A Thousand Splendid Suns

Tombstone Road

Harry is dressed impeccably in his newly purchased robes. Salazar cannot get enough of him. His eye gaze Harry's figure like a hungry, starving man might eyes a rib eye steak.

Something is wrong with him.

It is a bizarre revelation, that there should ever be something wrong with him, Salazar Slytheirn, the Lord of all Pureblood Lords. It is weird. But it is true -- why else does he crave this young man's blood, wish to feast upon his very being? Nothing Salazar recognizes would show such symptoms -- nothing except certain impending insanity.

Salazar is concerned. So after taking Harry out to shop, he checks himself into the infirmary. Madame Conneta looks over him and asks after his symptoms.

Salazar licks his lips, overcome by a sudden embarrassment. "Bloodlust," he answers. "Irrational mood swings. Uncharacteristic desire."

Conneta purses her lips. "I don't know," she tells him. "Your symptoms are pretty vague -- but if you should allow me some time, I shall run some tests."

"Of course," says Salazar. "And Conneta?"

Conneta perks her head up. "Yes?"

"Tell no one of this." But of course by evening the next day, word had already spread around the student body that one of their Founders was unwell.

Godrci visits him first. He bears no gift, nor does he wish him well. He instead looks upon his fellow Founder with a pitying expression. "I know why you are... sickly," he says.

"Did you curse me, then? I had thought such petty flings beneath you." Salazar is, however, unsurprised. He and Godirc always had had some bad blood -- nevermind the fact that it's been getting worse lately... no thanks to a certain someone. "What is the counter curse? Or have you come to finish me off? I promise you, Salazar, I may be in bed, but that does not mean I am on bedrest."

Godric blinks, then laughs, loudly. "Salzar, I would never seek to hurt you."

Salazar relaxes -- a bit, if only a bit. "Then how do you know my aliment?"

"I'm assuming it is your body's physical reaction to Harry's bit of news. I promise you, that just because of this new development, you are not secondary. Harry's sworn to me you own a piece of his heart, and would trust you to protect him, should the time come--"

"Godric," says Salazar softly. Godric halts in his tracks. "What in the world are you talking about?"

Godric slowly blinks. "Wait... are you serious? Do you really not know? Did Harry really not tell you? Well, I suppose it is a recent development... but I had assumed--"

"Assume no more," says Salazar. "Tell me, what is it Harry is hiding from me?" If it is what Salazar thinks it is, then he does not want only to devour Harry -- he wants to maim him.

But there they are, the damning words: "Harry and I are dating."

Harry visits him. "Look at us, switching up our roles. Now I'm the one visiting you in the Medical Wing." He carries with him freshly picked flowers of a beautiful silver and green. To Salzar's questioning gaze, he chuckles. "I picked from the Forbidden Forest."

The Forbidden Forest? How is it is that you call it that. You're an enigma, Harry Potter. "You must stay out of that Forest," quips Salazar. He watches as Harry sets the flowers down in a vase. "Even if the flowers are... quite acceptable."

Salazar surprises himself with this civility. For some reason he does not tear Harry's throat out, watching him bleed out where he stands, until he falls to his knee, with panic and fear and betrayal in his eyes.

He wants to hurt Harry... but in too odd a way to decipher.

Harry sighs, plopping down beside Salazar's bed. "I don't understand why you're doing this."

"Are you under Godric's assumption? That I am not really ill?"

"No. I just thought symptoms of bloodlust and mood swings were normal for Dark Lords like you."

Salazar takes Harry's hand. Harry lets him. "It is not," says Salazar. "I am more... level headed than my enemies like to assume."

"Godric is not your enemy."

"Like you would know that, having just arrived here."

"He's a got a good heart," says Harry, earnestly.

"I have one question for you -- why him? I had warned him not to get involved with you, but it seems I should have been warning you both."

Harry cracks a smile. "I've never been good at following instruction anyway," he says.

Salazar prompts, "So? Why him?"

Harry sighs again. He places his head in the palm of his free hand, still clinging close to Salazar. "He reminds me of a lot of people I used to love. And he's nice. Genuine. There's nothing behind his words that would indicate an ulterior notice, or a lie."

"That's not fair," says Salazr, because such a statement is pointed.

"You always want something from me. You want my secrets, and would tear me limb from limb to get them. Godric... he's not like that. And I like that he's not like that. That's what you've made me realize."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"I don't mean to hurt you."

"And I am not hurt," assures Salazar, though he isn't sure if he's certain of this fact. "But I am confused."

"He's like me. Don't you get that? And you hate him, so you must like me for a reason that is anything but real."

"That's -- that's not--"

"It is a bit of an exercise in narcissism, to date someone exactly like yourself. But I can't help it. And I've always been told that I need to appreciate myself more." He chuckles, like he said something funny.

"You should stay far away from him," says Salazar, nearly -- almost -- a threat. "He's no good for you."
Harry reaches over and pushes a strand of Salazar's hair behind his ear. "Oh, dear. One might be able to say that about you."

Salazar's bloodlust is redirected -- he has never wanted to kill or hurt Godric more than in that moment.