Rewards

"I bred a Basilisk? Really?" Salazar was positively beaming, and the snake that tended to spent most of its time on her master's lap actually purred. How, Harry and Hermione didn't know. "I'd always meant to give it a try, of course, but running a school took up rather a lot of my time-"

"Probably a good thing, since you meant to use it to kill Muggle-born students," Hermione said, a hint of bitterness and mildly questionable conjugations creeping into her hissing.

Salazar raised one of his large, bushy eyebrows at her. "I'll pretend that was actually a decent attempt at Parseltongue. And I'm pretty sure the history books are exaggerating this."

"It did petrify one of our Muggle-borns," Harry said, to Salazar's visible surprise.

"Hmm..." The Founder depicted in the tapestry looked thoughtful, absentmindedly petting his snake. "That's odd."

"Why?" Harry and Hermione asked together.

"Well..." Salazar hesitated for a moment. "I guess this is what Godric was so moody about in his later years. He used to come here and talk to me a lot, you know. About how he preferred to remember the me that'd been woven into this tapestry to what the real Salazar had become. It was quite insulting, actually, but you know how people can become all kinds of weird when older. Godric wasn't an exception."

"So you didn't mind Muggle-borns?"

Salazar frowned. "I always thought they were a risk - the desire to be active in both worlds at once tended to cause problems. Just look at Merlin. A prodigy and my star student, but he just couldn't help messing with Muggle politics, and the end results weren't pretty."

Hermione blinked. "But Merlin wasn't Muggle-born!"

"Half-blood. Same end result. Looked for more trouble than he could deal with. And as a result of these issues, I tended to prefer students who identified fully with the wizarding world and left Muggles be. If a Muggle-born was capable of that, well, fine with me."

"And yet you built a secret chamber and bred a Basilisk to kill Muggle-borns. I mean, we've seen the Basilisk," Harry said.

"And slain it, yes," Salazar replied testily. "No respect for fellow magical creatures."

"I guess... Salazar - the real Salazar, I mean - got weird with old age, too?" Hermione asked tentatively.

Salazar sighed. "I guess so. It's been a while, you know, and my memory isn't the best. I blame the moths."

Draco Malfoy had had better days.

Finally the school was shaping up - there'd been a good chance it'd be Mudblood-free by the end of the year! -, and he'd been pretty much celebrating this most welcoming turn of events with something like half of Slytherin in their common room. Merlin, he'd had his first taste of firewhisky the night after the muddy Gryffindor had been turned into a marble statue!

It'd been awesome.

And then Potter and his pet mudblood came and solved the problem within twenty-four hours. And helped bringing forth the slaughter of Slytherin's monster - servant, really - while they were at it.

Life just wasn't fair.

He told his fellow Slytherin first-years as much when they were on their way towards History of Magic.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Yes. It's so sad that Hogwarts no longer has a sixty-foot Basilisk prowling its hallways. Imagine. The school could actually be safe."

"The horror," Daphne said wryly.

Draco made a dismissive gesture. "As if it was a threat for us. The heir was after the mudbloods, not us."

"I'm sure a giant Snake can tell the difference," Blaise said, trying in vain to maintain a straight face. "It probably had Theo's grandfather's Pure-blood directory on hand. Lack of hands notwithstanding."

"Great grandfather, actually," Theodore noted absently.

"Whichever."

Draco had a feeling that Blaise wasn't taking his complaints entirely seriously, but was kept from replying immediately by Pansy's own commentary.

"Don't be stupid, Blaise."

Blaise's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Pansy wasn't exactly known for being a prodigy, after all. She didn't seem to notice, though, and continued without much of a pause. "It had the heir to guide it. No danger to real wizards and witches. If anything, it'd protect us."

Blaise looked unconvinced. Draco on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early. "She's right, you know! And – the heir is still around! He may no longer have the Basilisk, but I'm sure he won't stop his quest just because it's gone!" He actually giggled. "And now that Potter and Dumbledore are responsible for killing his servant, maybe he won't mind adding a Half-blood or two to the tally."

Tracey Davis exchanged a look with Daphne Greengrass, who gave her a reassuring squeeze. "I didn't know he was that vicious," Tracey whispered. "I always thought all he had going with Potter was a friendly rivalry of sorts..."

"I guess the shock of Potter discovering the Chamber of Secrets and Dumbledore slaying the Basilisk got to him..."

"If you wouldn't mind," a third voice chimed in, sounding clipped and oddly cold.

The two girls looked around, to where Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley were trying to squeeze past the gaggle of Slytherins to get to their class.

Daphne knew that she wasn't exactly the straight O student her family would've liked her to be - though Tracey's tutoring helped -, but she did pride herself on her social wits. Reading facial expressions was a part of this.

And seeing the look on Susan Bones' face as she walked past her, she couldn't help but be terrified.

Vernon was quietly fuming over his quarterly reports when he heard an owl pecking at his office window. He then proceeded to ignore it for another minute spent quietly fuming, before finally opening it. "All right, all right, here's your treat, show me what you have already!"

He practically threw the letter on his desk, next to the depressing reports and notices from his industry customers that they'd terminate their relationship with Grunnings in x or y months.

Vernon knew perfectly well why they wished to do so. Bloody fucking smarmy wanker McKillian. And quite possibly a poofter as well, judging by the insufferable man's questionable choice of tie colour.

Why couldn't he be a monopolist like the Arab oil sheiks?

His chair creaked noticeably when Vernon allowed himself to fall back down on it before opening his nephew's letter. If nothing else, it'd be a distraction from the mess he was in.

Michael Townsend's forehead hit the desk in front of him. Hard.

"Why..." he asked nobody in particular. "Why me?"

"There, there..." one of his dormmates tried to soothe the visibly distraught – and evidently sleep-deprived – boy. "Come on and get up. These potions fumes aren't good for you. And straighten your tie. You're a Slytherin."

Michael reached for his creased up tie, and stared blankly at it for a moment, unsure of what to do with it.

"Straighten it," his dormmate told him, gently. It wasn't a good idea for Slytherins to enter potions with a less than impeccable uniform.

Michael tugged at it, as if in trance.

"Right, there you go. Now come on, we can't be late."

"Yeah..."

Bloody, fucking Veritaserum. Bloody, fucking stirring patterns. Bloody, fucking jarvey hairs and fairy wings.

"Why... Why would Snape do this to me? In my O.W.L. year...?"

His dormmate declined to answer, quietly guiding his friend towards the dungeons.

"Dudley!"

"Hi, Harry! Hey, why don't you have to wear one of these stupid rings?" Dudley looked pointedly at Harry's hands, which were distinctly ring-free, unlike his own.

Harry smirked. "Wizard. I can see the castle without a charmed ring. But it looks good on you – who is the groom?"

He dodged the blow that followed. Quidditch training really did pay off.

The girls – and Justin – shook their heads. "So you're Harry's cousin?" Susan asked, giving Dudley – the most muscular of them by a sizable margin – an appraising look.

"Yeah. Dudley Dursley," he made a face. "And I definitely didn't choose that name. No idea what mum was thinking."

Susan laughed. "My condolences. Ready for the big day, then?"

"Definitely," Dudley said, spending a moment to show off his rather expensive suit. A year at Smeltings had helped him accepting the notion of suits much more than his ten year old self had, way back when he'd first met Harry and Hermione. "You know, I used to be jealous of Harry and his magic, but after getting the news..." He shuddered. "I think I can do without having to wrestle giant snakes. Order of whatsit – Merlin, right? – or not."

"I didn't wrestle it!"

"Well, I would have!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, maybe with one of my potions... Come on now, you must be starved. How about a trip to the kitchen before the ceremony starts? Oh, and stay away from people with green ties."

Dudley nodded and, after seeing that Justin and Hermione were leaving to use this rare opportunity to see their parents, leaned a little closer to Harry. "Speaking of potions – your strengthening solution is awesome," he whispered. "Coach thought I was great before. Now he loves me."

Harry grinned. "And don't you forget it. Christmas is coming up, you know."

Dudley groaned.

He groaned again and looked mildly sick when he saw the kitchen, the many, many elves, and the basically infinite amount of food they seemed to have ready.

"What's up?" Susan asked, concerned.

"P... Portkey sickness..."

"Oh."

Snape strode through the Great Hall, determinedly avoiding Lucius Malfoy. The man was in a bad mood for pretty obvious reasons, and Snape wasn't sure he could keep himself from cursing Lucius into next week if he sought to use Snape as a convenient means to state his grievances. Like the Basilisk not killing any of the Muggle-born students before being dispatched.

At least McGonagall didn't have to maintain a cover. She could do the cursing without compromising any spying duties, and judging by her reaction to hearing that Lucius Malfoy had blocked Fudge's – which was to say, Dumbledore's – plan to import mature mandrakes from the Mapuche Confederation to revive Dean Thomas, she was almost certain to do so.

It'd taken an hour to fix her office, and that was with magic and with house elves helping.

He wasn't really expecting much, but then his eyes caught a familiar, and rather interesting sight.

"Mr Dursley, wasn't it?"

Vernon turned around, only to look into the dark eyes of a... No, not a stranger. He remembered this man. Diagon Alley. Apothecary...

"It is. And Mr Snape. I remember." He held out his hand. "I didn't know you're a member of Hogwarts' faculty."

A flicker of a smile appeared on Snape's face as he took Vernon's hand. "The resident Potions master. I guess I should've said as much, but I found it rather curious that your son choose not to inform you of my name."

Vernon frowned. He couldn't exactly go and tell this man that his wife despised magic, which rather limited discussion about Harry's teachers at home. "Ah, he's my nephew, actually, and he has always been more interested in results than names."

"A wise choice," Snape acknowledged, successfully hiding his surprise at this newest revelation about Michael Townsend's family. He'd have to adjust his theories. "And certainly befitting his talent and work ethic." Although the boy had seemed a bit beside himself ever since Snape had assigned him an extracurricular project. Granted, Veritaserum wasn't exactly the easiest potion in the book – years when even a single N.E.W.T. level student would be able to brew a passable one were in the minority –, but a genuine prodigy should manage, even as a fifth year.

Snape and Lily had brewed it together in their fourth. Apparently Lily had later used it to learn some details about Petunia's boyfriend at the time, though she'd always refused to share details, her cheeks turning the colour of her hair whenever he'd asked her about it.

For his part, Vernon was beaming. "Ah, good to hear, good to hear..." He seemed momentarily distracted as another Professor walked up to them. "Oh, and I do remember you from last year. Professor Mc...?"

"McGonagall." She gave Vernon Dursley a mere shadow of a smile. Snape scowled. It'd been an interesting enough conversation, considering Mr Dursley's status as a Muggle. Alas, apparently Dumbledore thought it unwise to leave McGonagall alone with Lucius. "It's been a while, Mr Dursley."

"Quite so, quite so. I must say, it is an honour to be here, though of course, given the circumstances-"

"Indeed. So..." McGonagall stood so she could see both men at the same time, and shot Snape an almost predatory grin. Snape wasn't sure why. The last time she'd done that, Gryffindor had won the House Cup. That'd been almost a decade ago.

"...I'm not seeing Petunia. How is she doing?"

McGonagall continued to talk, but Snape no longer listened.

The sky was falling, and he felt a desperate need to sit down.

The Great Hall was occupied by rather more people than usual, parents sitting with their children and applauding politely as the Minister and the school governors took their seats among the faculty. Atop everything, the banners of all four houses hung proudly in the air, waving just a little bit in a wind Flitwick had conjured earlier.

Fudge seemed positively giddy with excitement, though – this being a Hogwarts affair –, it was Dumbledore who spoke first. He spoke of courage, of standing up not just for one's friends, but for everyone, even those you barely knew. About how heroic deeds weren't something found only in legend, but something found in everyone, how even the littlest action made a difference. He spoke of how people were defined by their deeds, not their looks, language, or blood.

Lucius Malfoy visibly tensed when Dumbledore got to that point, and much of the Slytherin table's applause seemed to be rather less than enthusiastic, but by then, it was already time for Dumbledore to yield the dais in favour of one Harry Potter and one Hermione Granger.

Thunderous applause filled the hall.

"Thank you," Harry began, immensely thankful for having had some experience with crowds like this one from the stuffy parties his uncle liked to take him to. "We're standing here, expected to tell you how happy and proud we are to have done this school a service – to help protect it and its students, to have been able to point our teachers in the right direction to deal with Slytherin's monster. However, all of these things are self-explanatory, have already been covered by the Daily Prophet, and I'm pretty sure I saw a most charming picture of Hermione on the cover of Witch Weekly the other day."

Hermione blushed a bit at that. She was quite intimately familiar with the speech they'd – with Professor Flitwick's and Professor Sprout's not inconsiderable help – prepared, but experiencing it live, in front of an almost thousand-strong audience was still something else.

She coughed briefly, and then continued where Harry had left off. "Instead, we wish to bring attention to the man who was, ultimately, responsible for all this. Salazar Slytherin."

Silence reigned, and she pressed on, almost afraid that the Slytherins might pull out their wands. "Many of us remember Salazar Slytherin as almost a Dark Lord, a man consumed by hatred. A man who'd breed a Basilisk for the express student of murdering students."

Hermione glanced at the audience, where a fair few parents were nodding at this, and they didn't look very happy about it. Her own parents included.

"But all too often, we forget that Salazar Slytherin had spent over half a century at Hogwarts, as a brilliant educator, as a martial figure just like Godric Gryffindor, but also as a healer, a calling for which he used his gift of Parseltongue, much like Asclepius did millennia before him, and Paracelsus would centuries later."

"For decades, Salazar Slytherin taught, and taught without hatred," Harry continued when Hermione paused. "And while it'd be difficult to deny that he could have a mean streak on par with Godric Gryffindor's temper, we feel that, with the legacy of the hatred that'd consume him at old age being so close to us now, we should also remember the bright, brilliant Salazar who joined with three other wizards and witches to found Hogwarts and impart his knowledge onto the next generation regardless of their blood, and not just the shell of a man consumed by hatred, who'd break those very same ties late in his life."

"It is easy to assign labels like 'Good' and 'Evil' to people, particularly the dead ones who cannot defend themselves," Hermione once more took up the speech. "But we shouldn't forget that life is not so simple and that the important legacy of Salazar Slytherin is not the folly of a Basilisk, but the brilliance and hard work of a founder who, along with three others, gave us this school."

"With this in mind," Harry finally concluded, "I cannot help but spoil a little surprise that Governor Malfoy has prepared for Dean Thomas' family, for Mr Malfoy – himself a victim of the Dark Lord during the war – informed me earlier than he is taking steps to personally import mature mandrakes from South America to restore Dean at the earliest possible opportunity, upholding the legacy of Salazar Slytherin as a healer, and Slytherin house as a house espousing excellence above all else."

Harry and Hermione both bowed, and once again, thunderous applause filled the hall, interspersed by the Minister's squeaky shouts of "Bravo! Bravo!" and his attempts to alternately shake Harry's and Lucius' hands. Almost hugging them, in fact, though Lucius' cane and just shy of murderous smile did succeed in keeping him - and the gaudily dressed Lockhart, who somehow managed to be a part of every single photograph taken of Harry or the Minister - out of the Governor's personal space.

Barely.

What followed were lots of photos, a most glorious feast, and Dean Thomas' tear- and joyful parents profoundly thanking Lucius Malfoy in front of the press and dozens of cameras.

And, of course, Orders of Merlin (Second Class) for everyone who'd faced the Basilisk.

"That fucking brat!" Lucius cursed that evening, when he'd returned to the Manor, throwing his almost empty glass of Ogden's into the fireplace, where the transparent snakes squealed and slithered over the fragments of the broken glass, terrified of the flames surrounding them.

"Lucius. Language," Narcissa commented much more evenly. "I'd have Draco over my knee for that, and I should hope you'd set a better example for him."

Lucius waved her off. "Draco isn't here. And Potter," he spat the word out as if it'd been the vilest of curses. "Publically embarrassed me. Now I'm forced to help a mudblood recover from petrification. With my money."

"He does seem to have a Slytherin streak, doesn't he?" Narcissa asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. She wasn't exactly keen on spending Malfoy money on helping a lesser creature, either, but she could admit to appreciating Potter's cunning. And courage, come to think of it. She doubted her husband would be willing to forget the matter anytime soon, and Potter had to know that.

"I thought he had potential. Defeating the Dark Lord, being a Parselmouth... But no. He is firmly in their camp. Bloody mudblood spawn."

Narcissa shook her head. She preferred her husband more even-tempered. "'Bloody' isn't a word that should be used in as refined a house and family as ours, either, dear. We aren't the Weasleys."

She also debated the utility of casting a quick Sapo Lingua on her husband, but decided that using it on a grown man was probably inappropriate. Tempted though she was.

She rose from her armchair with a sigh. "Trust me. You'll be able to look much more rationally at the whole affair tomorrow morning. For now..." She smirked. "If you're using filthy language here, you can use it in our private chambers, too, can't you?"

"Petrificus Totalus!" four voices shouted, and three Slytherins' arms and legs suddenly snapped together, followed by them faceplanting on the floor.

"Hello, Draco," a deceptively sweet voice said as his body was turned around, while tongue-tying curses hit his two bodyguards.

Susan Bones had learned a thing or two about being terrifying from her aunt.

A stinging hex hit Draco's inert form. "You know, Draco... I couldn't help overhearing your rant a week ago, about how you wished for mudbloods and their friends to die. I didn't like it very much."

Another stinging hex followed, this one from Harry. Draco could feel it leaving a burning sensation on his left arm. "It wasn't very nice at all. Wishing for people to die. While one of them is already in the hospital wing, no less."

Twin stinging hexes followed. And another one that just left a terrible itch on his thighs. "It was a very bad idea," Harry said.

"Very bad," Susan agreed while applying another stinging hex. "And it made me rather angry."

Another stinging hex, another burning sensation. Stronger now. Draco wondered, with a hint of panic developing, whether he was actually on fire. "So, Draco... What does it feel like, to actually be hurt? Even if it's only stinging hexes, and not a Basilisk stare."

"Does it feel nice?" Harry asked as he knelt down next to the Slytherin. "Maybe you want more?" He'd stolen that line from an instance he remembered in primary school. Dudley hadn't been happy at all when an older kid had made fun of Harry's scar. Of course, 'Older' hadn't been sufficient protection when it came to dealing with Dudley Dursley.

When Draco didn't react – he was still under a full body bind, after all – Harry got up again, and promptly saw two other Slytherins looking at them. Half in shock, he raised his wand... About halfway, until he realised that the two girls didn't even have theirs out.

"Don't worry," one of the two girls – Daphne, he now recalled – said, holding up her hands. "Not our business."

Harry frowned, but Susan gave him a quick nod. "Okay then."

And then they left.

"Are you sure we can trust them to keep their mouths shut?" Harry asked Susan as they made their way towards the Ravenclaw common room. "I mean, House unity and all that..."

"Don't worry. After Draco ran his mouth about mudbloods during the ceremony where Tracey's mum could hear, I doubt either one is particularly inclined to help him."

Harry shrugged. "If you say so."

Justin and Hermione had said very little until that point. "But... Harry, I know you wanted to teach Draco a lesson, but... But this?" Hermione finally asked, still looking slightly green. She looked terrified, and not just because of what she'd helped with. She was terrified of Harry and Susan.

"Hermione," Susan replied before Harry had a chance to. "You don't understand. You only see Draco, the part-time bully. Harry and I, on the other hand..." her voice trailed off.

"Harry and you what?" Hermione almost snapped at her. "You tortured a fellow student! I can't believe I helped you! I should-"

"You were only ever insulted by people like him, Hermione," Susan continued, unfazed. "Harry and I lost our parents because people like him killed them. Dean Thomas was petrified because of people like him. And... Do you know Neville?"

"Yes..." Hermione said, much quieter now.

"His parents are in St Mungo's permanent spell damage ward. Tortured into insanity by people like Draco."

They walked in silence for a minute. "But... Draco isn't a murderer. He isn't-"

Susan held up her hand. "Up until a week ago, I'd have agreed with you. But after overhearing him complaining about how the Basilisk couldn't continue its work, and being so happy he actually giggled when he realised that whoever controls the Basilisk is still around to continue the 'Cleansing'..."

"Dean survived only through sheer luck," Harry said quietly. "Draco knows this. And he is only sad that Dean was this lucky in the first place, Hermione. You know what Flitwick and Sprout told us when we wrote our speech. About how Draco's father blocked the mandrake import. And he is likely the reason the Basilisk was let loose. Draco... He'd look at your or Justin's corpse and celebrate it with firewhisky if he could."

Hermione was quiet after that.

It's scary, Tom. A Basilisk in our school! But Harry really is a hero... If I only knew how to get his attention. Why couldn't the hat put me in Ravenclaw?!

Just be confident, Ginny. All in due time. You're a smart and pretty girl, he won't reject you when you approach him.

If only I were as brave as you, Tom. Good night.

Good night, Ginny.

No... He couldn't begin now. It'd be dangerous... His works could be spotted when people went home to be with their families.

After Christmas... Then it'd be safe. He'd trap them in his web. And his resurrection... His revenge would be glorious.

A/N: I'm somewhat liberally interpreting Merlin's conception in the myths - by way of demonic impregnation of a virgin - as being a wizard/ Muggle relationship.

Slytherin-the-Healer is reasonably in line with snake mythology, so I basically went 'Hey, why not?'.

Salazar's... Radicalisation, re: Muggle-borns, is, frankly, the only thing that makes sense to me. I don't want to turn him into a fluffy do-gooder whose legacy has been corrupted – I've hinted at his more violent aspects before –, but remaining friendly with the other three founders over decades strikes me as unfeasible, unless the idea of not teaching and eventually of killing Muggle-borns formed late in his life/ career.

Draco's second scene had to be repeatedly rewritten. Just to make this clear – it's not about hard men making hard decisions (Ugh...). Harry and Susan are using physical violence on someone who merely ran his mouth, are using physical violence to punish Draco for the actions of his father. They're blatantly in the wrong here, and their poorly thought-out actions will have consequences.

But they're also kids, and kids are occasionally violent when provoked.