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Chapter Text

The Zouwu was "five-coloured" and resembled a "gigantic elephant-sized cat". It was a monstrously large feline-like beast with a striped body similar to that of a tiger, scraggly lion-like mane, four fangs that curled out of its mouth, long sharp claws, and a disproportionately long, ruffled multicoloured tail. Zouwus were incredibly powerful and fast, capable of travelling 1,000 miles in a day.

- Newt Scamander's "Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them”

August 26, 1991

Water drops on her forehead, followed by another, then another. When Alix takes a deep breath in her sleep, she realizes it wasn't water at all, but drool. A striking violet eye opened and she was welcomed by the sight of her familiar, Mina, her protector. 

The familiar glow of her phoenix-fire eyes and the feline shape of her pupils greets her as the Zouwu stares down at her on her queen bed where she lays. The beast was 2 feet taller, with its long limbs, wild lion-like mane that flowed unnaturally against the still air of the large bedroom. Mina, the Zouwu was breathing raggedly and she moved slowly as if staring down a prey. If it were any other witch, they would have screamed at the sight of the terrifying beast, but Alix was not ordinary — it wasn't to brag, just the truth. 

“I get it, I’ll wake up now” she says but turns away from the beast and curls even further into the heap of pillows behind her. 

Just when she was about to lose consciousness for the second time, she hears a growl behind her, a stomping of the Zouwu’s four destructive long limbs and claws, tearing away at her favorite furred carpets — even that she ignores in favor of sleep. But when she hears the door to her closet open and another growl comes, her eyes drag open in panic. 

“I get it, Mina, I’m awake!” she says, hurriedly scampering off her dearly missed bed. She almost trips against the length of her nightgown but she catches herself and runs to her closet, seeing the double doors wide open. 

Gasping from the sudden action so early in the morning, she stops and catches her breath to find the Zouwu laid on her stomach, her large lion-like head propped up regally as she looks at her and Alix would swear she was smirking. 

“Ugh, you arse!” Alix swears as she finds her patience and walks to another door inside her closet leading to her bathroom. 

“That’s what you get for waking up so late” Mina retaliates, swishing her disproportionately long silk of a tail from across the room and brushing it against the rosy cheeks of the 15-year-old witch.

Alix swats the tail away from her annoyingly. “I can wake up anytime I want, Mina, I still have a week left before my first day of classes” she walks by her familiar who was now busy staring at herself in the vanity mirror, carelessly swishing her flowing maroon tail around the high-ceilings of her walk-in-closet — dangerously close to the large, crystal chandelier hanging at the center. 

The white, carved walls of her closet woke her up now, unlike the soft pink of her bedroom that always makes her want to close her eyes and sleep forever — and she would have if it wasn't for her irritating familiar. When she walks in the bathroom, she sees her reflection immediately staring back at her from the golden-rimmed mirror of her. 

A pair of violet eyes stared back at her and she was distracted for a moment as she turned her face away from the mirror to look at the palladian window from across the pink-walled bathroom, the borders of it were stained with lilac flowers that bloomed around it. But it wasn't the stained flowers that caught her attention — from beyond the window, she sees her father, dressed impeccably in a deep violet robe, his dark hair swept from his face and the family cane held by a black, gloved hand. 

He stood straight, speaking with a bald-headed man who looks to be Cornelius Fudge, the current British Minister For Magic. 

Hm. Must be about the upcoming elections. 

Her father was dressed like he would be attending a dinner party with the Malfoys, who were famously known for extremely extravagant dinner parties, it could only mean that he really didn't like Fudge. 

If she focuses on her hearing, Alix would’ve heard their conversation, soothing the nagging curiosity deep inside her. But, for the sake of good conscience, she refrains from eavesdropping on her father's private conversation. 

She would just have to ask later during lunch.

Alix goes back to her sink, she twists the body of the golden swan open and water rushes down from its open beak. Ignoring the bags under her eyes from the clear lack of sleep, she pulls her sleeves up to her arms before bending down to wash her face with cold water, waking her up once more and with certainty. 

With her eyes closed, she reached for the hanged towel beside the sink, gently tapping her face dry. She feels a trail of water dripping down her right forearm, catching her attention. Her eyes ran down on the large mark that took up the majority of her arm — a black snake with grey eyes coiled around her arm, like a mamba tightening itself on her limb, surrounded by violets, blooming on the empty spaces across her arm, ending just below her elbow. The snake’s unnerving grey eyes stared at her, its sharp head resting against the beating pulse of her wrist. 

A familiar emptiness settled in her chest, the feeling of something missing, something lacking inside her, a dull sense of incompleteness. A feeling she has had but couldn't quite make sense of at first since the mark finally materialized on her mom's 3rd birthday. 

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“Sister?” A soft, high-pitched voice belonging to a child calls out to her. Alix turns, her arm falling limp on her side, the long silken sleeve of her nightgown following the motion. 

“Thea” 

Althea, her beautiful sister, only 11 years of age, was peeking adorably from outside the bath. “Mum called me to wake you up” she says, and when motioned by her elder sister forward, she paces as gracefully as she could with her short limbs. Thea reaches her, the top of her honey-blonde head stopping just until Alix’s chest. 

Her little sister wraps her arms around her waist, the long sleeves of her white, velvet dress-robes hanging loosely. Thea's honey-blonde head rested against her middle. 

“I'm awake, already” she sighs deeply at the thought of her sister being involved in waking her as well. 

“You were asleep for a long time, Mum and Dad were worried” 

Alix rolled her eyes despite herself. “Well, Mina certainly had to make it known” her sharp eyes glances at the wide, wooden, carved door as she glares sharply at the lion-head of her beast familiar. 

“Not my fault, you're the one who kept reading your mating book until early morning” Mina yowls, licking her paws, ignoring the way Alix blushed almost instantly — the 15-year-old covered her little sister’s ears, though it felt as if she was too late for it. 

“Mina! I know you’re a beast and you don’t care for societal rules but in this house, we don’t allow cubs to hear such words!” Alix’s growl was scandalized in response, and she was blushing furiously from embarrassment, glaring heatedly at her familiar. 

“I speak only the truth” 

“What’s mating?” 

Althea’s wide purple-blue eyes were staring widely at her. Alix didn’t even have the chance to argue with her familiar when Thea’s seemingly innocent question popped up. It was almost a shame that she could only glare pointedly at Mina for putting her in an awkward situation. 

“Uh, well, it’s just another word for love and romance — I was just reading a romance book, darling” she tries her best to smile innocently down on Thea who was staring up as if she hung the moon and stars. 

“Oh, okay” when her naive curiosity was sated, Thea let her go. “Come down when you’re finished dressing, Alix, Mum says there’s something you’d like to read on the news” 

With her own curiosity piqued, she nodded, and moved to her closet to find her dress-robes for the day. 

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“SLYTHERIN FOR MINISTER: Lord Thomas Marvolo Slytherin returns to Wizarding Britain to challenge the position of Cornelius Fudge as Minister For Magic”

“Is this gossip or a news article? I can't seem to tell” 

Tom Riddle, now more commonly known as Thomas Slytherin, throws the paper across the dark walnut table of his study he has come to know as his inside the only manor he inherited from the Gaunt side of his lineage. His baritone voice was cold as he spoke, and his deep, brown eyes — almost black, looked up to the person who stood before him from beneath his dark lashes. 

“I apologize, my Lord” 

His assistant shook beneath his piercing, dark, gaze. His hands twisted together before him, and the poor wizard couldn't even meet the gaze of Thomas Slytherin, Lord to The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Slytherin. 

He could feel waves of fear, could almost taste it in the tips of his tongue — like a snake hunting his prey. Yet, he couldn't find it in himself to show even a hint of empathy. Better yet, he could feel no emotion for the blonde man before him. 

Well, other than irritation.

He stood from his office chair, its dark leather creaking from the release of pressure. The sound of it made his assistant squeak like a rat and Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he paces towards the window of his office, just beside the office table, its design was palladian and wide, and the view from it showed a stretch of grasslands and forests and no sign of life anywhere other than the few souls who resides in the Slytherin manor located in the middle of nowhere. 

“...My Lord?” 

“What did I tell you when I agreed to hire you after my return to England?” he asked, enunciating each word carefully.

“Uh – t-that you value competent work the most, my Lord” Tom didn't face him as he heard the answer, he watched the rustle of leaves from beyond the window of the third floor of the manor — they were like a wave from the rows of trees in the forest.

“Hm” Tom turns, he had on a casual white dress shirt, its long loose sleeves unbuttoned. The hem of the shirt was tucked in his black trousers, and a few buttons in his collar were left open, revealing the unmarred skin underneath. In a manner of instinctive movement, he pushed the unbuttoned sleeves of his left forearm to his elbow, followed by the right. Tom sensed his assistant's eyes catching the motion, and noticing the flicker in his eyes that were gone after milliseconds. 

Well, it seems he has more sense than I thought. 

“Do you suppose this –” he tilts his head toward the crumpled newspaper. “ – is competent work?” He asked.

“No, my Lord”

“Get out, and speak with the person who wrote this” his orders were clear and his tone final. His assistant was sensible enough not to give another glance to his visible mark.

When a second passed by and his assistant didn't move from where he stood, Tom gazed at him once more. 

“...To Rita Skeeter, my Lord?” 

It took more than an army of restraint to prevent him from throwing the newspaper at his assistant like a muggle. 

“Rita Skeeter is a gossip-loving witch who shouldn't have been given the liberty to write this article” another glare and his assistant finally got the message. Or perhaps it was the rage in his tone, or the dangerous glint in his dark eyes. 

“Right away, my Lord” his assistant didn't wait to be dismissed. Still, as if he couldn't help himself, he took another glance at his Lord's forearm before he could catch another irk from his employer. 

Back in his days in Hogwarts, that glance would have been followed by the same question.

“Who's your pair?”

Indeed, unlike most marks, his was a lot harder to hide. Covering the entirety of his lean forearm, was a black snake coiled around it, its head resting by the pulse of his wrist and its sharp grey eyes has an unnerving quality to it — like a promise of venom if you get too close. There were violet flowers that covered the spaces where the snake coils, and a few books on The Language of Flowers showed him what it meant.

Modesty.

Faithfulness

Everlasting love.

A promise to always be true.

To a younger him it felt like an oath. Even when all he knew was a locked room, tattered books, clothes too large, and a priest who came during the night and left him with more scars by the day. Even when he didn't know wizard souls were divided, and that his devil-like abilities were due to being an orphaned wizard child, the mark – his mark had always been a pledge, a promise of better days. 

It only became sacred to him after a meeting with Dumbledore, and seeing Hogwarts for the first time, after it was explained to him by a roommate that it was his soulmark, when that wishful thinking turned into something real. 

Something that was finally his.

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Chapter Text

The Hungarian Horntail was a species of dragon native to Hungary, which was considered to be one of the most dangerous dragon breeds, if not the most dangerous. It possessed black scales, a spiked tail, and was lizard-like in appearance.

- Newt Scamander’s “Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them”

Alix peers inside the dining hall, a large room separated from the kitchen, with a rounded high ceiling, stained glass windows that surrounds them, depicting the history of their ancestors — nomads, with white hair and violet eyes, wielding their ancient magic wandlessly and with the same ease it took to breathe. Their jagged shapes were cut with precision and skill, and they moved along with the history written by their descendants. A history of roaming the lands, communicating with beasts and other magic races, honing their craft — controlling magical beasts gone astray, bonding with their own familiars, or simply just existing. Living and breathing the magic sacred to them. 

History told them it was Lady Magic who bestowed such gifts to a small community of nomads with white hair and violet eyes. Albino, to the Muggles, she read. But for history, they were a magical race separated from wizardfolk entirely. Magical beings not created by Lady Magic, yet the power they wield is gifted by Her. And like all history, some facts are harder to decipher than others. Stories become myths, and myths turn into legends. Their ancestors dwindled down in numbers after mingling with wizardfolk, and centuries after centuries passed by until they were reduced to a single family, a lone House of wizardfolk who could speak to any beast, and influence them with the use of their raw magic. 

A diluted version of the power they once had. 

House Clementine. 

“So nice of you to join us in this late afternoon” William gestures at her with an exaggerated look of pleasantness. 

Her father sat in the middle of the round white table, a white cloth laid on top. The table was decorated with care, no doubt the work of the artistic elves that have come to work under their House. There were laces at the hem, styled in ruchings of a horizontal pattern, and candles of all shapes and sizes were placed beautifully across the table – violet candles, to be precise. 

“I was up late reading” And just when she mentioned the word, she noticed the newspaper in his hand. 

Her father, dressed in the same clothes she saw him in earlier, followed the direction of her gaze. 

“Sit, Alix. And maybe I will allow you to read the news” she wanted to roll her eyes at the statement but didn't want to earn a hex from her Dad.

Instead, she kisses him on the cheek, and he leans on her display of affection — hard to come by as they were these days. He brightens at the gesture and nods for her to sit beside him. 

“Chérie! You're finally awake!” Alix turns just before sitting, and sees her mother enter the hall hand-in-hand with her younger sister. She separates for a short while to gather her older daughter in her arms. 

“Maman, sorry for making you worried” Alix relaxes in the warm arms of her mother. 

“Rightfully so! You know sleeping curses are rampant these days” Delphina pulls away and rests her jeweled hands on her shoulders. “We must stay careful, tu comprends, ma chère?” she flashes a smile, her burgundy lipstick dark against the white of her teeth. 

“Je comprends, maman” she nods. 

Her mother was young, the same age as her father. She wore a proper dress-robe, suited for daily wear but not too casual that it was scandalous to be seen in. A deep blue blouse that reflected her eyes. Its bishop sleeves fluttered with her movements and the black mermaid skirt that reached her ankles tucked her shirt, cinching at the waist. 

“You look beautiful, Maman” 

Delphina swats her daughter as she giggles, the sound similar to bells ringing. “Oh, stop” strands of her chocolate hair were pinned up, styled in an intricate low bun. 

A resounding pop echoes in the hall and a house elf wearing a yellow sundress. Belle. “Master and Mistress…” she squeaks, and moves slowly as if afraid. But none of them rushes her.

Belle was an elf they had recently rescued. She used to work for another Noble House, but was treated poorly. Well, using the word ‘poorly’ was sugarcoating it. Belle was abused. She was beaten by the previous House she served, and was kept in the cellar for weeks when she made simple mistakes. Of course, after being rescued from such abysmal circumstances, it was hard for the poor elf to recover mentally from the aftereffects. But, hopefully, with the care and guidance of their other employed house elves, Belle would recover fully with time. 

“A letter h-has arrived from Master's brother” 

Belle slowly gives the sealed letter to William, its wax seal a lilac color. The Master of the House carefully accepts it and smiles warmly at her. She relaxes from the smile and tries to offer her own, but it ends up strangely wonky and stiff. 

“Hm, thank you, dear Belle” William turns the letter and brightens at the elegant cursive of his brother's name, Aelbert. 

“Aelbert has written,” he says. 

Alix glances at the letter as she watches tea refilling in her cup by itself after setting it down. The work of Benjamin, no doubt. 

Once again, her attention was caught by the paper placed beside William's plate. She pulls it from the table and spreads it wide, while her father knifes the envelope open, scrambling to unfold the letter. 

“SLYTHERIN FOR MINISTER: Lord Thomas Marvolo Slytherin returns to Wizarding Britain to challenge the position of Cornelius Fudge as Minister For Magic”

Gasping at the large headline, she scans the page and sees it — him.

Lord Slytherin. 

A black and white photo of a moving person — a wizard. He looked significantly younger than her parents, maybe in his early 20s. His hair was styled, swept to the side away from his face, yet a single strand of a curl betrayed the others, falling against his forehead. He only showed a passing glance to the camera, as if he was pacing quickly to some destination and he couldn't be bothered to be delayed. Still, his side profile showed sharpness, his jaw tight, and his nose almost Roman in shape. His eyes weren't captured clearly, but Alix feels it would have been as dark as his hair. 

The cloak he wore covered his body, and he stood tall, taller than the blonde man next to him. 

My dearest readers, it is of utmost importance that I bring you this news today. After almost a century of no notable achievements and a lost family fortune, The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Slytherin finally returns to the political scene of Great Wizarding Britain. 

It came to my attention, from a trusted source, that Thomas Slytherin, former prodigy of Hogwarts School of Magic and Wizardry, and the top scorer – none other than perfect marks in all subjects during the 1985 Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests or NEWTs, has returned to Britain to reclaim his birthright. 

More importantly, the enigmatic and mysterious Lord Slytherin currently sets his eyes on none other than the position of Minister for Magic. My source also tells me that Lord Slytherin fully intends to run a campaign for the upcoming 1992 Ministerial elections, going against Lord Rufus Scrimgeour, of the Most Noble House of Scrimgeour, and Cornelius Fudge, of the Noble House of Fudge, and the current Minister for Magic. 

My dearest readers, are you anticipating this political battle? And who, among our contenders, will you be voting for?

Subscribe to the next edition of The Daily Prophet, where we shall cover an exclusive interview with our youngest candidate — the intriguing, Lord Thomas Slytherin. 

She turned to see more, but only realized there was none. Disappointed by the lack of more information, she sets the paper back down. 

Written by Rita Skeeter, head journalist of The Daily Prophet. It says just below the headline. 

There was no use in believing every single thing Rita Skeeter wrote. Everyone who had sense knew she liked to gossip — her next favorite pastime second only to eavesdropping in private conversations, and using the information she gathered to destroy the people who threatened her career. 

“ –says he plans to come home, to be here during Alice's anniversary” Alix’s attention was caught by the words her father uttered. 

“Uncle Aelbert is coming home?” 

Aelbert is the youngest of the Clementine siblings. And William's only living one. His younger twin. It was only a handful of times that Alix met her father's younger twin — Aelbert was a wizard who prefers his own company, and well, the company of his familiar, a Jarvey with a colourful vocabulary. 

“He is planning, yes, and I do hope so” her father's eyes turned wistful, a little glassy. 

“I do miss him, it'd be very nice to have him here–” he refolded the letter and returned it inside the envelope. 

But he prefers his freedom, is what her father probably wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to say it. 

Unlike her father, who became elusive, afraid, and protective — with good reason — after what had happened to the rest of his siblings, her uncle Aelbert craved freedom even more. Maybe it was a response mechanism to the early deaths of their younger brother, Waren, and the youngest of the family, their only sister, Alice. 

Sensing her father's silence, Alix glances around the dining hall, and sees her mother sipping silently from her cup — Thea was now gone, she noticed. Most probably her younger sister was off riding her familiar, Eryl around the manor for some light exercise in the afternoon.

“Dad, what did you speak about with Lord Fudge?” she changes the subject with subtlety, though Alix knew her father would be grateful for it. 

William smiles. “The old fart wanted my support in his campaign” he chuckles as if he just heard a funny joke. 

“Well, what did you say?” Alix asked. 

“My Heir, let me test you this afternoon” William’s mood shifted, and she knows to straighten her back, keep her chin forward, and meet her father's lilac eyes without question. 

My Heir. An endearment William only calls her when he needs Heir Clementine in front of him and not just Alix. 

“Yes, father” she nods, her violet eyes meeting his lilac ones. A clash of striking violet eyes from father to daughter, from Lord to Heir. 

“Out of the three candidates that ran for the position of Minister, which would you choose?” He placed a bare hand on her shoulder. “I'll allow you to gather your thoughts for a moment” he says. 

She takes the moment to think. 

Cornelius Fudge was too old, and became Minister far too many times than would have been possible. He lacks ambition and resolve, Alix thinks there was no fight left in him. Yet, it is a problem — Fudge lacks ambition but likes power and control. And to add to his list of issues, there were rumors that he was pocketing a lot of budget originally for the Ministry. 

Not him, no. 

Meanwhile, Rufus Scrimgeour might be at the right age. However, Alix noticed him to be too passive, a wizard that others might easily manipulate. A pushover, basically. And he drinks too much, gambles too much, who's to say he won't gamble the Ministry funds away? Still, he has an upright moral values, and cared about wizardfolk, and he was a former Head Auror in the Ministry. 

Maybe. 

Finally, Thomas Slytherin. Too young. And too mysterious for someone running for the highest position in the Ministry. To little known about his background, other than the well-known fact that he seems to be the only living descendant of Salazar Slytherin, and by extension, a descendant of the Gaunts, one of The Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses in Wizarding Britain, a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. 

But, if Alix disregards his age and his clear lack of experience in politics, Thomas Slytherin was a candidate not to be ignored. If Skeeter's article was true, then Lord Slytherin must be a genius. The top scorer. The last time someone was able to perfect NEWTs was, well, never. He seems ambitious, living up to his Slytherin name more than the Gaunts’ ever did in their lifetime. 

Maybe that is why he took the Slytherin name. 

Ambition, certainly. 

Does he have the power to bring change? She doesn't know yet. 

Does he desire to bring a needed change for Wizarding Britain to be Great again? She also doesn't know. 

What is it? Where is it coming from? Why do I feel an instinctive trust in a Lord I have never met or seen yet?

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William clears his throat, ending Alix's train of thoughts. “Well, your answer, Heir Clementine?” 

Alix meets her father's eyes once again, and finds herself soothed by his familiar lilac irises, forgetting the wave of thoughts she had regarding Thomas Slytherin. 

She grins wickedly, flashing her teeth as the final answer formed in her head. 

“I suppose you’d terrify the entirety of Wizarding Britain if you supported the youngest one, Lord Slytherin” she took a sip before continuing, and her father was patient to wait. 

A risky move, one her father favors the most when politics was involved. 

“The Daily Prophet would make wonderful headlines for you, Father” 

William cackled manically. 

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