Slytherin's Hidden Refuge

When Avaluna's name erupted from the Goblet of Fire, the world she knew shattered. Whispers turned to accusations, trust crumbled into betrayal. Unable to bear the weight of their judgment, she fled-to the only place that had ever truly been hers.
The Chamber of Secrets welcomed her with its cold embrace, its shadows stretching long and deep. Wandering through its forgotten corridors, she stumbled upon a concealed passage, leading to an ancient bedchamber and a library brimming with dust-laden secrets. Among the tomes, one called to her-Magic as a Whole. But it was the weathered leather of Salazar Slytherin's private journals that truly ensnared her.
Page after page, he spoke across the centuries, whispering of magic lost to time, of truths buried beneath deception. One entry stood apart. A ritual. A soul preserved. A name waiting to be spoken. A serpentine ring holding a power only his heir could claim.
Cedric was dead. Voldemort had returned. And she was alone.
Desperation guided her hands as she traced the glowing runes upon the cold stone. Blood dripped, magic surged, the chamber trembled in response. A pulse of energy, sharp as a blade, carved through the silence. Light flashed, shadows writhed-then everything stilled.
And then he was there.
Salazar Slytherin.
Eyes like emerald fire locked onto hers, unreadable yet knowing. The past had answered her call, and in doing so, changed everything.