“Oh.”

He was repeating himself, a clear DESPERATION that Salazar was aware of in the younger male’s voice. Even with the appearance of the wand, the founder did not waiver, did not back down in fear as that emotion had left him long ago. Instead, he drew closer, closing the distance between them before his hand shot out and coiled around the wrist of his descendant in an iron grip that would surely BRUISE. But he made no move to get rid of the wand, instead lifting his arm to point the magical weapon straight at himself. DEATH was something that could no longer touch him, even the Killing Curse having little effect on him as many had tried.  ❝  You draw your wand, you had best be prepared to USE IT or put it back away, boy. I’ve no need for silly stick waving in order to use my powers as you are bound to.  ❞  he growled, a warning to the other to back down. As if he would be the first, as if he would ever be the first in anything.

❝  A little LORD, are you? Tell me, what lands do you possess? Who was it that gave you such a title? For there is nothing more PATHETIC than someone giving an honorific that must be earned first.  ❞   He was mocking him, taunting him for an answer he already knew. Salazar had come from a noble family, something he had thrown away and left behind in his youth. And as if he needed to be reminded at the filth his own line had come to. Hundreds of years ago, it had been a secret within the Slytherin family that he was still alive. The man would even visit his relatives from time to time but that had stopped long ago. Salazar had thrown them aside in DISGUST at their actions and had simply faded away back into the shadows, a silent abandonment on those that might claim his name and an ultimate DISOWNING of future generations. How far they had fallen. 

But it was the mention of the Peverells that earned an actual LAUGH from the man. Lips splitting into a grin, the sound cutting through the magic in the air and enough for it to calm ever so slightly. The silly little tale of three brothers, two of which were so idiotically stupid that it led to their own DEMISE! Tampering with things they could not yet wield and thinking so highly of themselves.  ❝  Once again, you cling to a FAMILY name rather than your own! Here’s a lesson in history for you: those Peverells didn’t come until long after I did. These ‘masters of death’ led to their own deaths save for one and were merely fools.   ❞  Pathetic in all ways, both them and this Tom.  

 ❝  While you cling to your foolish titles, tell me this: When people speak of Slytherin, do they imagine my father or my ancestors? Or do they think of ME? I did not claim anything under him, I threw away my own noble title, and I made something for MYSELF. I help to found the school, I taught many minds and helped to morph magic into what it is today. I was the one to find IMMORTALITY. You may not have asked to have been born but had I not discovered it, you certainly would not exist nor would the rest of my descendants.  ❞  

HIS BREATH HITCHES AS SLYTHERIN GRABS HIS WRIST AND PRESSES YEW WAND TO HIS CHEST. A MOCKERY. he was being mocked, lord voldemort was being mocked. the tears bubble but do not fall as green eyes glare up at the man. europe FEARED voldemort, he was KNOWN. yet he was called a simple brat, a boy by the man whom he dedicated his ideals to. ideals that he was so ADAMANT to be known. 

“does it matter? magic rules these lands more than the people.” he hisses, parselmouth aching on his tongue. “they call me a god, i am worshipped by people who follow my ideals, my views...my own world.” 

PEOPLE WOULD COWER IN FEAR. PROPHECIES WOULD BE MADE ABOUT HIM AND THE BOY WHO LIVED. and yet, it didn’t matter to salazar slytherin. he clings to a family who wouldn’t want him, no one wanted him. he didn’t want to be a riddle, he didn’t want to be a gaunt. he DREAMED of this moment, to meet the man who changed his life. AND THREW IT INTO THE RINGS OF HELL. 

Oh, how easily history had become muddled. His own descendants assuming his intentions, never stopping to perhaps THINK about what his goals for his actions had been. His nose twitched in anger, a hint of a scowl forming before quickly disappearing and a glimpse at the ICEBERG just below.  ❝  Mudblood, these generations come up with only the most idiotic of names. Of course I didn’t put it there to attack the Muggleborns!  ❞  He had meant it for himself or his heirs, had intended for his departure to be a BRIEF one and to return shortly to see his plan come to fruition. But he didn’t have a child for well over a hundred years, the anger fading in that time.  ❝  The serpent was meant for the bloody FOUNDERS as revenge. You truly think I would waste my beloved pet on Muggleborns that I could have been rid of myself? It would have been far too EASY. You wasted her, you never even had a chance to fulfill my plans.  ❞  Born too late, born too damned WEAK.

All this yelling, this tantrum, as if he were OWED anything in life. It was digging under his skin, that anger rising to the surface. One hand had moved to grip the arm of the seat, clutching so tightly that knuckles turned a starch white. He had had enough of this little brat. Salazar quickly rose to his feet, his tall frame reaching it’s full height and that RAGE he carried within him etched into every feature on his face.  ❝  You are a CHILD!  ❞  he finally bellowed, his voice echoing around them and his magic circling in the air around them, just waiting to be UNLEASHED upon the world. ❝  You have shown no great deed in your own name, instead clinging to my OWN LEGACY! My son fought battles in his own name and I honored him long after he was in my past! He was my heir! My grandchildren were my heirs! You are nothing but a cheap imitation of the true Slytherin bloodline! So bite your tongue or I will cut it off for you! ❞  

There it was, the Salazar from the tales that still lingered. The room darkening on its own, as if his own darkness was enough to snuff out any sort of light in such a world. He wanted to mock him for choosing a life in shadows, to act as though he were any GREATER? Then Salazar would allow him a faintest glimpse of the man known in history, a man that had gone on a RAMPAGE after he left Hogwarts, who nearly killed his own best friend and had seeped himself in the darkest magic. 

TOM’S WORLD WAS SHATTERING AROUND HIM. HE HAD THOUGHT SLYTHERIN WOULD BE LIKE HIM, THEY WERE RELATED AFTER ALL. HE WAS MEANT FOR GREATNESS. 

“SHE WAS IN THERE ROTTING!” he screams back, “I DID NOT KILL HER. THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE DID!” voldemort knew his days are numbered and he was desperate, desperate to have someone ( please someone be proud of him. ) 

tom stumbles back as he watches the man stand, the roar of his yell giving the halfblood dark lord a SHIVER DOWN HIS SPINE. the magic was more than he could take it, making his chest ACHE and WHEEZE. this was true power, this was what he wanted. WHAT HE DESERVED. but he was an angry boy, a boy full of HATRED. a man who never felt love, never had anyone but a simple cobra as a friend. to be told by the man who he wished was his father...that he was too dark. ( tom you are going deeper into darker magic. i cannot trust you. ) dumbledore would rue the day he said that to him. EVERYONE WOULD. 

An  complain  like  another  ;  as  thousands  he  might  have  done  before.  Only  difference  maybe  compared  to  circumstances  when  he  told  them  before  —  he  was  one  hundred  percent  done  about  everything  who  was  going  on  about  him  …  and  was  sadly  more  inclined  to  jumping  over  offered  opportunities  …  stopped  maintly  by  sensation  to  relegated  things.  Been  saved  by  others  hands.  Been  helped  by  people,  always,  without  doing  something  himself  …  He  was  also  tired  of  it.  To  feeling  as  much  useless  to  settled  down  his  own  problems  …  An  discomfort  appearead  in  front  of  reassurance  within  ‘as  intended’.  How  he  was  supposed  to  take  to  becoming  a  broken  boy  having  a  volcano  inside  of  him  of  hatred  as  positive  ?  Uncomfortable  with  sensation  into  his  hair  but  unable  to  back  away  at  the  moment,  considering  affection  was  something  he  craved  for,  he  almost  confirmed  that  question.  Before  consciousness  recalled  him  having  blood  of  his  hands  …  would  inscrease  his  guilt.  Would  inscrease  all  the  blood  he  indirectly  created  by  his  presence.    ❝  Teach  them  a  lesson.  ❞  Words  were  faltering.    ❝  What  do  you  mean,  'as  intended’  like  it’s  normal  ?    ❞