Entry tags:

*fic, character: ginny weasley, character: salazar slytherin, community: rarepair_shorts, fandom: harry potter, genre: general, genre: mystery, gift, rating: pg, ship: ginny/salazar

The Heir's Mistake
Title: The Heir's Mistake
Recipient: doreyg
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ginny/Salazar
Prompt/Request: Trust
Rating: PG
Word Count: 497
Summary: As Ginny lay cold and still in the Chamber of Secrets, edging ever closer to death, she dreamed.
Author's Notes: for the rarepair_shorts wishlist event. Beta'd by captainpookey.

The Heir's Mistake

As Ginny lay cold and still in the Chamber of Secrets, edging ever closer to death, she dreamed. Though her body could not move, her mind whirled as if she had never been more alive.

At first, the images that flashed before her were unrecognizable, too fleeting to be identified as anything more than colors. Shapes. The sounds that accompanied them were just as quick and therefore garbled.

And then they began to slow, like a spinning wheel that had begun to lose its momentum.

Eventually, it settled.

For a moment, Ginny believed that she had died, and she wanted to scream—it was not fair. But no… that did not seem quite right. Death, she thought, would feel more final. It still seemed as though she were waiting for something.

In her dream—for it was still a dream until proved otherwise—she stood with ease and glanced around her. She was in the middle of a swamp, though the muck did not seem to touch her. The air smelled of age, of rotted leaves and wood. To one side, a two-headed frog croaked in greeting.

And toward her walked a young man. He was not particularly tall, though when he reached her he still had to look downward to meet her gaze. He wore robes, but they were nothing like she had ever before seen, and he had thick, curly hair of the darkest brown. His eyes were also dark, neither warm nor cold, his features pointed and aristocratic—and almost familiar.

“Ginevra Weasley,” he murmured, and touched his thin, cold lips to the back of her hand.

Ginny started at the gesture. “Who are you?” she inquired, curious.

He gave a wry, nearly-cold smile. “I am Salazar Slytherin.”

Ginny’s eyes widened, and she struggled to speak.

“No doubt you have heard of me,” he added with a smirk, noting her expression.

“But you—”

He waited.

“Where are we?”

Salazar glanced around them as though the answer were plainly obvious.

Ginny frowned. “Well, I mean, of course we’re in some sort of swamp—”

“Which is all that is of importance to you,” he interrupted.

“But what’s going on? Why are you even—?”

“It was not intended that you be harmed.”

“What?”

“My—heir.” Salazar waved his hand absently. “Your blood is pure, no matter that you so very much belong in Godric’s House. Your kind was never meant to be in danger.”

“So your—your—Tom. He botched things up, then?” Ginny demanded. “The Heir of Slytherin made a mistake?”

Salazar paused, his lip curling. “Yes…”

“So—”

“Trust me, Ginevra. You will not die.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” she snorted, “considering this is a dream.”

“Trust me,” he repeated.

He brushed a stray hair off of her forehead, and then once more took her hand. At his touch, she felt her eyes close, and she was sinking…

…sinking…

…until she opened her eyes with a gasp, sprawled out across the Chamber floor.


THE END