A/N: Thankfully, this one is done a lot quicker than the others! And, alas, 'tis the final one. I really enjoyed writing this one actually, so I hope you'll enjoy reading it too. As ever, reviews are appreciated! Oh, and apologies for my shoddy use of Google translate...

THE LOCKET

The chair was hard and straight-backed but still Salazar's father sat in it every day.

When Salazar was seven, his father had picked him up and sat him in it with no word or explanation. Salazar blinked and fidgeted, his feet dangling off the floor. He clung on the dark wood arms with his slightly chubby fingers.

He looked up at his father who stood opposite him with his arms folded.

"You like my chair?"

Salazar nodded quickly, not wanting to offend him. He wasn't often allowed in his father's study, let alone at his desk and he didn't want to waste this opportunity.

His father gave a rare chuckle. "Then it is yours." He laughed again. "Though not yet, perhaps. When your feet can touch the floor."

Salazar eyed his feet and thought that was an impossibly long time to wait.

"Here." His father placed a large tome in front of him. "This is what I wanted you to see."

Salazar leaned forward and saw pages and pages of names fluttering past his eyes. Then his father stopped on the last page with writing on. His large finger trailed down the page and stopped at a familiar name.

Salazar Slytherin

He leaned in so far he nearly slipped off the chair.

"Your name is important, suge gutxi." Salazar smiled at the nickname his father only used very occasionally. Apparently, his mood was good today. "Your name is not just yours, but mine..."

His finger moved to Zigor Slytherin.

"And your mothers..."

Cecily Ashdown

"And my father before me."

Itzal Slytherin

His father eyed him.

"Do you understand?"

Salazar nodded and wondered if he did.

"Our ancestry is all we are. Without the names before us, ours would never have been written."

Salazar stared as his name on the thick parchment, willing another name to appear beside his. A brother that he could play with - someone to run around the grounds with and pretend they were evil sorcerers or brave knights. Or a younger sister that he could look after - someone he could make laugh with foolish jokes and eat red berries with under the kitchen table where the cook couldn't find them.

But Salazar Slytherin remained alone, the black ink stark against the cream parchment.

"One day, you will write more names in here." His father said, closing the book and placing it back on the shelf. "And your sons after you."

Salazar's mind whirred at the thought; decades - centuries! - of Slytherins living on and on, seeing things he could never dream of and achieving things he couldn't even imagine.

His father picked him up and placed him back on the floor. His hand lingered on Salazar's shoulder.

"Our ancestry is something we must preserve at all costs. You must protect it, Salazar."

Salazar puffed out his chest. "I will father."

"Good." Then his father sat at his desk, in the dark wood chair. "Off with you then, suge gutxi."

Salazar did as he was bid and left his father's study, heading for his own room. He passed his books, his bed and his cauldron - stopping instead by a wooden box on his windowsill.

He rummaged through the wet grass and moss inside and pulled out the tiny grass snake he had found the day before. He cupped it in his small hands, running one careful finger down the snake's back.

"Father says we are the same, you and I. Suge gutxi." He whisper-hissed. "Little snake."

"So...what is it, Salazar?"

Salazar looked up from his goblet to see Godric staring at him across the table. The night was drawing in around them and the Great Hall was empty.

The children had long gone to bed and Rowena and Helga had not been far behind them, leaving the two of them sat in companionable quiet around one of the fires.

"To what are you referring?"

Godric gnawed at the inside of his cheek in irritation. "You know very well what. You've been wearing it all evening, waiting for one of us to ask about it."

The locket glittered around his neck, new and precious. Salazar picked it up and studied it, admiring how the emerald 'S' shimmered in the fire light.

"It is a locket, Godric. A symbol of my family's heritage."

Godric raised an eyebrow. "Heritage? Surely your manor house is that."

Salazar shook his head and stared into the fire. "The manor is naught but stone and timber. This symbolises a far greater treasure."

Godric laughed. "Naught but stone and timber? Many would kill for your manor house, old friend." His eyes fell to the locket again. "So it must hold something very dear indeed."

"It does." Salazar hesitated before removing it from around his neck and handing to to Godric. "Open it."

Godric looked almost wary but, ever curious, he opened the locket and looked inside. Salazar watched with amusement as his face fell in disappointment.

"It's a piece of parchment."

"Yes." Salazar laughed at his friend's slumped shoulders. "What were you expecting? Some priceless gem? A lock of veela hair?"

Godric smiled then. "Something more thrilling than a piece of parchment, to be sure."

"Take it out."

Godric placed the locket on his knee, carefully removed the parchment and unfolded it. He smoothed it flat on his leg and stared at it.

"It is your ancestry?"

"As far back as the family records go."

He watched as his name appeared on the parchment and then slid off to be replaced by names centuries past, then his grandfather, then his father, then his name again…

"It is in a constant cycle?" Godric asked, his eyes following Salazar's name off the parchment again.

"It is."

Godric whistled. "An impressive charm, Salazar. You must teach me." He refolded the parchment, placed it back into the locket and snapped it shut. "And this is good craftsmanship. Emeralds?"

"Yes."

Godric hummed before passing it back to Salazar.

"A fine locket, Salazar. But I am less convinced about the contents."

He took another drink of his wine. "You would not understand, Godric. Your heraldry - "

"Is just as noble as yours."

"Indeed." Salazar pondered his answer carefully, so as not to antagonise the lion. "However, your ancestry has not been carefully documented, nor carefully protected - "

Godric gave a loud huff. "If this is going where I think it is - "

"All of my family have pure magic in their blood, Godric. You cannot deny it."

Godric laughed. "No I cannot, nor do I have any desire to. But I fail to see why that is such an important fact."

Salazar narrowed his eyes. "I swore to my father I would protect my ancestry."

Godric fell silent for a moment, staring into the fire with a clenched jaw. "Is that what he meant? Keeping your blood 'pure'?"

In truth, Salazar didn't know. He suspected he may have, but he also knew there was a possibility that he was merely instructing him to protect the records.

But every person in that book was a pure blood witch or wizard. Under every name, it was stated with clear pride. Salazar could not ignore that. And nor would he be the first person to sully that book with any of those 'Magbobs' that Godric welcomed with open arms.

He didn't give Godric an answer.

Instead, he curtly bade him goodnight and stalked out of the hall and down the stone steps to his chambers, his mood soured by their disagreement.

If only one of them understood. Then he would not feel quite so alone.

The locket hung heavy around his neck.

With each step over the uneven ground, it hit his chest with a dull thump. He hadn't noticed it before. But previously when he had been adventuring, Godric had been by his side, distracting him with exaggerated tales and amusing jests.

Salazar stopped and watched his breath fog the air in front of him.

There was nothing for miles behind him, he wagered. Nothing but soft white ground and green-black trees. He was uncertain if that soothed him or terrified him.

'If they were here...'

No.

It was too late for that now, and no use thinking on them when they were so far behind him. And there was a comfortable inn not far ahead; he remembered it from several years ago when he and Godric had set off from the school one summer with no maps and no set destination.

So he pushed on through the snow, willing himself concentrate on the work he could do away from Hogwarts and not on the friends he had left behind.

He had almost make it through a particularly tough thicket of conifer trees when he stopped abruptly again.

Somewhere to his right, there was a snake.

He hesitated before crunching through the snow towards it. It was unusual to find a snake this far north, especially in this cold winter. He pushed a layer of snow aside, grateful for his leather gloves, and found the snake writhing on a large patch of wet moss. He bent down and picked it up.

"Come with me, natrix."

It didn't protest as he carefully placed the snake in his pocket, where it curled up.

Satisfied it was rescued, he resumed his path through the trees. His hand went instinctively to the locket around his neck. And for the first time in days, he was glad to have left Hogwarts.

He smiled as he saw the blinking torchlight of the inn through the thinning trees. He thought of the parchment inside the locket, thought of his father's straight-backed chair.

The snake coiled tighter in his pocket.

Onward, suge gutxi.