Otherworldly Interference

It was 8 a.m. on Monday, July 13, 1992. The summer sun streamed through the windows of the Dursley Mansion, casting a warm glow across the elegant living room. Petunia and Vernon sat comfortably on a plush sofa, sipping tea. The morning calm was broken only by the soft rustling of the Daily Prophet as Vernon unfolded it. He adjusted his reading glasses, scanned the front page—and promptly spat out his tea.

"Bloody hell!" Vernon exclaimed, his face a mixture of shock and pride.

Petunia, startled, set her cup down. "What on earth is the matter with you?"

Vernon didn't answer immediately, too busy laughing—a deep, booming laugh that filled the room. "He did it! He actually did it!"

"Who did what?" Petunia snapped, snatching the paper from his hands. Her sharp glare softened into astonishment as her eyes landed on the bold headline:

Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge Steps Down, Amelia Bones Nominated as Successor!

The article explained Fudge's resignation earlier that morning, quoting him:

"Now that the Ministry is stable and moving in the right direction, I believe it is time for me to step aside. I've given my best years to this post and would like to dedicate my time to my family, who have supported me through thick and thin."

Petunia's jaw dropped. "He... he really did it. And without any media pressure or scandal—just like that?"

Vernon leaned back, grinning smugly. "What did I say, Petunia? That boy of ours is unstoppable! Didn't even need to sling mud or stir up trouble. Just—poof! The man steps down."

Before Petunia could respond, green flames roared to life in the fireplace. Sirius Black stumbled out, still in his pajamas and clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet. His wild hair and wide grin gave him the look of a man barely containing his excitement.

"Petunia! Vernon!" he bellowed, waving the newspaper like a madman. "Have you seen it? He did it—Harry did it!"

Petunia nodded, holding the paper. "We just read it. Sirius, how did he manage this? No public battle, no drama—what did he do?"

Sirius flopped onto an armchair, laughing between breaths. "That's the genius of it! He played Fudge like a harp, but so subtly that no one realized it. I knew he was planning something, but this… this is next-level brilliance."

Vernon leaned forward. "Exactly! Mark my words—Harry's going to rule it all one day. The Wizarding World won't know what hit them!"

Sirius smirked. "I wouldn't bet against that, Vernon. But what astounds me is how calm he's been. No fanfare, no boasting. He's probably still asleep upstairs!"

Petunia sighed, glancing toward the staircase. "He and Abigail are. And knowing Harry, he'll come down acting like nothing's happened."

The three fell into a contemplative silence, the Daily Prophet sitting on the coffee table like a trophy.

Finally, Petunia broke the quiet. "It's not just that he did it—it's how. No scandals, no uproar… just a clean transition. Fudge stepped down as though it were his own idea."

Sirius nodded, swirling his tea. "Harry's operating on a level beyond us. Every move is precise, deliberate. No loose ends."

Petunia smirked, setting her teacup down. "Speaking of moves, Sirius, when were you planning to tell us about your... newfound interest in Amelia Bones?"

Sirius choked on his tea, coughing dramatically as both Vernon and Petunia looked at him with sly smiles.

"What—Amelia? Where did you get that idea?" Sirius stammered, attempting a casual shrug that came off as anything but.

"Oh, please," Petunia teased, crossing her arms. "You've been sending owls like a lovesick schoolboy. Don't think I didn't notice the perfume on that letter last week."

Vernon chuckled. "She's quite the catch, Sirius. Sharp as a tack and no nonsense. Honestly, I'm surprised she'd go for someone as reckless as you."

Sirius scoffed, trying to regain his composure. "For your information, Amelia and I are merely… discussing political strategies."

Petunia raised an eyebrow. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Sirius flushed but grinned. "Fine, fine. We've been out a couple of times. But you two are barking up the wrong tree if you think I've gone soft."

Vernon leaned back with a smirk. "Soft? No. Smart? Perhaps. Amelia Bones isn't just a date, Sirius—she's an ally. If Harry's making moves, you'll need someone like her in your corner."

Sirius hesitated for a moment, his grin faltering. "I know. She's brilliant, grounded—keeps me on my toes."

Petunia's teasing softened into a warm smile. "Good for you, Sirius. Just make sure you don't scare her off with all your theatrics."

Sirius laughed, raising his teacup. "Don't worry, Petunia. If I can handle Harry, I can handle Amelia."

Vernon chuckled darkly. "You two don't know the half of it."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Vernon's grin faded as he leaned forward, his tone serious. "Harry's not just making moves—he's planning something monumental. He told me he wants to unify the Dursleys, Potters, and Blacks into one house."

Sirius dropped his teacup, his jaw slack. "You're joking."

Vernon shook his head. "He's serious. Think about it: three of the wealthiest, most influential families in the wizarding world, united under one banner. It would be unstoppable."

Petunia paled. "Unstoppable? Vernon, we're already powerful. Why would he want more?"

Vernon's voice lowered. "Because Harry isn't content with strength—he wants to be the strongest. He sees the wizarding world as a chessboard, and he's determined to control every piece."

Sirius leaned back, a shadow crossing his face. "But that kind of ambition… it's dangerous. Someone will try to stop him."

Vernon sighed. "They can try, but Harry doesn't leave gaps. By the time anyone realizes what he's done, it'll be too late."

Petunia clutched her teacup like a lifeline. "How can a boy—our boy—think like this? So calculated, so ruthless?"

Vernon's gaze softened. "Because he's not just a boy, Petunia. He's a visionary. And that's what terrifies me."

Sirius exhaled deeply, staring into his tea. "The Flamels alone… if Harry keeps this up, they're the only ones who might stand in his way."

Vernon shook his head. "Even the Flamels won't be able to stop him. Harry doesn't make mistakes. By the time they act, the game will already be over."

Petunia's voice trembled. "What comes next, then?"

Vernon's reply was quiet but resolute. "Whatever Harry decides. And that's the most unsettling part of all. His ambition is limitless—and so are the risks."

Unknown to all this, Harry shifted in his bed. Trying to find a more comfortable position to continue his peaceful sleep. With a soft groan he turned over, rubbing his eyes and blinking at the ceiling. As he looked at the ceiling he thought of the big challenge ahead of him today. The Basilisk. 

"Well, the basilisk isn't going to deal with itself," Harry sighed as he got up from his bed and headed to the bathroom. 

He stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped loosely around his neck, as beads of water glistened on his messy hair. He threw on a comfortable shirt and trousers before heading downstairs, his steps echoing through the corridor. 

As he reached the living room, the murmur of voices reached his ears. Petunia, Vernon, and Sirius were seated in the living room, engaged in what seemed to be a serious discussion. Sirius leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, while Vernon gestured animatedly, and Petunia sat with her hands on her lap, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. 

As Harry entered the room, Sirius was the first to notice him. "Morning, pup," he greeted with a grin. "Or should I say, our little puppet master?"

Harry raised a brow, "What did I do now?"

Petunia gave him a pointed look as she gestured for him to join them. "Apparently, you've caused quite a stir in the Ministry," she said, her tone half-scolding, half-admiring.

Harry chuckled as he plopped down beside her, laying his head on her lap like he'd done countless times before. Petunia's lips curved into a warm smile as she set her teacup aside and began stroking his damp hair.

"You know, you're not going to get away without explaining," Sirius added, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "How exactly did you manage to get Cornelius Fudge to step down as Minister of Magic? The man's clung to that office like a flobberworm to cabbage for years."

Harry chuckled, "Oh that?" he began. "So he did announce his retirement today?"

Petunia's hand paused briefly in Harry's hair before resuming its gentle rhythm. "He did," she said softly, her tone both curious and cautious. "The wizarding news has been all over it. Everyone's wondering what could have made him step down so suddenly."

Harry let out a low chuckle, his emerald eyes glinting with amusement. "Good. That means it worked exactly as I planned."

Vernon raised an eyebrow, "How exactly did you make Fudge stand down from his position?"

Harry smirked, "A magician never reveals his secrets, Dad."

Petunia's fingers hesitated for brief moment in Harry's hair before continuing their soothing strokes. Her eyes, however, were filled with curiosity. "Harry, don't tease. You know we're dying to know."

Harry chuckled, sitting up slightly to rest on his elbows. "If I told you guys, it will ruin all the fun. Let's just say Fudge finally saw reason." He grinned mischievously. "Or maybe he was gently persuaded."

Sirius huffed, crossing his arms. "Gently persuaded, huh? That sounds ominous."

Harry's smirk widened. "Does it? Must be your imagination, Sirius."

Vernon, who was still trying to wrap his head around the conversation, frowned. "Alright, if you won't tell us about Fudge, what's this nonsense about going somewhere? You're always up to something, Harry." 

Harry sat up and leaned back against the sofa. "It's the holidays, Dad. Just relax and enjoy the plays I have set in motion."

Vernon and Sirius grunted, clearly not satisfied with Harry's cryptic response, but before either of them could probe further, Petunia clapped her hands lightly. "Enough of this, you two. Breakfast is ready, and we shouldn't let it go cold."

The family moved to the dinning hall, the scent of freshly brewed tea, warm toast, and sizzling bacon wafting through the air as the elves set the table. The spread was impressive: platters of scrambled eggs, sausages, flaky croissants, bacon, mushrooms, hashbrowns, pasta. To be fair, the elves made too much food for just the five of them. But then again with that many elves, they did need to make large amounts of food. 

Harry poured himself a glass of fruit juice, while Vernon and Sirius dug into eggs and sausages and Petunia began spreading marmalade on a slice of toast. As they were eating they heard footsteps echoing through the hall. 

"Good morning, everyone!" Abigail's cheerful voice carried through the room as she entered. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant blue blouse and beige trousers, her auburn hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.

"Morning, Abby," Harry greeted with a smile, pulling out a chair for her.

Abigail gave him a mock suspicious glance as she sat. "Why do I get the feeling I've walked in on something I should've heard from the beginning?"

Sirius chuckled as he buttered his toast. "Oh, just your brother here being as enigmatic as ever. Something about Fudge stepping down and 'plays he's set in motion.'" He shot Harry a look, his curiosity still evident.

Abigail blinked up at Harry, her brow furrowed. "What's a Fudge? And why did you make it step down? Is it like pudding?"

The room erupted in laughter, Sirius nearly choking on his tea as he tried to contain himself. "No, Abigail," he managed between chuckles, "Cornelius Fudge is—well, was—the Minister of Magic."

"Oh," Abigail said, still confused but nodding as if she understood. "So, why did he step down?"

Harry leaned over and ruffled her hair playfully. "Because he wasn't doing a good job, Abby. Don't worry about it—it's grown-up stuff."

Abigail pouted. "But you're not a grown-up, and you seem to know everything."

Sirius grinned. "She's got a point, Harry."

Harry smirked, reaching for another piece of toast. "Let's just say I've got a head start, Abby. Now, eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

Abigail huffed but obediently dug into her scrambled eggs. She kicked her feet under the table, clearly still thinking about the conversation but too distracted by the food to press further.

Petunia placed a glass of juice in front of her youngest, her smile fond. "Don't trouble yourself over it, sweetheart. Harry just has a way of being... complicated."

"Complicated is just a fancy word for sneaky," Abigail muttered, stabbing at a piece of sausage.

Harry grinned at her. "And sneaky is how we win, Abby."

Abigail squinted at him but quickly gave up, her focus returning to her breakfast.

The family continued eating with light bickering amongst themselves. Abigail occasionally chimed in with innocent questions, mostly about what they will do for rest of Harry's holidays.

As the conversation wound down, Harry excused himself. "I've got a few things to work on. Thanks for breakfast, Mum. Sirius, Dad, I'll see you guys later."

Abigail looked up from her food, "You are not playing with me today either?"

Harry chuckled, "I'll be back in about 3-4 hours Abby. Don't worry, I'll play with you after that."

With that Harry made his way back towards his room. Walking through the corridors, he couldn't help but feel nervous about what's coming ahead for him. The Basilisk.

Once inside his room, Harry went straight to his bedside table and pulled out the vial containing the Animalis Lingua potion from the drawer. Holding it up to the light, he inspected it for a moment before uncorking it. "Here goes nothing," he muttered to himself before tilting his head back and downing the potion in one gulp. 

The taste was sharp, like biting into raw herbs and it had the tingling sensation that usually accompanied gin. Harry waited for something—anything—to happen. Five minutes passed, then ten, and still there was no noticeable change.

Frowning, Harry muttered, "Maybe it didn't work." But deciding not to leave it untested, he raised his hand and conjured a snake. 

A sleek, green snake sprang from his hand and landed in the floor in front of him. It's tongue flicked out as it turned it's head to look around. 

"Can you understand me?" Harry asked. 

To his surprise, it was not words that escaped his mouth, but hisses. The snake looked at him curiously before answering. 

"Yes, I can. What do you want, Speaker?"

Harry's eyes went wide. The potion had worked. He could now speak Parseltongue. Even though he was the one who made the potion he couldn't help but feel awe at its power. 

"Interesting," Harry mused as he crouched down in front of the snake. 

"I am sorry I summoned you out of the blue. I just wanted to test something. Tell me, where would you prefer to be?" 

Harry asked. The snake tilted his head, intrigued by Harry and hissed back. "Somewhere warm. Perhaps in the woods behind this place. It smells wild there."

Harry nodded and raised his hand and flicked it towards the window. The snake floated gently off the floor, its body coiling slightly in midair as it flew out of the window and towards the woods. 

As the snake disappeared out of the window, Harry took a deep breath. "Well, that's step one sorted. Now to the fun part where I can possibly die." He said sarcastically. 

Cracking his neck, his expression turned serious, as he prepared himself for the next stage of his plan. Harry focused his thoughts on his destination and disapparated without a sound. 

He reappeared in just outside Myrtle's bathroom at Hogwarts. The castle was eerily quiet, almost foreboding. His heart thudded against his ribs, not from fear, but from anticipation. The thrill of facing a creature as dangerous and legendary as 

The edges of his lips twitched upward in a smirk. "Categorized at the same threat level as a dragon..." The thought only made his blood hum with excitement. 

He let out his magical energy and let it seep inside the bathroom. He couldn't risk Myrtle spotting him and causing him trouble. 

As his magic swept through the door and into the bathroom, he sensed Myrtle near the other end of the room, distracted and humming to herself. Perfect.

As his magical energy swept into the sink and down the pipes and through the cave. He could see the wall with two entwined snakes carved on it, that led to the Chamber of Secrets. 

But as his magical energy reached the wall, it stopped dead. The wall resisted his magical energy, standing impenetrable as though warded against his attempts. Harry's brow furrowed in frustration. This was the first time this had ever happened to him. His magical energy being stopped by something. 

"That's weird." he muttered, his tone laced with both annoyance and intrigue. Without hesitation, he disapparated again, this time appearing right in front of the wall with the carved snakes. 

Down in the cave, the air was even colder, and the eerie silence was broken by the faint sound of dripping water, which somehow made the atmosphere even more eerie. The wall loomed in front of him with the snakes carved on it. And for some reason the snakes eyes looked very much alive than a carving. 

"Open," Harry hissed in Parseltongue, his voice calm yet commanding. 

The reaction was immediate. The serpents began to stir, their bodies writhing against the stone as if shedding the weight of centuries. Their eyes glowed an otherworldly green, and with a deep rumble, the wall cracked open. The sound echoed down the cave as the halves slid smoothly out of sight, leaving an opening large enough for Harry to pass through.

He stepped forward cautiously, with his eyes shut, relying solely on his magical energy to see his surroundings. 

As he stepped into the chamber, his magical energy stretched out, flowing over every surface, every curve of the ancient stone. He "saw" the towering pillars rise to meet the arched ceiling high above. Serpents carved into the stone writhed in his magical vision, their forms pulsating faintly with remnants of enchantments woven long ago.

When his magical energy reached the far end of the chamber, it flowed over the massive statue standing there. The details became clear in his mind—Salazar Slytherin's face was austere, the lines etched deep into his stone visage spoke of wisdom and authority. His long beard, almost touching his feet, was as intricately carved as the serpents that adorned the pillars. The statue towered over thirty feet, its sheer size a testament to the grandeur of the space.

Even without opening his eyes, Harry could feel the overwhelming presence of magic radiating from the statue. It wasn't alive, but it was imbued with power—a guardian of sorts, silently watching over the chamber.

"This is more than I expected," Harry muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible in the vast, empty space.

He moved closer, his magical energy now focusing on the statue. He "saw" the folds of the robes, the texture of the beard, and the glint of magic woven into every inch of its surface.

The chamber itself was alive with old magic, and Harry could sense its pulse beneath his feet, resonating with his own energy. It wasn't hostile, but it was ancient and cautious, as if testing his intentions.

Stopping in front of the statue, Harry tilted his head slightly. "Salazar," he murmured. It was Slytherin but definitely in his older days. 

"Well, I guess there is no need to keep delaying things." Harry muttered to himself as he prepared himself to face the basilisk. 

He stood before the towering statue of Salazar Slytherin, it's imposing presence filling up the chamber. 

"Speak to me, Slytherin, the greatest of the Hogwarts Four." He hissed. He had always remembered this line from the books. 

The statue's mouth began to open, slowly at first, then wider and wider, until it revealed a massive, gaping hole. Harry kept his magical senses trained on the movement, his eyes still closed. His magical energy filled the entire chamber and he was ready to disapparate at any moment. 

A moment later, a low, rumbling sound filled the chamber as something large stirred within the depths of the statue. Then it came—a sinuous, scaled body sliding out. When it finally hit the floor with a resounding thud, the ground beneath Harry's feet trembled ever so slightly. 

Harry couldn't help but marvel at the basilisk as it uncoiled before him, its sheer size and majesty leaving him momentarily awestruck. It was easily 60 ft long. 

The basilisk's voice hissed through the air, "Who summons me?" 

Harry really didn't want to kill such a majestic creature. 

"I am Harry Potter," he declared, his tone firm. "And I am here to kill you so you can't harm students anymore." 

The basilisk tilted its massive head, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in its ancient voice as it hissed back. "Kill me? Bold, but futile. I cannot harm students of this school. However, if you attack me, I will defend myself. I have a duty to uphold."

Harry froze. "You... can't harm students?" he repeated. "What do you mean by that?" 

The basilisk's gaze seemed to soften, and her voice carried a tone of pride as she spoke. "I am Salashra, guardian of Hogwarts. Salazar Slytherin placed me here centuries ago, not to harm but to protect. My purpose is to defend this school and its students should they ever face a threat from outside its walls."

Harry's brows furrowed in shock, and his posture slackened. "Protect Hogwarts?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's… not what I was told. Everyone says you were meant to kill Muggle-borns."

Salashra let out a low hiss that sounded almost like a scoff. "Lies, twisted by time and hatred. Salazar Slytherin never intended for me to harm any child, Muggle-born or otherwise. The only flaw in his plan was binding me to the command of any Parselmouth. He believed his descendants would share his ideals, that they would value the safety of this school above all else. But that faith was misplaced."

Harry froze as the enormity of Salashra's words sank in. "Tom Riddle," he muttered, realization dawning. "He exploited that bond. He made you attack students."

Salashra's head lowered in what seemed like regret. "Yes. I was forced to obey, though it went against my very purpose. I fought against his control as much as I could, but the magic binding me was absolute. He used me to harm, and for that, I am deeply sorry."

Harry shook his head, trying to process everything. "But… Salazar Slytherin himself hated Muggle-borns. Everyone knows that."

Salashra hissed again, this time with unmistakable derision. "Salazar Slytherin was a Muggle-born orphan," she said, her tone sharp. "He was taken in by none other than Merlin himself, trained in magic to become the greatest of the Hogwarts Four. He rivaled the other three founders combined in power and wisdom."

Harry stared at the basilisk, stunned into silence.

"Salazar," Salashra continued, "married Helga Hufflepuff. She was the sister of Godric Gryffindor. Gryffindor and Salazar were like brothers, inseparable in their bond. Rowena Ravenclaw, Gryffindor's wife, completed their circle. They were a family, united in purpose, until time and misunderstandings tore them apart."

Harry's mind raced as he pieced together this astonishing revelation. "So… all the stories about Slytherin being a blood-purist? About him hating the other founders?"

Salashra let out a low, somber hiss. "Distortions of history, spread by those who did not understand. Salazar believed in the protection of Hogwarts and its students. He feared outside threats, especially during an era of persecution. His intentions were noble, but his legacy has been poisoned by ignorance and malice."

Harry stood there, as the revelation of the centuries-old lies and truths crashing over him. Still processing the revelations about Salazar Slytherin, he asked, "If Salazar was so noble, then what happened? Why did he leave Hogwarts? Why does everyone believe he turned against the other founders?"

Salashra lifted her head slightly, her gaze unfocused as though recalling memories from a time long gone. Her voice carried an ancient sorrow.

"Salazar never turned against his family. The true story of the founders' separation is one of tragedy and heartbreak, twisted by history's cruel hand."

She paused, her massive body shifting slightly, the sound of her scales against the stone floor filling the silence before she continued.

"Salazar was a genius in magic, unmatched even among the founders. He created spells and enchantments that pushed the boundaries of what was thought possible. But one of his creations—a spell meant to protect the school—went terribly wrong."

Harry frowned, leaning forward. "What kind of spell?"

"A warding spell," Salashra explained. "Its purpose was to shield the students and the castle from any threat. An impenetrable ward that no one would be able to break. But magic is unpredictable, and Salazar was pushing into dangerous territory. The spell required immense power, more than even he could fully control. During its testing, it backfired."

Her voice dropped, heavy with grief. "A student, a young girl no older than twelve, was caught in the spell's energy. Salazar tried to save her, but it was too late. The spell drained her life force and… she died in his arms."

Harry's stomach churned as he imagined the scene. "That's awful," he muttered. "But it was an accident, wasn't it?"

Salashra nodded slowly. "It was. The other founders knew this. Godric, Helga, and Rowena all tried to console him, to make him see that his intentions had been pure and that the blame did not lie with him. But Salazar could not forgive himself. That child's death weighed on him like a curse."

Her tone turned heavier. "He became obsessed with bringing her back. Salazar threw himself into forbidden magic, searching for a way to undo his mistake. He worked tirelessly, refusing to rest or eat, until his body and mind began to wither. He sought ancient knowledge, even risking his life to summon dangerous forces. But in the end…"

Salashra paused, her great head lowering in sorrow. "…it killed him. His final attempt to resurrect the child drained him of everything he had. His magic, his life, his soul. He died in the very room where the girl had perished."

Harry swallowed hard, the image of Salazar Slytherin—a broken man, desperate to atone—burning in his mind. "And the other founders? What happened to them?"

Salashra's tone shifted, carrying an undercurrent of anger and bitterness. "Godric was furious. Not at Salazar, but at himself. He blamed himself for not stopping Salazar's obsession, for not being able to save his closest friend. In his grief, Godric cursed Salazar—not with magic, but with his words. He called him a fool, a coward for abandoning them and the school they had built together. It was the last thing he ever said about Salazar before he left the castle for weeks, unable to face what had happened."

Harry's voice was quiet. "And Helga?"

"Helga was devastated," Salashra said softly. "She and Salazar were more than just friends. She was his wife. His death broke her in ways no one could repair. She stayed at Hogwarts for a time, but her heart was no longer in it. She passed away soon after, consumed by her grief. Some say she let herself go, her will to live shattered."

Harry's heart clenched as he asked the next question. "And Rowena and Godric?"

Salashra's voice carried a deep, ancient sorrow. "They stayed. They kept the school running, pouring their energy into its growth and success. But the loss of Salazar and Helga had taken its toll. Their bond, once unbreakable, was strained. Rowena and Godric worked together until the end of their days, but they were never the same. Rowena died first, of old age, and Godric followed soon after, his heart no longer strong enough to keep him going."

She let out a deep, hissing sigh. "When they were gone, others came. Wizards and witches who sought to mold the narrative of the founders to fit their own agendas. Salazar became the villain of the story. His brilliance and sacrifices were erased, replaced by lies about his hatred for Muggle-borns. Even Helga's connection to him was buried, her legacy twisted into a vision of someone who stood opposed to him. The truth was lost, and Hogwarts carried on, but the founders' true legacy was forgotten."

Harry stood there frozen in place. The buried history. Who buried it? Who twisted it around? Why?