26th January 2018. Hogwarts Ruins.
I've been living here for a while now. It's dusty, cold and incredibly unsanitary. It's a pity there aren't any house elves to help clean Hogwarts up. There used to be over a hundred, the most significant number in any dwelling in Britain.
The end of the war with Voldemort seemed to sound the death knell for them.
After she realised that, unlike a particular anomaly, most house elves were unwilling to be freed, they became something of a blight on her sparkling reputation.
Their subsequent disappearance over the next ten years should have been no surprise.
I fear only one house elf ever met her expectations.
Dobby.
He revolutionised my understanding of a wizard's best friend. It feels too cruel, even for me, to call them creatures. Humans are the real beasts; we lack the innate quality of loyalty that made house elves shine so bright as a race.
I doubt I would have survived my time at Hogwarts without his care, although he never thought things through. It was a significant blow to me when he died at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. I couldn't even punish her… another crime a particular clan matriarch committed.
The solution I eventually came to was attributing every slight crime committed to the person who gave the order, who held the blade's loyalty. Bellatrix Lestrange was loyal to Voldemort. Molly Weasley belonged to them.
Loyalty. That is such an exciting word. Goblins had a saying, something like "strength through loyalty". How many people of the billions in the world were ever genuinely loyal to me? I can think of only three. How cruel, the same number of times I've left this world, the same number of times I've lost someone who wasn't out to take advantage of me.
Three is a rather magic number for me. Three in the Dursely family. Three in the Golden Trio. There should have been three champions in the Triwizard Tournament. Three Deathly Hallows. Three Deaths. Three loved ones. Three betrayals…
Three names: Weasely, Granger and Dumbledore. Everyone with one of these names has played a vital role in shaping me.
Slytherin was my enemy. Gryffindor my friend. Honestly, the lengths a certain Headmaster went to drive this into my head were astounding.
I've been exploring the Chamber of Secrets. There is a small living area behind the statue of Salazar Slytherin. At this point, I've determined that each of the founders left areas behind for future students to discover. However, the mysteries of Hogwarts have been irreversibly damaged. Its secrets remain unsolvable.
Not that it matters, I've discovered something. The one secret I need is so close. It's almost within reach.
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29th May 1993. Hogwarts. Gryffindor Common Room.
Seated next to the fireplace, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley did their best to be as unsubtle as possible.
That morning they had visited Hermione in the medical wing, and Harry had noticed something odd about her scrunched-up fist. Inside it, the boys had found a piece of paper with some astonishing information. The creature unleashed by the 'heir of Slytherin' was a Basilisk!
The note contained an extract from Most Macabre Monstrosities:
"Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or deadly than the Basilisk, also known as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach a gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy. The Basilisk flees only from the rooster's crowing, which is its fatal weakness."
And on the side was the word 'Pipes'.
"No wonder we were clueless! Pipes! You can move around the entire school unhindered. Thank God for Hermione. We would have never thought of this. What do you think, Ron?" Harry excitedly questioned his best friend.
They'd just had breakfast, or at least Harry had; Ron was still eating some toast he'd brought up with him.
"I don't know, mate! We can think of what to do next later… we have transfiguration, and you know how McGonagall is when we're late!"
Both boys hurriedly grabbed their stuff and made haste to their next class.
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Peverell Manor.
He shot up suddenly before he calmed himself and observed his unfamiliar surroundings.
It was the first sleep without nightmares in years.
Instead, Ares had dreamed about torturing the people of wizarding Britain, dominating the world and reuniting with certain people.
The ritual of traversing through time had been tiring, even if all of the sacrifices were external sources of magical power.
Ares had arrived at his new home the day before and, after giving it, a cursory tour had immediately crashed in the master bedroom.
It was a magnificent structure. So fitting for the residence of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell.
There were three wings, enough rooms, two libraries and, most importantly, no house elves.
'There's no way a former Dark Lord is looking after a house this big using just the scouring charm. I'm not bloody poor.'
Well-rested and peckish, he apparated to Diagon Alley.
The floo network still needed to be connected to his new manor.
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