It was a study. Actually it quite reminded him of the headmaster's office, with shelves of books, odd magical instruments and a carved marble basin rather like the one he had often glimpsed in Dumbledore's cabinet.
'Just stand there and gawp, that's exactly what the other one did.' Harry whirled round to stare at the clearly ancient portrait that hung above the door. It held a rather young, formidable looking wizard, dressed in green and silver robes with a snake of some sort wrapped around his shoulders, just below where his ebony hair hung to.
'Well you look sane,' the portrait mused, 'but the last one did as well and look how that turned out.'
'Who, exactly, are you?' Harry inquired. He was rather less polite than he would have been, but he felt somewhat justified after the paintings comments, Salazar Slytherin or not.
'Portraits are named,' the dark-haired wizard sighed. 'I always hated children.'
'Salazar Slytherin,' Harry read aloud. Then, more curiously, 'if you hate children, why found a school?'
'It wasn't safe for magical children to just learn their craft all over the place. Don't you know anything about the burnings?' The sarcasm had disappeared at the mention of burnings to be replaced with deep disgust.
'Witch burning?' Harry queried.
'Sort of. The muggles couldn't actually burn witches and wizards, but they got a fair few of our children after they were seen performing accidental magic. Burning children alive,' the portraits eyes filled with fury, 'and they called us demons. Hogwarts was a haven for magical children. They were taught how to control and even hide themselves for their own safety.'
'You don't leave a basilisk that eats children in a school,' Harry exclaimed.
'She was meant to sleep until the school was under attack,' Slytherin snapped. 'A basilisk is very hard to kill, especially for those without magic. Had anyone ever tried to get to the children here she would have protected them with her life. It worked perfectly until my last visitor twisted my commands to his own ends.'
'Tom Riddle,' Harry muttered.
'Yes. Basilisks are renowned not only for their power, but their loyalty too. She devoted herself to her creator and my command to protect the children from the outside world. Tom Riddle,' Slytherin spat, 'corrupted my creation and set her on children who had come from the outside world to learn here.'
'It's good thing she's dead, then,' Harry said quietly, feeling a little sorry for the serpent.
'Dead?' Slytherin remarked. 'Who managed to kill her?'
'I did,' Harry sighed, doubting the portrait would believe him.
'You are my heir, I suppose,' the ancient portrait mused, 'you would be powerful.'
'I am not your heir,' Harry declared firmly. He had had one year of that nonsense already.
'You speak parseltongue,' Slytherin told him very slowly, as if addressing an idiot. 'It is an ability I created and is tied to myself. Only my direct descendants can speak it, and as I have no desire to ever see Tom Riddle again that makes you my heir.'
'Sorry,' Harry mumbled, embarrassed. 'The school all thought that in my second year when the basilisk was attacking students. They blamed me.'
'You can't really blame them,' Slytherin replied evenly. 'You do speak parseltongue. I assume you're in my house?'
'Gryffindor, actually.'
'Gryffindor,' the portrait exploded. 'What is my descendant, my heir, doing in the house of that reckless, moronic, immature excuse for a wizard? The whole reason I had to build this chamber was because that child of a man couldn't resist his urge to sabotage my work, and all Helga would do is laugh.'
Harry's sceptical face caught the attention of the irate wizard and sparks flew from the painted wand, startling the snake around his neck. It hissed indignantly and took cover within Slytherin's robes.
'Did you think he was noble, brave hero?' Slytherin shook his head in exasperation. 'That wizard never matured beyond the age of eighteen. He was an exceptional transfigurer, quite brilliant and creative too, but cursed with a child's sense of humour. Most of the things he did around this school were actually done by Rowena and I after the idiot injured himself trying to enchant things in overly complicated ways.'
'I'm quite good at transfiguration,' Harry offered as an explanation of his sorting. 'The hat did suggest Slytherin too, but I chose Gryffindor.'
'Why would you do that?' Slytherin burst out. 'Who would want to live in a tower when they could have a view out into the Black Lake?' He calmed down fairly quickly with only a few more murmurs about childish Godric and the snake deemed it safe to return to hanging around his neck.
'I'm Harry Potter,' he introduced himself, realising he still hadn't and almost extending his hand to the picture.
'Salazar Slytherin, and I can't shake it but I appreciate your manners.' It struck Harry then a considerable amount of time might have passed and he should probably go and have breakfast or make his way too class.
'I think I have to go to class now,' he told the ancient painting.
'How old are you?' it asked, ignoring his statement completely.
'Fourteen.'
'Your eyes are older,' Slytherin responded after a moment. 'You are my heir, return here whenever you like. My library and study are yours provided you're tidy and not as childish as Godric.'
'Thank you,' Harry answered earnestly as he left. He wasn't overawed by the revelation that he really was the Heir of Slytherin, but if he wanted to improve himself this would certainly be a huge help.
The forked tongue styled bridge descended back into the pool once he crossed it and Harry made his way back towards the stairs, throwing a regretful look at the pool. He had quite wanted to try conjuring a water basilisk, but he was almost certainly late for Ancient Runes as it was.
Striding swiftly across the school in the direction of his new class he caught sight of Hermione just leaving the Great Hall after breakfast and realised it wasn't quite as late as he had feared. Hurrying after her down the corridor towards the classroom for Ancient Runes he narrowly avoided sending Malfoy sprawling. The arrogant Slytherin was sent scrambling for his bag amongst the feet of the students traversing the corridor. Harry would've stopped to laugh, but he'd rather not be late for his first class, especially after switching into it on his own.
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