Chapter Text
~sSs~
A Waltz of Masks
~sSs~
“Congratulations Salazar, apparently you have another heir.”
The portrait in green answered Albus with a single arched eyebrow. “... thank you?”
Standing before his desk in the Headmaster’s Tower, Albus shifted his feet. After Alastor Moody’s startling encounter at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, Albus found himself scrambling for information. The proposal that Alastor brought back could cost the lives of everyone in the Order if Albus placed his trust incorrectly. Nevertheless, a breakaway cell from the Dark-Traditionalists was exactly what Albus had hoped to see. If they would stay neutral, fine. If they would help, better. It was undeniable that they had resources that complemented his own, and an alliance could give the Order just the edge they needed to overwhelm the Death Eaters. Before he could negotiate any sort of partnership, however, he needed to do a background check on their masked leader.
Regrettably, a full month of inquiring through his network of contacts had been unfruitful, leaving her supposed ancestor’s portrait as his last and only lead. He hoped Slytherin was in a helpful mood.
“No one knows where she comes from. Her lineage cannot be traced, but she’s able to use your crest.” This topic must be approached delicately. Albus knew from experience that Slytherin could on occasions be very generous with information, but only when it tickled his fancy to do so. Otherwise, Albus must keep a tight rein on the direction of the conversation or end up with nothing useful for his efforts at all.
“You don’t seem awfully concerned. It does not surprise you to have a descendant appear randomly out of nowhere? I wouldn’t have taken you for the kind of men who - well. I suppose there’s no need to go into details,” coughed Albus, cutting himself off when he noticed the entire office falling silent as all the headmasters on the walls studiously pretended not to listen, “Surely you must have some guess as to where she came from?”
The other headmasters on the wall were still watching the Founder out of the corner of their eyes. One drawback of being eternally preserved in this hallowed room was to be stuck for eternity with a crowd whose only entertainment was salacious gossip. Albus almost felt bad for Slytherin. Almost.
Slytherin looked up from the quill that he was sharpening with a small shrug. “Where she came from? The same way all babies are made, I suppose. Honestly, I don’t really keep track of that sort of thing.”
Albus gaped. The things that the serpent lord was able to say with a straight face - it was nothing short of amazing.
The more conservative headmaster portraits were already covering their mouths in shock. “Oh! How scandalous!”
“He’s not even slightly ashamed,” marvelled Headmaster Gauntier.
“By Jove, Lord Slytherin!” spluttered Headmaster Ashby, “You - you - can this be true?”
He had turned a pleading gaze to the other founders. Godric Gryffindor was rubbing his chin contemplatively. “Well, he was a perfect monk when I was around, but we didn’t really babysit him. I guess he wasn’t lacking for opportunities, being rich and not completely hideous.”
Phineas Black was looking at Slytherin as if he’d never seen him before. “Lord Slytherin, I regret now knowing this side of you sooner. Thank you for providing more entertainment than the last decade of eavesdropping combined!”
“But what about politics and alliances?” asked one of the older portraits, “Wouldn’t your wife and her family be upset that you had children out of wedlock?”
“Well, I’m sure I would have been a devoted husband had I been married,” said Slytherin, leaning back and closing his eyes, “but I was not.”
“What?” “By Jove!” “You mean to say all of your children were bastards?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Any child who inherits my family’s magic would be a legitimate scion of Slytherin. So long as they meet the criteria, the inheritance laws would include them in the line of succession whether I like it or not.” Slytherin cracked open an eyelid, and Albus realized that the portrait was staring straight back at him. “Was that the answer you were hoping for, Headmaster?”
Albus flushed behind his beard and considered how to proceed. He had hoped that the portrait would become flustered or at the very least provided a name that he could look up, not … this. Salazar Slytherin - an unapologetic rake. Who would’ve thought?
But he still needed to broach the topic of the woman who was asking for an alliance. “The incumbent Ven. Mme. Slytherin has contacted me, Salazar. She would like to unite alumni of your house under her banner against your other heir.”
To Slytherin’s credit, the portrait immediately sat up and effected a businesslike manner as well. This proved a sufficient cue for the rest of the room to take the hint and quiet down.
“But she has provided no personal information beyond her family name. As much as I want to help her,” continued Albus, “I can’t provide any assistance without any information about her. Does your family keep a record of your family tree? It would help greatly if I may access it. I have tried searching in the library, but the records in the public domain can become so muddled over time. ”
“Ah. I understand you perfectly,” said Slytherin, chuckling lightly.
Albus waited expectantly.
“No, you would not have what it takes to buy this information from me.”
“What would you want?” asked Albus with a frown, “Is it not enough that I am an ally to your descendant? Or would you rather see Voldemort win?”
The portrait chuckled softly. “And you would have me believe that to stop Voldemort, you need my entire family history laid out before you like an open book. You would have me believe that someone who has used my family crest would come to you for assistance in proving her legitimacy. Of course, you have no ulterior motivations beyond benevolence. Do you take me for a fool, Albus?”
“If you insist on a favour,” offered Albus, “I can install a third frame for you in a location of your choice.”
He refused to be chastised. His overall motivation was benevolent, and it was not as if he’d told the portrait anything that was not factually true.
Slytherin laughed out loud this time. “A portrait frame, for handing over the identity of my head of family who is obviously unwilling to part with it? Tempting, but not what I’m after. I propose a more equal exchange.”
Albus sighed. It had been a bit of a stretch to think that would work. “What sort of exchange?”
“I have questions of my own. If you wish to ask me questions about my heir - reasonable ones - I am willing to provide answers for answers.”
Albus nodded. “I can tell you about Lord Voldemort, your other heir. I will even answer any question you have about the first war. I cannot tell you about the Order of Phoenix. It’s not that I mistrust you.”
“I understand perfectly,” said Slytherin again. His smile was a wry one that said everything and nothing at all. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask about your battle plans or your group of vigilantes. I’d rather hear about what happened to you.”
“Me?” Albus checked himself. An easy joke about weight gain and lemon drops was on the tip of his tongue, but it would not help him now. “What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with something easy. Where did you go after graduating from seventh year? I remember that you were planning to take a tour around the world to learn about other magical societies.”
Albus shook his head. “That did not happen. I went home to care for my sister and stayed there.”
“An admirable sacrifice,” praised the portrait, “And after she passed? You no longer wished to see the world then?”
“The trip was no longer meaningful to me,” said Albus. The folly of his youth had been numerous. His plan had been to see other societies for inspiration, from which he would build the election platform that he would eventually use to run for Minister of Magic. Now he only wished he could go back and slap himself. “It’s my turn to ask. Were you aware of your second living heir? Have you been in communication with her?”
“Why yes, I became aware of her after she sought me out. And yes, I see her regularly.”
“How?”
“I do in fact have multiple portrait frames, Albus. One of them is located in my ancestral home. It should not surprise you.”
Albus pondered on that, filing the information away. “When did she announce herself to you?”
“Well,” said Slytherin, “why did you turn down the nomination for Minister of Magic when it was offered to you? You would be lying if you say you’re no longer interested in politics.”
“I’m not cut out to govern magical Britain.”
“And so you prefer to govern through others?”
“I’d rather teach ,” retorted Albus. It wasn’t his fault that people kept coming to him for advice.
Slytherin looked at him for a moment. “I see. To answer your question, and perhaps the real question that motivated your request, the current Mme. Slytherin introduced herself to me about five years ago. I was pleasantly surprised. There was very little that I needed to explain to her about her birthright as well as her responsibilities as head of family. She even knew the main points of our inheritance law.”
“That’s actually very helpful, thank you,” realized Albus. From the sounds of it, the lady Slytherin relied minimally upon Salazar’s portrait, and her actions were most likely self-motivated. Furthermore, her familiarity with even the concept of inheritance law and crests and such suggest that she belonged to an aristocratic family who presumably went by a different name. Perhaps she was merely using the name Slytherin as a convenient banner for gathering support.
But he ought to be careful about assuming that she cared little about Slytherin’s legacy. Just because she was not a fanatic like the Gaunts didn’t mean she didn’t take pride in this bit of her heritage. Besides, banners once raised were not easily set down.
“I can be reasonable,” said Salazar magnanimously, “I’m sure there is something more substantial that you would like to know.
Albus huffed. “I would ask you about her personality, her skills, what she values, but of course you won’t tell me.”
The portrait smiled.
“I might, depending on how well you answer. Somewhere between your graduation and your glowing application for the position of Transfiguration professor, you seem to have developed a hatred of ambition. And, to put it bluntly, a personal distaste for me.” Leaning forward, Slytherin steepled his fingers. “What I want to know is, why?”
“It’s nothing personal, Salazar. It’s a simple conflict of interest. My enemies are people from your house, led by your descendant. You cannot expect me to speak with you as freely as when I was a student with no ties.”
The portrait nodded. “Just politics, Albus? Nothing more?”
“Yes.”
“Then, now that my house is to be allied with you, you would be happy to treat them as friends?”
“I would!” insisted Albus indignantly, “Why wouldn’t I? If we are to enter an alliance, it will not fail because of me. You have my word, I will treat all my associates with the utmost respect-”
Slytherin’s eyes shone with a silver, soul-piercing gleam. “I have no need for flowery reassurances, Albus. Just remember our deal. Honesty for honesty.”
Albus looked away. Honesty for honesty? The truth was that he really had wholeheartedly bought into Slytherin’s philosophy once - back when he was a bright-eyed student pillaging the library in search of knowledge and a sense of how he ought to apply his not inconsiderable talent. His ambitions led him to Gellert. And from there, a war.
Would he be happy to treat his new allies as friends ? The question was so deceptively simple, but to answer was a tall order. How could he give a complete, accurate, and truthful response when his feelings were too complicated to distill down to words? And even if he could, he was not about to pour out his soul to Slytherin for any kind of information.
But looking back upon his own actions after he and Gellert parted ways, if he had to say one sentence to sum it up…
“I have not changed nearly as much as you think,” said Albus, “My new ambition is for there to be no war and no revolutionaries running unchecked ever again. That is all I have to say on the matter.”
Slytherin regarded him in silence for a long time, then nodded once. “Very well.”
Standing, the portrait clasped his hands behind his back. “In that case, I will give you a simple, honest answer as well. I see a great deal of similarity between the current Mme. Slytherin and myself. I would advise you to treat her as you would treat me. She appreciates reciprocity and mutual benefits like I do. Deal fairly.”
“I see.” He supposed it was the most he was going to get for what he was willing to give.
He supposed the new Ven. Mme. Slytherin was neither going to be his friend nor his foe. Instead she was to occupy a space somewhere in between or outside of the dichotomy altogether. Incidentally, it was a space quite close to where he had pegged the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. “Thank you for your information.”
“Glad to be of service,” the portrait bowed. “And Headmaster, please don’t try to play psychological games with your new ally. It will only make you inefficient.”
“Tell me,” hissed the Dark Lord, “ everything that you know about her. Now.”
Lucius had no time to even stammer out a response. There was a sharp flash of pain that only grew with each passing minute, and suddenly images were playing out before his eyes. The Nocturne in the ball room. The serpentine patronus curled around a mahogany chair. A flash of silver beneath dark brown curls and the brim of a hat. Letters, letters, more letters.
There were older ones too. Lucius bore it all with a grimace and showed everything. He was not a spectacular occlumen and would not have the galls to leave anything out even if he was. Bill E13. The two forgotten textbooks. The ban of dark artifacts…
When the Dark Lord finally left his mind, Lucius would have fallen to his knees in relief if he wasn’t on his knees already. The others were in various stages of recovery, having been subjected to the same treatment just earlier. Whatever possessed Nott to volunteer up the existence of a masked woman who called herself the family head of Slytherin, Lucius did not care to fathom in the slightest. The news certainly didn’t help the Dark Lord’s mood.
“You know a lot, Lucius,” said the Dark Lord softly.
Lucius tried his best to breathe and word his response in a way that was anti-inflammatory. “She was an effective ally in your absence, my lord. But that’s all in the past now.”
Inhuman red eyes bore into his. “I believe you, my slippery friend. Because I know you.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“This woman who claims to be my kin,” the Dark Lord spoke, addressing no one in the circle in particular, “is a fool. Tell me, all of you who have met her, why does she join arms with Dumbledore and defy her own kin?”
There was silence. The Carrows glanced blankly at each other, unsure of the correct answer. Nott spluttered but simply stared at the ground. Severus was a silent statue. ‘Unsurprising. The man never spoke unless he had some degree of certainty.’
“Speak!” screamed the Dark Lord. Lucius grimaced again.
“For power,” he hazarded a guess, “She knows that you will not share it, but she believes that Dumbledore might be persuaded to.”
He watched the malevolent red eyes with bated breath, half-expecting a curse to be tossed his way at any second, but the Dark Lord simply sat there. His expression could have been anything from contemplative to surprise, but Lucius had no interest in guessing again.
Until finally, the Dark Lord spat in a voice thick with venom, “ Fool."
“I have no kin. Tomorrow we begin hunting. All of those traitors who have abandoned us will know the price of their choice. And as for her… She will wish she’d never been alive.”
…
When Lucius finally landed on his own balcony and limped to his bed, he reached a hand under his pillow by habit only to find a small phial. It had a note attached that he could barely make out in the wandlight. ‘For Lucius. From Lucius.’
Frowning, he poured its contents into a pensieve and stepped inside… and promptly fell out again covered in cold sweat.
The diary! The damnable diary! He’d made himself forget about it before the meeting! If the Dark Lord ever found out that the diary was destroyed, he was certain that he would be killed on the spot. The Dark Lord must not be allowed to discover.
Falling heavily into his bed, Lucius tapped his wand against the drawer of his nightstand to open the secret compartment. A short row of phials stood within. Wearily, he slotted the new one into place. The fourth, now.
“Lucius?” A hand was gently touching his shoulder. Narcissa. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” said Lucius, both to her and to himself.
“It will all be worth it… in the end.”