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A Slytherin: Mind, Body and Soul

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Salazar Slytherin was convinced in his heart of hearts that his sons would never agree, never be the ones to lead his family into the greatness it was worthy of. They were bitter, twisted young men.

He watched as his only daughter moved around the room gracefully, despite the fact he was serving her ill-mannered brothers. She held herself like a queen, her emerald green eyes dull as she automatically did her duties, her usually vibrant self retreated far within. Something within him then knew that a child of her body would be his true heir. That child would be cunning, strong, noble and wise and have her eyes. It would have his eyes. They would all be daughters, only those with magic could inherit and the first son of that line to inherit – would be the one to shock the wizarding world into the change it so desperately needed.

Salazar stood watching Cybelle as she ate, not engaging in conversation, just consuming the food on her plate, while his sons argued loudly concerning differences of opinion. As the four boys finished eating they stood, leaving the table, their chairs not tucked away, their plates not banished to the kitchen. As soon as Salazar finished his last bite, Cybelle began clearing the table.

'How are you, my daughter?' Salazar asked. The young woman spun around and looked at her father in surprise. 'Are you in good health, my dear?'

'Of course, Sir,' Cybelle replied. 'In your care, how could I be otherwise?'

Salazar smirked, noting that the graceful avoidance of the initial question. Standing from his position at the head of the table he looked into the same eyes he was when gazing upon his own reflection.

'When you are finished I wish to see you in my study, Cybelle.'

'At your pleasure, Sir,' Cybelle said with a curtsey.

Salazar paused in the doorway of the dining room. 'I much preferred it when you called me Papa, when you were a little girl. You were the most charming child,' he reminisced. 'You are the most beautiful, intelligent adult. I am glad that you are my daughter, Cybelle.'

The Lord Slytherin made from the room and headed to his private study. There he searched his collection of ancient texts for spells, enchantments and potions to carry out his will.

A soft knock on the door alerted him to the arrival of his daughter.

'Enter,' Salazar called, still scaling the bookshelves in search of a specific book.

The door opened and closed gently and with a careless wave of his hand, wards were set around the room, protecting their conversation.

'Where are your brothers?' he asked, coming back down the ladder, a large tome in hand.

'They are in the den arguing about the benefits of each of their separate disciplines,' Cybelle replied.

'Darling, I want you to speak candidly for the rest of this conversation. Do you understand?' Salazar looked directly at his daughter until the twenty year old nodded. The old man sighed. 'You are so much like your mother. Her posture, her elegance, her grace, her beauty, her uncanny observation skills and her sharp hearing,' Cybelle eyes looked at her father before finding interest in the sleeve of her dress. 'It is my belief that one of your brothers is out to frame me for her death. I want your thoughts on this matter.'

Salazar took a moment to sit behind his desk and set the tome down on the pile in front of him. With a wave of his hand, he bade Cybelle to take a seat, which she declined with a tilt of her glossy dark head.

'I think your claim may have fact, but how do you know it was not I?' Cybelle returned, her aristocratic features schooled into a neutral expression.

'I do not,' the elder Slytherin admitted.

'Then get your strongest potions. I shall submit to them and you shall be able to trust someone in this castle.'

Salazar moved to a locked cabinet on the wall behind his desk and took out a small bottle and dropped a single drop of potion onto his daughters tongue. Leaning back on the edge of his desk, he asked the question he wanted the answer to.

'Cybelle, did you poison your mother?'

'No,' the young woman replied, her eyelids fluttering as the potion kept its hold over her.

'Can I trust you?'

'Yes.'

'How much?'

'As much as you trusted Mama.'

'Do you trust me?'

Their emerald green eyes met, one pair clear, one clouded. 'If I cannot trust you, Papa, who can I trust?'

'That is the question, my darling,' Salazar replied, pulling a tome towards him and flipping though it, marking a certain page. Taking up a second book, he waited for his daughter to be pulled from her trance. As her emerald eyes cleared, Salazar held out the bottle to his daughter.

'Why?' the young woman asked.

'It's only fair.'

'I don't think you killed Mama,' Cybelle responded. 'In fact, you would be the last person on my list. You loved her too much to do her any harm.'

'Then what do you think?' Salazar asked.

'I think this is an attempt to frame you, but Lord Gryffindor and the good Ladies Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are too blinded by their grief to see reason.'

'Why do you say it is an attempt to frame me?'

'She was poisoned, Papa. Potions is your strength. If you wanted to kill Mama you would have done so in a way that would not point the finger back at you if evidence was discovered. It was made into a poison by adding shaved walnut bark to a common headache potion. Deliberate but not classy enough for you,' Cybelle said.

'I am going to have to leave Hogwarts, my dear. Forever. I fear your brothers have already made plans to tarnish my name and since I can trust none of them if falls to you to continue our legacy,' Salazar murmured.

'What do you wish to ask of me, Papa?' Cybelle asked.

'I do not wish to ask anything of you, Cybelle.'

'But you must,' the young woman smiled.

Salazar nodded sadly. 'I wish to make you my true heir and condemn all the children of your line.'

'What must we do?' Cybelle asked in earnest placing a hand on her fathers, as it rested on the desk in front of her.

'There is an enchantment, to endorse a true heir,' Salazar began.

'What does it involve?'

'Once each generation a child shall be born with our emerald green eyes, that child will be the heir whether they have magic or not, because, eventually, a magical son of our line will be born. A son who will be the heir in a time of great need. He will bring sweeping change to the magical world.'

'For better or worse?' Cybelle asked in fear, her eyes wide.

'It is the risk we must take if we are to protect all that is Slytherin.'

Silence reigned for a few minutes before Cybelle looked to her father and spoke confidently.

'What must we do?'

III

Cybelle stood beside her fathers grave, her own hair grey and her green-eyed granddaughter and daughter at her side.

'He was a great man. A man of honour. A man of knowledge and wisdom. He would have been proud to know you.'

'Mama?' the brown haired woman asked, picking up the young girl.

'You know what you must do, what you must entrust to that little girl in your arms. And she will be a fine guardian,' Cybelle said, kissing the young girl on the forehead.

'Of course, Mama, but…'

'I am old,' Cybelle murmured, pulling a silver chain with a silver key on it from around her neck. 'This is my mother's chain. The key is to a trunk hidden deep within the family vault, which is to be opened by our son, when he is born. The green-eyed son of a green-eyed mother. Make sure this is passed onto all the daughters of our line.'

'I will,' Cybelle's daughter promised. 'For all that is Slytherin.'

The wind blew a gale and Cybelle slipped the necklace over her daughter's head before kissing her brow. Turning into the wind, she smiled. 'I am coming, Papa. I am coming, Mama.'

Cybelle lay down on the empty plot space next to her fathers and smiled to her daughter. As she took her last breath, the magic took hold and began to build a beautiful tomb in a blue-grey stone around her body. As her name was carved into the top, her daughter sobbed, for the passing of her mother and the responsibility that was now hers.

III

'Lily, would you come here please?'

'What did you want, Mama?' fifteen year old Lily Evans asked.

'I was about your age when your grandmother gave me this,' the terminally ill Marie Evans whispered. 'Lily, I need you to remember what you about to hear. I need you to promise.'

'I promise,' Lily replied, seeing the emotion in her mother's eyes.

'There is a story that goes with this necklace. I was told by my mother, who was told by hers, who was told by her and so on. We all have something in common, other than this necklace,' Marie said, stroking her daughter's creamy cheek. 'The daughters of our line descend from a powerful Gaelic man. He could not trust his sons, one killed his wife and so made his only daughter his heir. He said that his heir would be the one with emerald green eyes no matter their place in the birth order of the children in that generation. It was said that the line, our line, would be the mothers of daughters with green eyes, that is, until a son with green eyes is born. This son will be the one to change the world, for better, for worse.'

'Mama…'

'Let me finish, Lily,' Marie begged. 'This necklace is ancient and strong. It belonged to the first heir, the first daughter's mother, the one who was murdered. On it is this tiny little key, our good luck charm. It will allow the son, when he is born, to open a hidden trunk and become the man he is meant to be.'

Lily bowed her head and allowed her mother to place the necklace over her head. Touching she felt the magic it held and smiled. There was some blood in her that was magical after all, the red head thought sadly.

'Lily, my darling Lily. You must tell your daughter this same story when you get the feeling. You will know it when it comes,' Marie said as her daughter opened her mouth to ask the question. 'If you have the prophesised son, if he is my grandson, give him the key. We belong to our family mind, body and soul.'

'I'll remember,' Lily promised, fingering the key on the necklace. 'Why don't you get some rest?'

'I might just close my eyes,' Marie said pleasantly. 'I will see you when you arrive.'

Tears spilled from Lily's eyes as her mother took her last breaths. Her father walked up behind her and smiled sadly.

'We should find Petunia.'

Lily nodded and slipped the necklace beneath her shirt before leaving in search of her sister.

III

Lily was putting her son to bed when she was overcome by a feeling somewhere deep within. She slipped the necklace from around her neck and looped it around her small son's and whispered him the story she had faithfully remembered her mother telling her all those years ago.

'We belong to our family, mind, body and soul. Remember that,' Lily paused and kissed her sleeping son on the brow. 'I love you, Harry.'

Slipping out of the nursery door, Lily closed it behind her and moved down stairs before curling up with her husband, James on the lounge.

'How's our little prince?' James asked. 'He go down ok?'

'He is sleeping now,' Lily replied. 'Because one day, Harry is going to do great things.'

James held onto his wife noticing her good luck necklace was missing. With his spare hand he felt for his wand in his pocket, knowing in his heart of hearts his son would be safe now. 'It's because he's your son,' James replied with a smile.

Lily's reply was to squeeze her husband's hand.

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