London, Diagon Alley, July 2017
Helen Gray didn't believe in magic.
Well.
That wasn't entirely true.
Helen knew magic existed because her son had made his coffee cup levitate when he was five.
Because he had healed a bird's broken wing just by touching it when he was seven. Because he had received a letter delivered by an owl inviting him to a school of magic.
But believing in something and seeing it were two different things.
That's why, when Solus asked her to accompany him to Diagon Alley a week before his departure to Hogwarts, Helen had said yes.
She needed to see it.
She needed to understand the world her son was about to enter.
Now, standing in front of a run-down pub called "The Leaky Cauldron" in the middle of London,
Helen wondered if she had made a mistake.
"Are you sure this is it?" she asked, looking at the grimy windows and a door that hadn't been painted in decades.
Solus nodded.
"This is it, Mom."
He was eleven. Eleven. But the way he spoke—calm, confident—sometimes made Helen forget just how young he really was.
Since that day in the garden, she thought. Since he had that… nightmare.
Solus had changed after turning nine. He was still her son: kind, curious, loving. But there was something in his eyes. Something that made her feel as if he had seen things she would never understand.
"Let's go," Solus said, taking her hand.
Helen took a deep breath.
And they entered.
. . . . . . .
Inside the Leaky Cauldron was the exact opposite of its exterior.
Warm. Cozy. Filled with people wearing robes in strange and varied colors. A witch with a pointed hat read a newspaper in a corner. Two elderly wizards played chess with pieces that moved on their own.
Behind the bar, a bald man with a stained apron polished glasses with a cloth that shimmered faintly.
"Welcome to the Cauldron," the man said with a smile. "First time in the Alley?"
"Yes," Solus replied.
The man, Tom, as his nameplate read, looked at Helen with understanding.
"Muggle parents, huh? Don't worry, ma'am. The Alley can be overwhelming at first, but it's safe. Just stay close to your son and don't touch anything that shines too much."
Helen blinked.
"Things that shine…?"
"Just kidding," Tom said, laughing. "Well, almost. The backyard is over there. Do you know how to open the entrance?"
Solus nodded.
"Thanks."
Tom watched them walk away, then murmured to himself:
'That boy has old eyes.'
. . . . . . .
The backyard was small and dirty: brick walls, trash cans, weeds growing between cracks.
Helen frowned.
"This is the place?"
Solus pulled a twig from his pocket.
No. It wasn't a twig.
It was a wand. He had bought it the previous week in a shop called Ollivanders: nine inches, yew wood, phoenix feather core.
When the elderly shopkeeper had handed it to him, he had said something strange:
"Curious. Very curious. This wand was waiting. Waiting for someone who understood the weight of wielding it."
Now, Solus pointed the wand at the brick wall.
He touched a specific brick.
Then another.
Then another.
The bricks began to move.
They twisted. Pulled apart. Reorganized like a living puzzle.
And behind them appeared an alley.
No.
It wasn't just an alley.
It was a world.
. . . . . . .
Helen stepped forward and gasped.
Diagon Alley was impossible.
Brightly colored shops lined both sides of a cobbled street that curved and disappeared into the distance. Owls flew between buildings carrying letters. Children ran laughing, chasing miniature flying broomsticks. One window displayed cauldrons of every size. Another showcased robes that changed color on their own.
And at the end, rising above everything like a mountain of white marble, was a building with columns that seemed ripped from ancient Greece.
"Gringotts," Solus whispered. "The wizard bank."
Helen couldn't speak.
It's real. Everything is real.
Solus squeezed her hand.
"Mom."
She looked at him.
"There's something I need to do here," Solus continued. "Something important. And I need you to trust me."
Helen studied her son's face.
Eleven years old. Messy black hair. Gray eyes that seemed too serious for a child.Old eyes.
"I always trust you, Solus."
He smiled.
But it was a sad smile.
"Let's go. Goblins aren't patient."
. . . . . . .
Inside Gringotts was even more impressive than the Alley.
The lobby was enormous: towering ceilings, crystal chandeliers, bronze doors engraved with warnings in languages Helen didn't recognize.
Behind long marble counters worked creatures Helen had only seen in storybooks.
Goblins.
Small. Pale-skinned. Long, dexterous fingers. Eyes that gleamed with sharp intelligence.
One looked up as Solus approached.
"Name?" the goblin asked in a voice that sounded like metal scraping stone.
"Solus Gray," Solus replied. "I'm here to claim an inheritance."
The goblin raised an eyebrow.
"Inheritance? Muggles don't have vaults in Gringotts."
"I'm not a muggle."
"Born of muggles, then. Mudblood." The term didn't sound insulting coming from the goblin. Just factual. "Still, there are no inheritances for—"
"Corvus Slytherin," Solus interrupted.
The lobby fell silent.
All the goblins looked up.
The goblin in front of Solus slowly set down his quill.
"Repeat that."
"I am here to claim the inheritance of Corvus Slytherin," Solus said clearly. "Younger brother of Salazar Slytherin. Hogwarts headmaster. He died in 1065 A.D. defending the Castle."
The goblin stared at him for a long moment.
Then snapped his fingers.
Another goblin, older, with scars on his hands, appeared from a side door.
"Take the boy to the Inheritance Hall," ordered the first goblin. "And summon Ragnok immediately."
Helen finally found her voice.
"What is happening?"
Solus looked at her.
"Mom, I need you to wait here. It will only be a moment."
"I'm not going to let you—"
"Please." Solus' voice was soft but firm. "Trust me."
Helen wanted to protest.
But something in her son's gaze stopped her.
"All right," she whispered. "But if you're not back in ten minutes—"
"I'll be back."
And Solus followed the goblins into the depths of the bank.
. . . . . .
The Inheritance Hall was small and austere.
Stone walls. A dark wooden table. Three goblins: the one who had guided him, the scarred elder (apparently named Ragnok), and a third holding a ceremonial silver dagger.
Ragnok sat across from Solus and steepled his fingers.
"Corvus Slytherin," he said slowly. "That is a name not spoken for almost a thousand years."
"I know," Solus replied.
"And you claim to be his heir?"
"Yes."
"Do you have proof?"
Solus held out his hand.
"Do the blood test."
Ragnok tilted his head.
"Bold. Very well."
The third goblin approached with the dagger. He placed it on the table next to a blank parchment and a vial of silvery liquid.
"Three drops of blood," Ragnok explained. "If your blood carries Slytherin magic, the parchment will reveal it."
Solus didn't hesitate.
He took the dagger. Cut the palm of his hand.
'Hurts less than a sword.'
Three drops fell onto the parchment.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the parchment began to glow.
Golden lines appeared, forming words in an ancient language. The silvery liquid bubbled. The air in the hall grew heavy, as if something invisible had awakened.
Ragnok leaned forward.
He read.
And his expression changed.
"Impossible," he murmured.
"What does it say?" Solus asked, though he already knew.
Ragnok looked up.
"Solus Gray. Born of muggles. No known magical lineage in this century." He paused. "But your blood sings with the magic of three lost lineages."
"Three?"
"Corvus Slytherin. Salazar Slytherin." Ragnok touched the parchment. "And something else… something that predates even the Founders."
'Ancient Magic,' thought Solus.
"Then I am the heir."
"Yes," Ragnok leaned back in his chair. "Though I do not understand how. Corvus Slytherin's line ended centuries ago. There are no records of descendants."
"Bloodlines can hide," Solus replied.
"Evidently."
Ragnok gestured, and the third goblin vanished through another door. He returned moments later carrying a small ebony box.
He placed it in front of Solus.
"By the laws of magical inheritance," Ragnok said formally, "you are entitled to claim the Heir's Ring of the House of Slytherin and access Vault 7 of the Ancient Chambers."
Solus opened the box.
Inside, resting on black velvet, was a ring.
Not ostentatious. No shining gems or gleaming gold.
Simple: silver darkened by time, with a snake engraved biting its own tail. And at its center, a green stone that seemed to breathe.
The Ring of Corvus.
Solus took it.
And as he slid it onto his finger, he felt something.
No pain.
No power.
Just… recognition.
As if magic itself was saying: Welcome home.
"The vault is ready," Ragnok announced. "Do you wish to access it now?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Follow me."
. . . . . .
The Gringotts carts were insane.
Helen had climbed in after Solus insisted she accompany him. Now, as the metal cart hurtled through dark tunnels at a speed that defied all logic, Helen gripped the edges with white knuckles.
"Is this safe?!" she yelled over the roar of the wind.
"More or less!" replied the goblin driver.
Solus, sitting calmly beside her, seemed unfazed.
He has seen worse, Helen thought suddenly. I don't know how I know this, but I do.
Finally, the cart stopped in front of a massive door.
No. Not a door.
A gate. Black iron engraved with faintly glowing runes. Thick chains like tree trunks hung on either side.
Ragnok descended from the cart and placed his hand on the gate.
"Vault 7," he announced. "Sealed since 1065 A.D. Only Slytherin blood may open it."
He looked at Solus.
Solus stepped forward.
Pressed his hand against the gate.
The runes glowed green.
The chains fell.
And the gate began to open with a sound like a dragon awakening.
. . . . . .
Helen had no words for what she saw.
The vault was cathedral-sized.
Piles of gold. Mountains of magical galleons shining under torches burning with blue flame.
Shelves filled with artifacts: swords, wands, sealed scrolls, armor that looked like solidified light.
But what caught Solus' attention wasn't the gold.
It was the table in the center of the vault.
On it rested a book.
No.
A journal.
Bound in black leather, with the Slytherin symbol engraved on the cover.
Solus walked toward it as if in a trance.
He opened it.
And read the first page.
. . . . . . .
[To whoever inherits this legacy:
If you are reading this, then my blood still lives. Good.
I am Corvus Slytherin. Younger brother of Salazar. Headmaster of Hogwarts. And the man who died defending a dream the world has probably forgotten.
I left this for you because I knew you would come. I knew someone like me, someone who understands the weight of time, would need the tools to fight what comes in the future. My visions told me I should leave something preserved for the future, and so I did.
Magic is dying. Not today. Not tomorrow. But slowly. Each generation is weaker than the last because they forgot who we are: not spellcasters.
We are architects of reality.
Use what I have left. Rebuild what was lost. And when the time comes…
Protect those who cannot protect themselves.
That has always been our purpose. And above all, Hogwarts'.
Corvus Slytherin, 1065 A.D.]
Solus closed the journal slowly.
Helen approached.
"Solus?"
He looked at her.
And for the first time since he was nine, Helen saw tears in her son's eyes.
"Mom," he whispered. "He knew. He knew I would come. A wizard who saw the future."
Helen didn't understand.
But she hugged her son anyway.
"It's all right, dear. It's all right."
Solus held onto her.
'It's not all right,' he thought. 'Nothing is all right.'
'But now I have the tools to fix it.'
He looked over his mother's shoulder at the piles of gold, the ancient weapons, the sealed scrolls.
A legacy a thousand years old.
An arsenal for a war that had not yet begun.
And a ring on his finger that told him: 'Now you are responsible for fulfilling my legacy and will.'