The Line of Slytherin | Founders

three | wand

scepter, caduceus

"THERE'S SO MUCH OF THE WORLD YOU HAVEN'T EVEN DARED TO IMAGINE."

       Elva Slytherin kept her word to her brother. With her help, Salazar was able to hide his ability from his parents for a little while longer, and no matter how awkward or tense it made things within the family, Elva never gave into their mother. She was not going to let her taint such an innocent boy.

       Yakov seemed to be the only one that initiated conversations at the dinner table anymore. "Are you getting excited yet, Salazar?"

       There was a clang of dishware around the long table as not only Salazar, but Elva and Venetta turned to attention. It had been such a simple question, but it caused a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. "I - I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean, Father."

       That was a lie of course. Salazar knew exactly what his father meant, and he dreaded it.

       Yakov gave a deep, warm chuckle and looked to his wife at the other end of the long table. "Our boy is so modest, isn't he?" Venetta only raised her chin, her mind obviously elsewhere. Yakov turned back to his son. "Your eleventh birthday, of course! Only a fortnight, now, and you'll be getting yourself a wand!"

       He could feel his mother's sharp eyes on him, and was careful not to look in her direction. He forced a smile for his father. "Oh yes," he said nervously. "How could I forget?"

       Yakov grinned and sat back in his high-backed chair. "Now, the question is, do you want to make your wand, or would you prefer to go to that Ollivander fellow in London - like your sister did?" He looked at Elva at this, and she beamed at him.

       "He's really a great wandmaker," Elva told her brother. "His family's been in the - "

       "I thought we might do something a little different with Salazar," his mother cut in, looking only at Yakov. Clenching her teeth, Elva sat back and quieted.

       Salazar felt his stomach doing flips at his mother's words. What doesn't she mean something different? he thought. The horrifying thought crossed his mind that his mother knew he could still speak Parseltongue, that she was still planning on training him, and taking him away like she had with Vipa when she had turned eleven.

       Yakov eyed his wife curiously, but after a moment, decided it best not to jump to conclusions. He stabbed at a carrot and brought it to his mouth, saying, "What's that, dear?"

       A hint of a smirk flitted across her face. "I think that he should have Vipa's old wand."

       While Salazar blanched, Elva nearly choked on her wine, throwing herself into a coughing fit. This was the only time Venetta so much as glanced at the girl, and it was with clear annoyance in her eyes.

       "Vipa's wand?" Yakov questioned incredulously, his bushy eyebrows nearly lost in his hairline. "How could you have gotten that?"

       "Not the wand she died with, of course," Venetta replied bashfully. "She made a new one just before I left her, and left her original with me."

       "If she got rid of it and made another, it obviously wasn't a good enough wand. Why should Salazar have to be stuck with it?" Elva bravely quipped.

       "Foolish girl," Venetta bit back, "there's so much of the world you haven't even dared to imagine. The first wand that she made was and is extremely powerful, but she came across material better fit for a wand for her. She created two of the most unique, powerful and individualized wands, one for the witch she was, another for the witch she became. Can you say the same about your precious Ollivander?"

       "Enough," Yakov cut in tiredly, stopping his daughter from saying something she'd surely regret later. A fire still in her eye, Elva obediently sat back in her chair. He turned tentatively to his wife. "I think that is an option that we can look into, but you said so yourself - it's supposedly an extremely individualized wand. How can we be sure it will be a good fit for Salazar?"

       Throwing her napkin onto her plate, Venetta moved to get up. "Why don't I go and get it now, and - "

       "No!"

       This outburst quieted the entire table, and all eyes found their way to Salazar. They all looked at him in shock and curiosity more than anything, even his mother, who, after watching how she reacted to Elva interrupting, he thought for sure would scold him.

       He awkwardly cleared his throat, looking timidly around at his family. "I-I don't want to do anything prematurely," he said quietly. "I'd like to wait until my birthday to make any decision."

       "Salazar - " started his mother.

       "No, he's right, Venetta," Yakov cut in. As he started cutting more of the lamb on his plate, Salazar thought he looked proud. "This is his decision to make, not ours - and if he wants to wait, then we wait."

       Elva smiled, Salazar shrunk into his seat, but Venetta just stood, staring blankly at her husband as he casually ate his dinner. It was a while before she sat back down, and the table returned to silence.

       The silence was short lived.

       With the sound of a crack, Venetta's fury returned. "How many times must I tell you creatures not to interrupt our meals?" she seethed, looking down at the House Elf that had appeared to her right.

       Salazar looked pitifully at the cowering creature. "Rafi is terribly sorry to interrupt her Mistress - "

       "Get on with it!" Venetta hissed, causing Rafi to flinch.

       "There is a visitor here, Mistress. A visitor that is urgently requesting the presence of my Mistress."

       Salazar's eyebrows creased in confusion, and as he looked around the table, he saw that the rest of his family had the same look on their faces. Unexpected visitors were almost unheard of at the Slytherin Estate. "Who is it?" his mother demanded.

       "It is a Madame Gilma Rountree and a young Master Godric Gryffindor."

       Though these names meant nothing to Salazar or Elva, Salazar saw immediately how pale his mother went, and no one could have missed how the knife fell loudly from his father's hand.