Author's Note: This is for the Tri-Wizard Tournament at Hogwarts Houses Challenges. The plot idea was Xanda's and given to me as part of the task. I also want to give a big thank you to thosedarndursleys for sacrificing a lot of time to help me brainstorm and fill in the gaps I had (and there were plenty of them). I've never written the Founders before or even given them much thought, so feedback about their characters is always appreciated!

Also, just a note, I know that the Wiki says Salazar had gray eyes...but I like the idea of them being green. And since the Founders don't play a huge role in canon anyway as far as looks go, I'm going to change it. Yay for creative license. ;)

Edit: This will be a three-chapter piece, about 5,000 words per chapter.

Word Count: 5,000

Footsteps on the stairs. It's only a matter of time now. Lily knows she's dying.

Leaning over the crib, she strokes her baby's cheek for one last time. She wants to remember this—the innocence, the hope, the love. Merlin knows she's made mistakes in her life, but she refuses to let this be one of them.

"You'll be safe, Harry. I promise."

She's thankful, almost, that James is lying dead downstairs. He'll never need to know how she's betrayed him. A Light witch doesn't dabble in the Dark Arts, but neither does a mother forsake her child to die. Lily had chosen the lesser of the two evils.

The door flies open in a blinding flash of white, and her breath catches in her throat. Where is the lion in her now? It's all she can do to keep her knees from trembling, to stand upright in the face of her killer, to keep her resolve from quaking. She plants herself firmly in front of the crib, using her body to shield her son.

"Stand aside."

"Not Harry. Please no," she manages to choke out. The cold eyes that glare back at her make it clear that her words are in vain. There is only one possible outcome. "Take me. Kill me instead."

"This is my last warning!"

"Not Harry! Please...have mercy..."

This is the way it has to end. The protection spell isn't quite finished. Only one component is missing: a life for a life. Tonight was always meant to end with her death. It's a sacrifice she's glad to make, one that any mother will make. She can feel Voldemort's patience waning, and she knows she can't back down now. There is no taking the easy way out, not after all the work she's put into this spell. She has to see it through.

"Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything..."

She finds relief in the two angry words that are meant to dispose of her, and she welcomes the green light that surrounds her—invites it into her skin, her bones, her soul. With her final thought, she casts her dying wish out into the universe, content that the spell has finally been completed by the stilling of her heart. Somewhere, the Wishmaster is listening.

I wish for my love to protect my son from death. Instead of killing him, let the next curse send him back in time where he will find someone to raise him.

She knows the danger of time travel, but she refuses to allow her son to become a martyr for some farce of a cause. There's no choice left but to destroy the past in order to ensure her son's future.

...oOo...

Salazar paused from his trek back to Hogwarts, trailing his eyes along the shadows that played beneath the trees of the Forbidden Forest. There was a chill in the air that could neither be attributed to the night nor his age. There was Dark magic at play somewhere nearby. He was sure of it.

He glanced into the distance at the beckoning lights and tall, stoic facade of the castle. What exactly was he in a rush to return to, anyway? Another dinner spent contemplating the merits of a fork to the eye? Perchance a riveting lecture about excluding certain students from tutelage, as if it was somehow his job to train every poor sap who thought himself a wizard?

As the years passed, Salazar's evening constitutional became longer and the pull of Hogwarts lessened. Tonight, it was nearly non-existent, so he turned to the depths of the woods. Besides, he wasn't yet old enough to forfeit his curiosity, nor did he fear the myriad of creatures who were foolish enough to call the forest home. With one hand gripping the wand hidden in his robe, he made his way toward the source of the magic.

There was a wail unlike any he had encountered before in the forest riding the evening breeze. To his right, a branch snapped, and the golden eyes of a thestral crept past him. Quite an interesting thing, indeed, if even the creatures were wary enough to give it a wide berth.

Salazar relaxed his grip on his wand. Now that he was closer, it was easy enough to recognize the shrill, piercing cry of an infant. Sure enough, as he pushed aside some branches, there it was flailing on the ground, a mere silhouette in the fading gray of twilight.

Babies, as far as he was concerned, were foul, useless creatures, but this one, he supposed, had at least a slight bit of interest to it. The remnants of the Dark magic were still clinging to the air, heavy fragments that made it hard to breathe. Someone had gone through an awful lot of trouble to get the bothersome whelp there.

In several steps, Salazar stood over the infant, who could only be maybe a year old. The wails slowed to staggered sobs as they regarded each other. What was he to do? What would the others do?

Godric the Halfwit would no doubt set off on a fool-hearted quest to find the lad's parents, but Salazar was far from that naïve. Whoever had sent the boy there had good reason to. No one was expecting him back.

Rowena the Coxcomb would likely weigh the pros and cons of accepting a ward so young into Hogwarts. No good could come of it, especially one who was already familiar with Dark magic. It would simply be inviting disaster. Ultimately, for the greater good of everyone, she would send him off somewhere to live, no doubt in squalor, and wash her hands of the situation.

Then there was Helga. Suffice it to say, he was no Helga, who welcomed everyone with open arms. Salazar had no doubts that one day she would even welcome her murderer into her graces, the dimwitted Hufflepuff that she was.

Still, of all the things Salazar possessed, there was one that had eluded him and that he was now far too old to pursue: an heir.

There was no fear in the green eyes that looked up at him. After a moment, the boy held his pudgy hands in the air, as if it was his prerogative to simply insert himself into this new-found life he had never even known existed.

Salazar picked the boy up carefully, inspecting every inch. No injuries, as far as he could tell. Healthy-looking, at the very least.

"You'll be expecting a name, no doubt," he said, yanking his beard out of the child's death grip and holding him at arm's length. "Something that suits your surname and upbringing is ideal. From this day forward, little snake, you will be known as Chaves Slytherin."

With the proper training, this child could very well prove to be the answer to all he had wished for.

...oOo...

The others must have received his message, for when he arrived at the castle, they were already gathered, looking weary and nonplussed.

"Holy Circe," Helga gasped, clutching her bosom with one hand and fanning her face with the other. She was the first to notice the squirming bundle in his arms.

"Is that..." Rowena squinted as if it would help her see clearly, as if her eyes might be deceiving her, "...a...baby?"

"Is it...yours?" Godric asked, adding extra emphasis to the last word as if it was the most ludicrous thing in the world. To Salazar's amusement, the cogs in his mind where whirring particularly fast trying to piece together the situation.

"As of now, yes, he is. I've named him Chaves Slytherin."

"I understand that social etiquette isn't your strong suit, but you can't claim children," Rowena huffed, flushing slightly at the very thought of it. "Take him back to wherever you got him."

"You mean in the forest? With the Dark, hungry creatures? Well, if you insist..."

Salazar turned to leave, but the normally timid Helga blocked his path and reached out for the baby.

"Let's not make any decisions in haste, shall we?" she said as she gathered Chaves in her arms and bounced the cooing child on her hip. "For starters, I dare say he's famished. Just look at the poor thing. Chaves, you said?"

Before Salazar could even answer, with a swish of her skirt, Helga bustled past him, heading towards the kitchen as she continued, "Yes, he'll definitely need some food. A fresh cloth, too, I'd wager a guess."

"You know, he does look an awful lot like you," Godric told Salazar, still rubbing his chin, deep in thought. As always, the dull lion was several steps behind in the conversation. "What with your green eyes and black hair. Well, back when you had hair, of course."

"What a relief it is that time hasn't dulled your wit any," Salazar replied.

"At the very least, I suppose, the child will have all of us here. I mean, it's not like you could have raised him all on your own," Rowena said.

She watched him closely for a response, and even though Salazar knew she intended the words to have a bite to them, they were just what he had been hoping for. He had no intention of participating in the quotidian care of a baby—it was woman's work. Lucky for him, there were two women who were more than willing to fill the position, at least until the boy could care for himself, and they would be none the wiser.

For better or worse, Salazar found himself once more chained to Hogwarts, unable to break free.

...oOo...

When Chaves entered the dorms bloody and bruised, for the fourth time that week, Salazar knew it was time to give him a wand. He was no longer a child and not quite ready yet to be a proper wizard, at only eight years of age, but it could be put off no longer.

The first time it happened, Chaves wound up with a simple skinned knee after being tripped by an older boy. Salazar had made himself scarce, forcing the boy to seek out another. Helga was the first person he had come across. Salazar watched from the shadows as she fretted over the scrape like the mother hen she was. Once it was properly tended, she had sent Chaves on his way with a useless, "Accidents happen. Do try to be more careful next time."

The next day, it was a nasty gash on his head from colliding with something sharp when he was knocked to the ground by the same bully. To Salazar's pleasure, Chaves had enough sense to avoid Helga this time and went straight to Rowena, instead, who patched him up with pursed lips.

"Fighting will get you nowhere," she chided. "Next time, try using your words instead of your fists."

So he did, which led to injury three: a split lip. Chaves looked so mortified at running into Godric, who promised to fix him up as good as new, that Salazar was almost swayed enough to intervene. Almost. If he did, what would the boy learn? Nothing. Instead, he watched as Godric performed an impressively efficient healing spell and asked what happened. He looked positively appalled by the tale.

"What ever would you want to use your words for? Words have no place in a duel!"

"Except for spells, you mean?" Chaves asked, rubbing the spot on his lip where the cut had been.

"Huh? Oh yes, of course, spells. Forget using your words." Godric grabbed the boy's hands and forced them into fists. "These—these are all you need. If you don't allow them to intimidate you, if you refuse to surrender, then you are sure to succeed. Why would you ever use your words when you can simply use your fists?"

Being that Chaves looked very much like the Slytherin he was—from the pale skin to the diminutive stature to his scrawny build—that went over about as well as the time Godric decided a dragon made an ideal pet. Which brought them to number four, when he trudged up the grounds to Hogwarts wearing numerous scrapes and bruises.

As soon as Chaves entered the castle, Salazar stepped in front of him.

"Come."

Salazar headed towards the dungeon with no further explanation. It wasn't the boy's place to demand reasons, and Salazar owed him none.

"Where are we going?"

"It's time I show you how to deal with your little problem the proper way."

"You have no intention of healing me, do you?"

"Now, be reasonable. If I did that, what would you learn?"

Once they reached his office, Salazar closed the door behind them and sealed it with charms to make sure they wouldn't be disturbed. He rifled through his desk for a minute, loosing charms where it was required, and finally extricated a long, velvet-lined box.

"One day, little snake, as you must have realized, you will inherit my legacy, which includes my wand," he said as he walked around the desk and stopped just before Chaves. "But as I am still very much in need of it, this will have to suffice."

He held out the box, and Chaves reached for it tentatively, paused, and glanced up at him as if requesting permission.

"Go on. Take it."

Chaves accepted the gift eagerly, pulling it open with barely-contained excitement.

"Is this..."

Chaves trailed off as he took the wand in hand, treating it as a fragile artifact deserving respect.

"Eleven inches, holly, with a phoenix feather core. It was my mother's, but I dare say it shall serve you just fine."

"Are you going to teach me magic now?"

"No, I shall send you off to wave it around like a dolt and hope for the best." The boy was lucky he wasn't a Gryffindor, as it sounded like a very Gryffindor thing to do, once Salazar said it aloud. "I shall teach you one spell—just one—that will assist you in dealing with your...problem. Once you've succeeded, and only then, I shall teach you another. Understood?"

Chaves nodded eagerly, so Salazar drew his wand and, with a swish, said, "Vermillious."

Red sparks shot from the end of it, fizzling out harmlessly before they landed on anything. Salazar demonstrated the spell one more time and then left Chaves there to either succeed or fail on his own. Hand-holding and coddling was no way to raise up a proper wizard.

For three days, Salazar lurked in the shadows, observing long, determined training sessions with varying degrees of success. No spells had backfired, and there were only three occasions which he had to intervene to put out fires. Not terribly impressive, but not unexpected, either.

On the fourth day, the older boy—Musca, if memory served—pushed again, too hard this time, and without a warning, Chaves drew his wand. Musca yelped, the sound distorted by pain and rage, as a few of the sparks caught his arm, leaving behind angry, red welts.

The boy had done his part—satisfactorily, to say the least—so now it was Salazar's turn. He swooped in just as Musca drew his own wand and disarmed him before he even knew what was happening.

"Go seek out Lady Hufflepuff. She will tend to those wounds for you," Salazar said as he handed Musca back his wand. The student looked at him sheepishly, having been caught in the act, before going on his way. Turning to Chaves, he added, "You. Come."

Salazar led the boy into the Forbidden Forest, where they were certain to be alone. Only a young Gryffindor would be foolish enough to brave the darkness that dwelt in the forest. He, of course, was well-acquainted with the Dark Arts and proficient enough with magic, and the boy—well, the boy was either born without fear or dropped once too often on his head, as far as Salazar could tell. For better or for worse, he didn't shy from the unknown, and more than once, Salazar had discovered him at the edge of the woods, conversing with one or two snakes that frequented the area.

After walking for several minutes, Salazar stopped and took a seat on a nearby stump to rest his weary bones. With each passing day, it was becoming more apparent that he was no longer the young wizard he used to be.

"Am I in trouble? For hurting a student?" Chaves finally asked when their matching green eyes met.

"That depends on your intentions in casting that spell. Did you do so maliciously, desiring only to cause him pain?"

"No, sir. I just wanted him to stop."

"In that case, listen up, little snake, for I shall say this once and only once. Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings. Regardless of what Lady Ravenclaw would have you think, intelligence alone is not enough. Likewise, bravery without quandary is useless. There has to be a goal, some dream that you desire to fulfill. Make a wish and then find a way to grant it. There will always be naysayers. There will always be those who try to hold you back. Never apologize for fighting to make your dream come true. You are destined for magnificent things, little snake. You are the master of your own wish."

...oOo...

"What if I'm not a Slytherin?"

Chaves swallowed loudly as he pulled at the collar of his robes.

"But you are, little snake. Otherwise, you would not be my heir. You're a Slytherin through and through."

"Right. But what if—just what if—I was sorted into, say, a different house?"

"What house would you possibly get sorted into? I dare say you haven't the pure wit for a Ravenclaw, and though Lady Hufflepuff would welcome you with open arms, as she does with everyone, you're not exactly a Hufflepuff, either, are you? What does that leave?"

"Gryffindor?"

"If you were sorted into Gryffindor, I suppose I should have to disown you." Salazar resisted the urge to chuckle at the panic that flashed on the boy's face at the mere suggestion. "Do you want to be a Gryffindor?"

"No!"

The answer was earnest enough, delivered with furrowed brows and a scrunched-up face as if the very idea was disgusting.

"Rest assured, the Hat will not place you anywhere you would loathe to be. The Sorting will go just fine." Salazar readjusted the boy's robes—couldn't be trusted even to dress himself just yet, apparently, judging by his sloppy appearance—and then stepped back to scrutinize the result. One day, Salazar was confident the boy would grow into a fine gentleman, the sort that was a proper Slytherin heir, but today clearly wasn't that day. "Your outfit is missing just one thing."

From his robes, Salazar withdrew a long feather that seemed to glimmer in a hundred shades of red, yellow, and orange as if there was a fire burning inside it. He attached it neatly to the base of Chaves' black hat, a splash of color against the black leather.

"A phoenix feather? Like my wand!"

Chaves smiled as if all his worries had suddenly vanished. Could it truly have only been a decade since Salazar had stumbled across an abandoned green-eyed child in the Forbidden Forest? It hardly felt longer than the blink of an eye.

"Fret not, little snake," Salazar said, patting him lightly on the shoulder, "and remember what it is that makes you a Slytherin in the first place."

His features were still pallid and he was white as an ermine, but at the very least, the wobble had gone out of his legs. Was the Sorting really so nerve-wracking? Salazar had always assumed it would be self-evident. If one knew one's self, then their proper house should be obvious. The way these first years acted, one would think they had to face a dragon to gain admittance to Hogwarts, which wasn't the worst idea ever. It would certainly liven up an otherwise dull ceremony.

Salazar took his place at the head of the room, with the other founders, to watch the ceremony. There was a decent lot this year, now that word had started spreading like wildfire across the country. Witches and wizards had a rekindled desire to come out of hiding and practice magic, despite the bans placed upon it, or perhaps because of them.

"Slytherin, Chaves."

The boy was finally called, and he approached the Sorting Hat with calm austerity. It was merely a facade, but he played the part well. Though it was against the rules—as if they had ever given him pause before—Salazar invaded the boy's thoughts in order to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor. Anything but Gryffindor.

Not Gryffindor? Hm. Are you sure? You could do marvelous things there, and you certainly have enough bravery. Are you not a lion?

No, I don't think so. I mean, I am brave, but I'm not a lion.

Then what are you?

I'm...I'm a snake.

If you insist...

"SLYTHERIN!"

The boy looked relieved, as if he had actually believed he might belong anywhere but his father's house. As Chaves took a seat at the Slytherin table, their green eyes met from the across the room, and Salazar offered him a slight nod and a smirk. There was still a long road ahead for him. After all, this was only the beginning. Still, that was a realization that would have to wait for another day. For now, Salazar was content to let him have this one wish that came true.

...oOo...

"You wanted to see me, Father?"

Salazar glanced up from his desk as Chaves entered. He was no longer a boy, having successfully completed his years at Hogwarts. His black hair had grown long and wavy, his voice deepened, his shoulders broadened, and there was a hint of a beard attempting to sprout along his jaw. He was quickly becoming the man he was always meant to be, but he still wasn't quite there yet. Hogwarts was only ever meant to be the beginning.

"Sit."

Salazar waved toward the chair across from him, and Chaves obediently took a seat.

"I have a gift for you, in recognition of having completed your Hogwarts studies" he said as he reached into his desk and pulled out a medium-sized box. Chaves took it and offered a meek thank you, but Salazar knew from his averting eyes and his feeble tone that there was something bothering him. "Is there something on your mind, little snake?"

Chaves still refused to look directly at him as he spoke, and he began to chew his lip—a nervous tick that he had developed when faced with stressful situations.

"I'm leaving, Father."

"Oh?" Salazar quirked his eyebrows, attempting to suppress the flicker of a smile that tugged at his lips.

"I've made up my mind, and no amount of coaxing will change it now. I want to see the world. I'll always be grateful to you and Lady Ravenclaw and Lady Hufflepuff and even Lord Gryffindor, but I can't stay here at Hogwarts anymore."

"And what do you intend to do once you leave the castle? Where will you go?"

"Greece, for starters. Rumor has it that they have a whole host of fascinating wizards studying the Dark Arts. One of them is even attempting to create a brand-new creature that will be an amalgamation of the best parts of other beasts, though no one seems to know if he's been successful or not yet. Can you imagine?"

Salazar couldn't keep himself from smiling at Chaves' enthusiasm. He was indeed a child no longer, and thus, there was no way to contain his potential within the walls of Hogwarts. He had long outgrown the stone confines, and this day had been a long time coming.

"I think, perhaps, that you should open your present before we discuss this any further."

"But Father..."

"Please, open it."

With a furrowed brow, Chaves tugged at the bow and pulled the top off the box. Salazar had been careful to place the proper concealment spells and wards on the contents, lest anyone unwanted come across it, and Chaves must have realized this since he pulled his wand and started muttering the counter spells. When he was finished, he stared befuddled at the lone toad sitting atop an egg in the velvet-lined interior.

"I dare say that you have no idea what it is I've even given you, do you?" Salazar asked, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands in his lap. It was clear from the look on Chaves' face that he didn't, but what would be the fun in assuming rather than making it painfully clear? Every wizard needed to be aware of the depth of their ignorance. He was simply doing his son a favor at this point, imparting a lesson that would carry him into the future, long after he was no longer around to do it.

"A...toad? On an egg? I don't understand."

"It comes from Greece, too, from a rather brilliant wizard I met before you came along. Back in my younger days, when I was want to travel. If you leave that toad there, a basilisk will hatch from that egg."

"A basilisk?"

"It's the king of all serpents. It'll be a fitting travel companion for my little snake, no?"

"Then...you aren't upset about me leaving?"

"On the contrary. If you had decided to stay, I would have hastily given you a boot out the door. By all means, it will do you good to explore. Learn what you can from others. You have a decade. At the end of that decade, I expect you to return, and then your real training will commence. Make no mistake, I will not go easy on you."

"Yes, Father."

Chaves smiled deeply, sincerely, and it warmed Salazar's old heart to see the man so yearning for his freedom and to come into his own. He truly could not have had better luck than to have Fortuna herself deliver him a child. While there was still plenty left to be done in his own life, his wish of having a proper Slytherin heir had finally come to fruition.

...oOo...

Salazar circled his son, long robes scraping the ground as he walked slowly and deliberately. He had to admit, the man had seen better days, what with the dried blood crusting his hair, his skin flayed open in several spots, and a seemingly endless number of purple-black bruises creating a mottled tapestry across his skin. Although, he had indeed succeeded in retrieving the Manticore tail Salazar had requested, which was always nice to have on hand as it could be used to concoct quite potent poisons.

"Have I passed your test, Father?"

"This one, yes."

"Then, you mean, there are others?"

There was no hint of fear in his voice. In true Slytherin fashion, there was a gleam in the green eyes that spoke of a lust to prove one's self and the desire to overcome adversity.

"One more. This shall be the final test to prove what you are capable of. After that, your life is your own to make what you will of it. I shall be convinced that I have taught you the most important lessons that I can."

"I'm ready."

"I hope so, because I should like a dragon's egg. I hear the Horntails are nesting about now."

"Horntails? You mean dragons?"

"Yes, out in the east. Nasty creatures, though, and terribly maternal. They would rather die than abandon their egg, so I'd keep your wits about you, if I were you."

"I won't let you down, Father."

Salazar had no reservations about that. While it was true that his son had failed at many things throughout his life, he had never once been a failure.

...oOo...

Salazar knew that it was time. He had tried to ignore the chill that had settled in his bones and taken every remedy known to Wizard-kind in order to stave it off, all to no avail. Death came for everyone in the end. It was a realization he had come to long ago, and now, it was his turn.

Chaves was by his bed, as he had been for who knew how long. Days and nights had grafted together until they were an indistinguishable blob. The curtains were never drawn in his room; night and day were meaningless.

"You are the heir I had always hoped for," Salazar said, though his voice came out more as a wheeze than anything. With faltering movements, he drew the wand from his robe and placed it in Chaves' hand. "I pass my wand on to you, as my father did to me. I know that you've grown rather attached to yours, so I won't begrudge you to use it, but pass it on to your own son."

"I shall."

"There is only one last wish that I would have you fulfill, if you still had it in you to fulfill an old man's dreams."

"Anything, Father. Just name it."

"Carry on the Slytherin legacy. Wear the name proudly. You've earned it, little snake."

"Of course. I shall make you proud."

As he closed his eyes and rested back against the pillow, Salazar had no doubts about his son's future. The Slytherin name was in good hands. He had been confident of that from the start. That's why he had named the green-eyed child in the Forbidden Forest Chaves—the key, the dream maker.

Prompts

Tri-Wizard Tournament:

Plot: Lily was prepared to do anything to save her son, anything. Even if it was considered the darkest of magics. So with her dying breath she finished the ritual she had set in place and the killing curse cast that hit her child gave it the last infusion of magic it needed, sending her only child through space and time. Years before that fateful event a green-eyed toddler is found by Salazar Slytherin.

The Quidditch Pitch: "Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings." ~ Salvador Dali

The Drabble Club: (Dialogue) "Holy Circe."