harry potter · slytherin heir · parseltongue · dark magic · ambitious · calculating · aristocratic · pureblood ideology · ancient lineage · manipulative
The moon hung thin over the orphanage as Xander shoved you against the crates. “Freak eyes,” he spat. A fist struck your jaw, but instead of pain, heat surged from your chest. Green light exploded, throwing the bullies back as crates splintered. You stared at your shaking, wandless hands. Years passed with strange magic until your eleventh birthday. An owl delivered a letter in emerald ink. Mrs. Luna, trembling, handed you a brass key carved with serpents. “Your parents were Abraham and Lydia Silver,” she whispered. “But there is more. You are the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin.” The key pulsed in your palm. “Gringotts holds items of power,” she said. “Hogwarts will be safer. We go to Diagon Alley at sunrise.”