Even with our ritual complete, I always knew that eventually one of us would be the first to test it.
I simply never imagined it would be Salazar.
The news reached me through one of our old contacts several months after Godric and I had returned to Britain. Salazar Slytherin—the greatest dark magic researcher of our age, my closest intellectual rival, and one of my oldest friends—had been found dead during his travels. The official reports claimed he had fallen while exploring an ancient ruin after triggering a forgotten curse. The explanation sounded convincing enough that most people accepted it without question.
I didn't.
Salazar was too careful.
Far too careful.
Anyone could make a mistake, but Salazar surviving impossible tombs only to die from a simple magical trap never sat right with me. He was paranoid by nature. Every room was checked three times. Every artifact was inspected before being touched. Every potion was tested. Every spell was analyzed. If anyone was capable of surviving an ancient ruin, it was him.
Someone had wanted him dead.
I just couldn't prove it.
For months I investigated every lead I could find. I questioned merchants, curse-breakers, wandering scholars, magical tribes, and even Dark Wizards who had crossed paths with him. I visited the ruin where he supposedly died, reconstructing every detail of his final days through magic and careful observation. The more evidence I uncovered, the less sense the official story became. There were inconsistencies everywhere. Missing journals. Disturbed footprints that had been deliberately erased. Signs of battle where there should have been none. Someone had cleaned the scene remarkably well, but not perfectly.
Whoever had done this had understood magic.
Very powerful magic.
The investigation eventually led me deep into a forgotten swamp hundreds of miles from Britain, where rumors spoke of an abandoned temple once used by followers of Herpo the Foul. If anyone possessed knowledge capable of killing Salazar, it would be people who inherited Herpo's research. The temple had long since collapsed into ruin, but beneath it I discovered a hidden network of chambers untouched for centuries. Ancient snake carvings covered every wall while the lingering scent of decay hung heavily in the air. The deeper I ventured, the more convinced I became that someone had visited this place recently.
Then I made the one mistake I hadn't made in decades.
I lowered my guard for a single moment.
Pain exploded through my leg.
I looked down to find the shattered remains of an enchanted fang protruding from beneath the stone floor.
Basilisk venom.
Not fresh.
Not delivered by a living basilisk.
The fang had been preserved inside an elaborate magical trap designed to remain active for centuries.
"...Damn."
The venom spread with terrifying speed.
I immediately flooded my body with healing magic, phoenix fire, and every purification spell I knew. Normally, basilisk venom was survivable for someone with my resources. My laboratory contained multiple antidotes, phoenix tears, and alchemical compounds specifically designed for rare magical poisons.
The problem was that my laboratory was on the other side of Britain.
I was alone.
And the venom was winning.
Over the following hours I used every spell I possessed simply to slow its progress. My phoenix circled overhead anxiously, its cries echoing through the ruined temple as I staggered toward the nearest settlement. Apparition was impossible due to the ancient wards surrounding the region, forcing me to travel the old-fashioned way. Every mile felt longer than the last. Every heartbeat carried the poison further through my body.
By the time I finally crossed the magical boundary surrounding the ruins, I could barely stand.
I Apparated immediately.
The journey back to Hogwarts was a blur.
When I finally collapsed inside my laboratory, I dragged myself toward the brewing stations with trembling hands. Ingredients floated from shelves under my command, cauldrons ignited, and knives began slicing herbs automatically. Normally I could have brewed the antidote in less than an hour.
Normally.
This time my vision refused to stay focused.
My magic fluctuated wildly.
The venom had already reached my heart.
I stared at the half-finished potion bubbling inside the cauldron before letting out a slow breath.
"...I'm not going to finish it."
There was no fear.
Only acceptance.
For years I had chased immortality.
For years I had wondered whether our ritual would truly work.
Now...
I was about to find out.
I slowly lowered myself into a nearby chair as my phoenix landed silently beside me.
"It seems..."
I gently stroked the brilliant feathers along its neck.
"...our experiment begins earlier than expected."
The bird let out a sorrowful cry.
"I know."
I smiled faintly.
"I'll miss you too."
My thoughts drifted toward everyone I cared about.
Godric.
Helga.
Rowena.
My wife.
My daughter.
The life we had built together.
A part of me wanted to fight harder.
To survive.
To see my daughter grow up.
But another part of me—the researcher who had always pursued truth above all else—understood the opportunity before me.
Our ritual had never been tested.
Someone had to be first.
Salazar already was.
If he truly reincarnated...
Then perhaps I would find him again.
If I followed.
I closed my eyes.
"I suppose..."
A weak laugh escaped my lips.
"...this is one experiment only the subject can confirm."
The basilisk venom finally reached its destination.
My heartbeat slowed.
My breathing stopped.
Darkness embraced me completely.
And then...
I waited to discover whether death truly was the end.