Salazar's painted grin didn't fade even after I finished speaking.
If anything, it widened.
It wasn't pride.
It wasn't joy.
It was something far worse—like a predator having spotted its prey.
"Ahh…" he exhaled softly, fingers steepling under his chin as though savoring the taste of the words. "So the dragon's line did survive. I had wondered which of us would prevail in the end. How fitting… that it should come crawling back here, to me."
"Right," I said dryly. "Now, about those tomes you promised—"
He chuckled low in his throat.
"You think yourself clever, boy. A bargainer, a collector. You think this is an exchange between equals."
"Wasn't that what you said?" I replied. "Equivalent exchange. I give, you give."
The portrait tilted its head, his eyes narrowing to thin slits of green light.
"Indeed. And now… I shall give."
The moment the words left his lips, my instincts screamed.
The air thickened—then the peace was shattered.
A surge of emerald light burst outward from the frame like liquid fire.
The wards in the chamber rippled, the green veins in the walls brightening violently.
The outpouring of green energy poured our from within the Picture frame, and the figure that once stood within regally painted like a prince among wizardkind, instead was now formed standing before me, right in front of the frame in which he previously was housed!
"Naïve child," Salazar's voice slithered through the haze. "Did you think you could rob me and walk away unscathed? You mistake mercy for weakness."
The painted form of his body had given way to flesh, real flesh, the figure of the young founder advanced a series of paces closer, as the staff in his hand was raised up from the ground.
I felt the magic in the room buckle under the weight of the action.
He smiled. "Now then. Let us test this dragon's blood of yours."
Chantlessly he slammed the staff down into the ground sending out a ripple of magical power, radiating like a sonicboom.
In haste i dove behind the table taking cover from the blast.
The blast shot through the air smashing into the opposing wall, with a simple chuckle the founder performed another light tap of his staff to the ground calling forth tendrils that rose up from the rooms shadows.
That slithered towards me like serpents seeking to ensnare and restrain my form.
"Just give it up boy! You can't beat me, your body shall be mine, and Salazar Slytherin shall be reborn once more only this time as a Dragon!"
Once more his staff was slammed upon the ground sending out another wave of magical pressure.
Diving through the air away from the approaching tendrils, while also spinning to avoid the fast approaching sonicboom, and then retaliated. "Bombarda!"
Stone exploded around us, the air thick with dust and energy.
His laughter echoed through it all—deep, cruel, and genuinely amused.
"Impressive reflexes," he mused. "Your body is well-trained. It shall serve me well once it is mine!"
He slammed his staff down.
Runes flared across the floor in concentric rings, a binding circle that sought to clamp around me like jaws.
My eyes widened—then narrowed.
"Yeah, no thanks."
With a single movement, I poured everything into my next strike.
My wands hummed under the strain as I shouted the incantation through gritted teeth.
"Bombarda Maxima!"
Twin bursts of white-hot energy screamed from my wands—one aimed dead center at Slytherin, the other following closely behind was angled sharply toward the now-empty painting frame behind him.
His form tanked the first hit, but it was in that moment he noticed his hubris, the second cast had come unnoticed.
"No!"
Salazar raised his staff, attempting to conjure a serpentine shield of emerald flame that would intercept the blast.
But the first spells detonation had interrupted his ability greatly, and by the time he had performed his defensive spell it was all ready far to late.
The frame shattered as the second spell detonated.
Once more the room was filled with a violent explosion as the first spell was more of a flashbang while the second truly had concussive force capable of blasting damage.
For a moment, the whole chamber seemed to convulse.
The runes flickered and died, the oppressive magic thinning like smoke in the wind.
Salazar froze mid-step.
His eyes went wide—not in rage, but fear.
Behind him the picture frame had shattered and piece after piece fell upon the ground.
"What have you done?!" he roared, his voice warping, splitting at the edges as if two tones struggled to coexist.
I steadied my wands, breathing hard.
"Dealt with a lich of course," I said, forcing calm into my tone. "You are nothing but a spectre, a false life, the frame itself was what housed a bit of your soul empowered by the runic formation that draws in ambient magical energy from the air?"
He stumbled forward, his form already distorting—bits of his body flickering transparent.
"You… you fool!" he hissed. "That frame was my vessel! My anchor! Without it—"
"Without it," I interrupted coldly, "you're nothing more than a ghost pretending to be a god. You died long ago, best you come to terms with that and enjoy your trip to the pure land."
His staff fell from his grasp, clattering across the floor before it to disappeared into wisps.
Just like witnessed with Tom in the second movie, Salazar Slytherins form fractured before finally reaching a critical mass point, the remaining energy making up his form now unable to maintain itself burst forth, scattering into the air.
The lingering ghost of Salazar slytherin was gone, given his choice of hiding spot, words, and subsequent actions the man had reached a critical point in his research, unable to attain the goal set forth by their mother, Salazar had set out a plan, one in which he could be reborn in the vessel of his own heir, or in the case of myself attempt possession of the Draconic heir to attain the possition he so longed for but with all his cunning and gile was unable to achieve.
But even as the fragment of the founder faded away a sign of light appeared in the room, poking its way through the wall where his frame once rested.