Chapter Text
-~sSs~-
Year 3: Atop the highest tower
-~sSs~-
'To Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Godric Gryffindor'
'September XIX, CMLXXIX'
'My friends,
Please forgive me for not sending you each a separate letter. At the moment I find myself at a shortage of owls, especially ones disciplined enough to deliver mail on good timing.
I hope fortune has been kind to you lately. Words cannot express how happy I am to receive your last letters. Helga, I am most glad to hear of the birth of your granddaughter. I can imagine that with your beautiful eyes, she will grow to be a fine young lady indeed. Little Alexander has a happy family of his own now. How time flies… It seems only yesterday that he was still chasing his brothers around the school.
Rowena, congratulations on your and Master Gamp's newest spell invention. Please, do heed my advice and remember to let yourself rest. I realize that both of you have a tendency to lose yourselves in your books, often together, and that you're perfectly happy that way, but my point still stands. You must admit that food for thought is no substitute for actual food.
Godric, my eyes may have deceived me but I seem to have read that you've decided to convince your ten year old grandson to take that bundle of twigs you call a broom for a ride. Well. You know what I have to say about that, so I shall not waste my ink. Evidently the boy takes after his grandfather.
I am well, better than well today. The King is summoning me much less frequently now that I've helped him restore the country from its battle-torn condition and appease the muggles after his invasion, so I have more time on my hands. (Call me what you will, Sir Godric, but we have already discussed this before. I will gladly help a king better his country, but it honestly makes little difference to me which muggle sits on the throne as long as my home and my people are unharmed. King William was clearly winning and I like him better than Harold anyways. But I digress…) I've had two small explosions in my laboratory, but they were of no consequence. And we've had to sanction a rogue wizard who'd been using dark arts to terrorize muggles – again, easily taken care of. But do not worry about me getting bored. I've had plenty other things to keep me busy. I've found a new project.
I am writing to you now because in a few hours – about two days ago from your perspective, that is – I shall be able to confirm the existence of the mythical ferryman of River Styx. The stories call him cold, fair, impartial. And he will, I think, take me across. Perhaps he may even be willing to take me across a second time. Wouldn't that go down in history…
Dear Rowena, I suspect you are now furrowing your brows and asking what I am raving about. In somewhat more scientific terms, I believe I have created a reincarnation potion in accordance of what I believe I understand about souls, life, being, and intelligence. The potion acts by first atomizing one's body when it is still firmly attached to the soul, then allowing the soul's innate coherence to aggregate it back together. Of the two steps, the probability of success for the first is 99.999% +/- 0.001%. The probability of success for the second is 50% +/- 50%.
Owing to the nature of reincarnation, the only way to test this creation is to experience it myself. Do not call me a hypocrite, dear Godric. I have considered and accepted the risks. I have already set my affairs in order, found my elf a new household where he'll be treated well, and tied up loose ends with the people I had unfinished business with. My only regret is not being able to preserve my ancestral home from being sullied by my chip-off-the-old-block nephew, but perhaps I should be glad that he will be less inclined than Marvolo to pawn away our collective knowledge to the least scrupulous bidder. No, he will simply ignore it and never touch a single book, or perhaps burn the library to make room for a new salon. I can live with that knowledge, I suppose, although I suppose it would all be irrelevant soon in any case so enough of that. I do not think there will be pain. The speed at which nerves conduct signals to the brain is much too slow compared to the speed at which the potion disintegrates them. At least so I hope.
I will leave no more information than this regarding my creation as I do not wish for future potioneers to dedicate their lives to replicate what could be a failure. If anything I may have just invented a revolutionary new class of poison - which would be a monumental feat in its own right. Should any dastardly character in the ages to come attempt to repeat my experiment, I hope they blow themselves up in their quest. Ah, I digress again. Forgive me.
I suppose what I mean to say is, whether I succeed or not… I may likely never see you again, my friends. How I miss the days when Hogwarts first opened its doors. We were running up and down the castle I recall, trying to placate parents and fend off monsters all in between teaching our small group of students. But we were so brilliant, the four of us! Dearest Rowena, you were shining when we met and you shine even brighter now. When I first saw you you were standing aloof at our parents' gatherings because as you bluntly put it, the accomplished masters refused to hold a discussion with a child and all the children our age were idiots. After I eventually convinced you that I wasn't as much an idiot as you thought, you finally deigned me worthy enough to grace me with the first of many animated conversations on spellcrafting and betrothals. (Of course, you stopped complaining soon after you've actually met yours as I recall. I once again reserve the right to say "I told you so".)
I remember that in the early days of the school, we used to pile the tables high with scrolls of spell options and charm schemes, then bicker over where the inkwell might be. I didn't realize it then, but those were the best years of my life. It's been my honour to call you friend.
Dearest Helga, have we ever told you that we literally jumped for joy like little children after you told us you would join our project to create the first ever academy of witchcraft and wizardry? Sometimes I still wonder if you had felt like you suddenly found three younger siblings in your care, because as much as I like to pretend otherwise I must admit that's what I must have been to you – a starry-eyed little boy, always looking for trouble. My scrapes simply lasted longer than Godric's. We are the same at heart.
Thank you, for caring for me all those years. I never managed to figure out how one's heart can be so golden that she can be so kind to everyone, no matter what. You are truly extraordinary. I'm glad you have the happy life you've always wanted now. After so much hard work, you certainly deserve it.
And dearest Godric... I know I often say I made a mistake in directing you to my village as you asked instead of letting you wander on. I usually say it after you'd nearly gotten both our heads taken off by yet another dragon/manticore/griffin. But the truth is, Godric, I'd do it a thousand times over again with no regret. You're the first friend I've ever had, Godric, and I would call you brother but even that may not do you justice.
There are a thousand things I want to say but words cannot express how much you mean to me and I really can't imagine what I would've been without you.
Please destroy this letter once you finish with it. I realize I must sound downright pathetic. But it's the truth, and I cannot bury it in my heart forever. You all mean more to me than any person alive, my friends.
Goodbye.
Yours truly,
Salazar Slytherin'