You dream of castles and the dungeons you create yourself. Ambitions, dreams, wants and needs are locked. Locked and trapped behind the iron gates, wrapped in cobweb. What wrong is it to dream? What wrong is it to seek for objects higher than humanity, beyond the human moral values? What wrong is it to wish to rule the world? Why is it a blunder to feel and acknowledge the fact that your veins bear the weight of blood that is pure..of blood that is royal?
Ambition and the thirst for power ripped apart Macbeth; it ruined Napoleon and devastated Hitler. To achieve the highest order of success, to be the master of creativity, to be referred to as the omniscient and the omnipotent is an innate human quality. We are born with it. Was I not human, then? The survival of the fittest that is to say, and this desire for victory, for the throne and to be called the supreme, begins from the embryo stage itself - when we are still in the womb where twins bear the tendency of harming one another, of being the sole ruler in the womb. At the end, there stands only one victor.
Magic is not a state of mind. It is real, although people might call you retarded or schizophrenic, but you cannot deny the fact that everyone of you during your childhood did dream of a life, of a world enveloped in magic. There were unicorns falling in love with the toad, walking castles, living in a submarine shooting one another, flying in the sky, racing cars, pinning your opponents down; there were fairy tales and ghosts, urban legends coming back to life. All wanted to lead. All desired for the throne and sceptre once upon a time.
As a loner, I too desired for magic. I knew that it isn’t words inscribed on papers, that there exists a parallel world, and that it is this earth’s alter-ego, it’s mirror-image. Reptiles, dead flowers, potions and the insatiable thirst for knowledge and power beyond human reach was imbibed in me since time immemorial. I was born a pureblood, like the Nazis. Magic existed wherever I looked, and I didn’t dream of magic - it took shape all by itself. To people I was an outcast, for they didn’t quite look for it everywhere. You need vision to see it and the curiosity to search for it. Thus, to give my dreams a concrete shape, I left for a quest like King Arthur or Sir Percival in search of the Holy Grail. To me, my Grail was embedded deep down within the Chambers of a lost castle, guarded by a Basilisk.
Purity, a royal bloodline, produces the true heir - heir to the throne of power and supremacy, the heir to my throne. Thus, along with three other great stalwarts did I give shape to an institution that was to produce the greatest leaders, the greatest inspirations of all time, for the medieval era and for the modern, old and new age. For the strong, and for the weak to become strong. My tongue singing the tunes of the snakes seeked for blood that was pure, each drop of which would produce giants–gallant and shrewd, powerful and strong; each drop of this pure blood would impregnate nature’s bosom, producing the orchids, thick as the blood oozing out from a recently sacrificed lamb, pure as the blood of the lamb, of the shepherd whose sacrifice washed away the sins of mankind; that is the blood that runs through my veins and that is the blood I wanted to run through all those who chose to become the supreme. Only those, whose veins carried the weight of the blue blood, could learn the art of surprising others, the art of magic. But then spoke man’s consciousness.
I insisted to all the great men, “You could be great you know, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that.” Yet I was termed as the evil, as the racist, as if distinguishing amongst the pupil; the fair ones and the black ones, the Aryans and the non-aryans, the rich and the poor. What had I seeked for? To make my kin more powerful. Who wouldn’t? And why not? Why not become the king of the heaven and of the earth? No, I was termed as Lucifer’s offspring, equipped with parseltongue. And I didn’t mind, for Lucifer at least possessed the courage to voice against God’s odd desire as to why should Kingship be hereditary. Why can the others not even get the chance to participate in the competition? They revolted against me in their shining armour. I was defeated. I left. Leaving behind my creation. Yet locking my dark desires deep in the chambers, leaving behind my Basilisk to guard it, which can only be opened by my true heir.
Years have passed, two young men, extremely bright, fought for the throne. One directly my descendant; the other psychologically! Following my ideals, one formed a huge and powerful army, he became–‘He-who-must-not-be-named’, the other turned out to be a hero and a saviour. They reopened Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber, unleashing the horror beneath. But only one succeeded in the race. Only one became the victor. Only one reigned. And he too, was attracted to my ideals, to Salazar Slytherin’s wisdom. He transformed my dictums in the way they should have been. Slytherin too won at the end of the war. Remember their faces. They all knew, deep down within, that the saying was true; only they were cowards enough not to accept it. Only one did, as he knew that partially he was influenced by me, and that Slytherin does make sense; he believed in what people said about me, about my kingdom, “You could be great you know..and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that.” Indeed, no doubt about that!