considered themselves above all other British wizarding families in purity and tradition, their refusal to associate with muggles had given way to a vulnerability they had not foreseen.
“It translates as-“ the Friar began, but Salazaria interrupted him.
“I was stalling. Even if I hadn’t been, my family speaks something far better than Latin.”
She then began to hiss loudly just as classes got out; fifty students stared at her as she hissed; roughly half looked impressed while the other half looked terrified. Her siblings and cousins began to join her, and they formed a circle of hisses.
“Parseltongue!” a boy cried. “You speak Parseltongue!”
Almost everyone was whispering now. Young Elladora looked trapped; her eyes were wide as though she was contemplating an escape, but her feet were frozen to the ground.
“As did Salazar Slytherin himself,” Salazar VI said, drawing next to his cousin. “It is the ancient language of wizards, and the only ones who speak it are the truly valiant. Ask yourselves: Will you run away like a coward, or stand behind me and my family, the valiant? Latin a language we manipulate for spells, the language of muggles. Parseltongue is a gift.”
From that point forward, old grudges and hatred began to bleed into the castle once more. Stiff, hostile competition was held against the other houses, especially Gryffindor. Muggleborn students were shunned and taunted, called names the Friar was shocked to hear come out of their mouths. As the years passed, the House began to gain notoriety as the House of the Bad Seeds.
The Friar hoped that once the last of the Slytherin Ten left the school, all would be restored; but it was not to be. Salazar VI came back as a professor, working his way up the ranks to becoming Head of House. He made certain that the animosity towards students deemed less worthy remained, and even reportedly encouraged duels and hexes. This was never proven, however, and Salazar VI faced no punishment. But as far as the Friar was concerned, lack of proof did not necessitate innocence.
And Salazar VI had new anger; he'd been deeply in love with his cousin Salazaria, but not only had she married Cadmus Peverell, (formerly of Ravenclaw, no less), she'd died in childbirth. Cadmus died a short time later, supposedly of a broken heart. The baby was left in the care of Salazar and his wife, who, to their credit, raised him as their own.
The years passed, and the Friar watched the descendants mill through Hogwarts, waiting for the day they unleashed the monster.
When the Slytherin family - now the “Gaunts” - left Hogwarts in 1850, the Friar hoped it would be the last he heard of them.
The Gaunts were destitute, crude and extremely violent, to the point at which even other Pureblood families shunned them, refusing to believe that they spoke the truth about being descended from Slytherin himself. They'd intermarried so much in an effort to maintain a pure bloodline - a few pairs of siblings had produced progeny - that they were half out of their minds.
The final straw was when then-Headmaster Professor Nigellus Black got into a row with Cadmus Gaunt, whose sons attended Hogwarts. According to Phineas Nigellus, this did not explain why he was found lurking in a girl's bathroom. For all of his flaws, the Friar appreciated his protectiveness over the students when it mattered.
“Your whole family has been a laughingstock!” The headmaster was heard yelling. “And if you truly are related to Salazar Slytherin, he must be rolling in his grave!”
The boys were literally pulled out of Hogwarts by their father, and did not return.
The Friar hoped this truly marked the end of the Slytherin line at Hogwarts - and that if the monster was still alive, it would never be awakened.
The Friar would never forget the pain and devastation of the 1930's and 1940's.
Between Hitler and Grindlewald, roughly 100 students from Eastern and Central Europe fled to Hogwarts; the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff houses took most of them in. Then the Blitz began, and those students didn't even feel entirely safe at Hogwarts. Students lost their childhood homes, family members...
And then the Chamber opened.
It started when Forsythia Brown was found laying unconscious, against a wall that had been written on in blood: THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
It was decided that poor Forsythia had been Petrified. By the time they worked that out, two more students had been attacked. All were Muggleborn; it took the Friar no time at all to work out what had happened. He immediately flew into the Headmaster's office.
“Slytherin's monster,” he told Dippet, who had been conversing with Albus Dumbledore, the Transfiguration professor, and a young student who appeared to be in some sort of trouble. The Friar paid them no mind.
Dippet looked up at the Friar. “I beg your pardon?”
“Salazar Slytherin told me on his deathbed that he'd left a monster at the school before he left. I didn't know what he meant at the time, of course. That must be what is hurting the students, and one of them will die if we don't find the monster at once.”
Armando looked weary. “Respectfully, Friar, I have already heard of your belief in some monster. It's in the files. Every Headmaster before me has all but turned the castle upside down.”
The Friar somehow doubted that, but he also didn't know whether it would've mattered. “I think Slytherin found a way to ensure only his progeny would be able to find and open the Chamber. It fits, doesn't it? The writing on the wall mentioned enemies of the Heir!”
“See? Slytherins were always horrible; that boy deserved the jinx I set on him!” The student blurted.
The Friar remembered the regret in Slytherin's eyes. He'd tried to make amends, in the end. If only this Heir could know that. If only all of the Slytherins could know that.
“You may leave, Robards,” Armando barked.
Once the young boy was gone, Armando continued: “I will certainly look into it, of course. It does seem fitting. But even if this is true... how will we ever find the monster?”
Much to his remorse, the Friar could not provide a steady answer. So instead he searched, going through every wall, through the lake, even the forest. Even if the Friar needed sleep, he would not have allowed himself much. He realized, in hindsight, that he ought to have done this years ago.
Meanwhile, the Robards boy had wasted no time in telling each of his friends what he had heard; the whole school now knew, and enjoyed asking the Friar himself questions, when they managed to catch him.
“Salazar Slytherin really told you on his death-bed?” A Slytherin Prefect asked one day. His name was, the Friar believed, Tom Riddle.
“I have been asked by Dippet to speak no further on the matter,” the Friar replied.
“But then how will I protect my friends?”
Tom's voice, however, did not sound pleading. If anything, he sounded impatient, and looked utterly unconcerned for anyone's safety.
“Is something else bothering you?” the Friar asked with a frown.
“It's just... there's all this death these days.” Tom's voice was sad now, except it was too sad. “I wonder if there's a way to prevent it.”
“We'll catch the Heir,” the Friar told him.
“No, I mean, prevent dying. You're alive in a fashion, are you not?”
“It's hardly living, Tom.”
“Exactly. What if we could just not die at all? Live forever?”
There was an almost mad glint in Tom's eyes. It reminded the Friar of someone, but he could not place who.
“Mortality is a natural part of life,” the Friar said firmly.
Tom nodded. “I see. Well, I must run, I have Transfiguration.”
The Friar did not see the boy much after that.
Soon after that conversation, a girl died.
The Friar's heart - not beating, but not gone - was heavy as he flew into the bathroom, where professors were crying out over Myrtle Warren's lifeless body.
She came back as a ghost, but was far too absorbed in tormenting Olive Hornby to provide any details about her death. From what little the Friar could get out of her, she'd seen eyes, and that was it. The Friar wasn't sure what to make of that tidbit; were they the eyes of the monster? Or had she been hallucinating in her dying moments?
The attacks stopped after Myrtle's death; rumour had it a monster had gotten into the school “by way of misunderstanding.” Around the same time, for reasons unstated, a Rubeus Hagrid was expelled. It didn't take the Friar long to make the connection.
But the Friar knew Rubeus; it happened that he had been born in the same village as the Friar, and they had many conversations about it, making comparisons between the many centuries. Rubeus was a truly kind soul with a profound love for all creatures. How could it be him?
“You're his Head of House,” the Friar told Albus Dumbledore. “I need you to realize... I've met the Slytherin family, Dumbledore. Rubeus is not the Heir of Slytherin.”
“We all realize that. That is why he has been expelled, not arrested. He is currently in the care of Ogg.”
“If you know he's not the Heir of Slytherin, then why -”
“Official word is that he unknowingly brought the monster into the school..”
The Friar shook his head. “No. He may be a little overly trusting, but he knows his creatures. He'd never let one hurt his classmates, and I trust that he would know if it would do so.”
“I realize that.” The Friar could hear in Albus's voice that he meant it. “I'm afraid, however, that all I could do was push for the expulsion, as opposed to Azkaban, and demand that he be allowed to remain here. It's not ideal, Friar, I know - I have done all that I can. I will promise you that Rubeus is in good hands.”
But one question remained: Who was the Heir?
The Friar's recalled his conversation with a certain Slytherin Prefect, and suddenly, he had another memory: he'd seen the boy flipping through a book on ancient wizarding families many years ago. And the glint in his eyes... was the glint of his many times great grandmother's.
“Tom Riddle,” the Friar said at once.
“Excuse me?”
“I think he may be the Heir.”
Albus sighed. “I feared it might be so. Do you have concrete proof?”
The Friar told the Transfiguration professor everything; Albus listened carefully.
“I'll try talking to Dippet,” he said, “but I've made similar observations, yet for all of them, Tom has found a way to play Dippet like a puppet.”
“But shouldn't he face justice?” the Friar thought back to that poor girl on the floor... the Petrified students...
“We can only hope,” Albus said.
The Friar's world was quiet after that; but he never forgot, and when Tom Riddle left Hogwarts, he was not relieved. No, he dreaded what the boy - man - would do once he was no longer under the careful watch of Albus Dumbledore.
Two and a half decades later, a new war began. They called the Dark Lord Voldemort at first, but soon began to use “You-Know-Who”, or “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”
Voldemort. Vol de mort. Flight from death. The Friar didn't need to ask who was behind all of this.
He comforted many students; mourned many others. Too many. The world felt hollow, especially upon receiving word that Edgar Bones and his family had been killed. The Friar had been quite close with Edgar Bones when he was a student. His devastated siblings asked him to officiate the funeral, and the Friar did so - how could he possibly say no?
Then, one day, it was over. They said Voldemort was gone, all thanks to a one year old boy. It seemed impossible.
“Is he really gone, though?” the Friar asked Albus. “I can hardly believe it.”
“That's because, I'm afraid to say, you shouldn't.”
The Chamber reopened. Students were attacked. It amazed the Friar how history had a way of repeating itself.
Rumours began to circulate that Potter was the Heir of Slytherin. It was true that he could speak to serpents; the Friar had seen it. But somehow, he still did not think it was him, and tried to persuade his house of that. However, several of them were fraught with worry, desperate to blame someone.
“Scapegoats are a dangerous route to take,” the Friar warned Hannah Abbot one day.
“I know,” she admitted.
“So don't take it. I know you know better.”
For a terrible night several months later, the Friar thought another student had died, this time a Gryffindor girl by the name of Ginny Weasley.
Albus told the Friar everything; he didn't quite understand it, but it seemed that Tom had left an imprint of himself in a diary, which in turn possessed the poor girl. The Friar had never suspected that he would be capable of such a thing.
“Oh, yes,” Albus said. “I think he'd already made steps towards immortality at the time of your conversation.”
“That's - that's pure madness.”
“I quite agree.”
Apparently, Tom had succeeded, because he came back. Two years later, his Death Eaters took over Hogwarts.
Those were the darkest days of all; students were hexed for the most minor offenses, and no dissent was allowed. It was all fear, all hatred, not at all the Hogwarts the Friar had loved for so long.
The Friar remembered something Salazar Slytherin had told him: If they knew about Hogwarts... they don't know I meant only for it to be protected.
How was this protection?
The Friar did the best he could to protect. He led students away from the Carrows, the Carrows away from the professors. He lied frequently in the students' favour so they'd be safe. He even helped a few escape, hoping that they would find their parents soon.
And when the final battle began, he helped in his way, breaking things above the Death Eaters heads, comforting scared students, everything he could possibly think of.
When the Friar saw Tom's body on the ground, he knew this time, it was really over.
The castle was rebuilt slowly but surely; by the following September, it was ready for students. Still imperfect, still damaged, but ready.
“I have just one question,” the Friar told Harry one day.
“Yes?”
“Was Tom - Voldemort - the last of the Heirs? Can we be certain of that?”
Harry nodded. “Yes. Absolutely certain.”
The Friar passed through the doors, nodding to many of the professors. He then went into his own House, where a portrait of Helga Hufflepuff was placed over the fireplace mantle.
“You've done so much to protect this place,” she told him. There were tears flowing down her cheeks, much like the day Salazar Slytherin left.
“I have. I think it's safe now - from Slytherin's Heirs, at least.”
“He would have been proud. Not the one I knew, the one on his deathbed. Although...” she paused. “Perhaps the old one, too, in his way.”
“I daresay he wouldn't have wanted what the students have gone through, I'll say that much.”
“So where does this leave you?” Helga asked. But the Friar could tell she knew. She was crying for a reason.”
“It means,” he said, “that I will see the other Helga, the one whose grave lays in Hogsmeade, very soon.”
“I will.”
The Friar closed his eyes and waited.