Post by starbright9 on Nov 22, 2007 13:40:53 GMT -5
This is a fanfic I wrote a short time ago, what do you guys think of it?
Reasons
There are reasons for everything, reasons for why people do what they do. The reasons may not justify the actions, but there are still always reasons. Salazar Slytherin was no exception; it was just that no one ever bothered to ask him why. It was a few sentences, a simple string of words that pushed him over the edge. Something so innocent, until you knew the whole story, then it seemed nothing but cold hearted.
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He stared into the flames as they licked at the charred remains of a body. He couldn’t look at her; that hurt too much. He had to block his ears from her screams; they caused him too much pain. I can’t believe they’re doing this to her, his thoughts screamed, she never did anything wrong. And Father just let it happen, it was just accidental magic! He could have stopped this, he has more than enough influence. But no, he just stands and watches his own daughter burnt at the stake! She didn’t even think she could do magic! Father never let her be taught, simply because she was a girl. That was the day Salazar Slytherin taught himself not to cry, age 9 and a half, the day his six year old sister was burnt to death.
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In time he found some sort of peace, became slightly closer to a few people, but not many. He founded a school with some of these acquaintances, he wouldn’t call them friends, he was too scared that they’d turn on him like his father had turned on his sister. He tried to help his students but he never thought he did adequately. He was perfectly happy in his abilities at potion making, it was helping those emotionally he struggled with. How could he help a student get over the loss of a loved one when he never had?
He hid behind a mask. Always. He never let it fall, that would mean showing himself openly, and he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t ready, and maybe he never would be. In the end, he was never even given the chance. Of course there were opportunities, but none when he was ready. No true opportunities for him to explain. The one time he had tried, it had simply been too late.
Slytherin swept though the corridors, heading towards the Great Hall and his dinner. He caught snippets of the students’ conversation as he passed them.
“Urg! I can’t believe Ravenclaw is making us memorise spell definitions! How will that help us?” moaned a student. Salazar grinned inwardly at this; he could just hear Rowena’s reply to that inside his head. Going on about knowing the definition of spells helped you learn when to best use a spell.
“Did you hear about what Helen did yesterday?” gossiped an excited fourth-year. He just rolled his eyes at that particular comment, why would anyone be interested in what Helen did? he thought.
“Did you read that chapter for History of Magic?” asked a pupil to the friend they were walking with. “It was fascinating!” Salazar sighed inwardly at this; at least somebody has some enthusiasm.
“Have you spoken to any of the puny first-years yet?” a seventh-year boy sneered to his companion. Salazar shook his head at this; couldn’t they at least try and help the younger students? he thought. He reached the Great Hall, the room thronging with students eager to get their dinner. Inwardly it amused him slightly that he had managed to over hear the conversations of each of the stereotypes associated with each of the Houses at Hogwarts.
As he drew closer to the staff table he caught part of a particular conversation. It chilled him to the bone, even more so than the detachment he usually felt. It did more than merely annoy him, as was such with many of the conversations he overheard the students having. It made him angry, furious. And Salazar Slytherin hadn’t gotten angry since he was nine. Since he closed off his heart.
“Did you know there are people who pretend to be witches?” said a boy in the hushed tones of someone who is imparting information of great knowledge. “They’re apparently possessed by the Devil! We burn them in our village. Everyone says they’re evil!”
Slytherin spun round and stood stock still. Shaking slightly from anger.
“That’s,” began another student but they never got a chance to finish.
“What did you say?” growled Slytherin, his voice low. He trembled from anger, barely able to stay still. His anger nearly getting the better of him.
“I said that people in our village burn people who pretend to be witches because they think they’re possessed by the Devil, sir,” the small boy shook as he said this, stuttering slightly from fear of the ominous professor.
“And why do they think they’re possessed by the Devil?” asked Salazar through gritted teeth.
“Because they do evil things sir,” replied the still shaking boy.
“How do you know that they do evil things?” growled Slytherin, shaking more violently.
“I don’t know sir,” stuttered the boy.
“I bet you don’t,” he hissed back. Salazar’s anger finally got the better of him, he delivered a swift back hand to the child’s face.
“Salazar!” came three cries from the staff table, the owner’s of these voices standing up at the same time.
“What do you think you’re doing?” asked one of them, the male. Godric Gryffindor.
“Does it really matter to you?” hissed Salazar, his eyes flaring in anger.
“Yes, now calm down!” pleaded one of the women. Helga Hufflepuff. Always friendly. Always trying to avoid conflict.
“Why should I?” Slytherin demanded. He clenched his fists into balls, wishing that he could be away from here. Wishing for a few moments to pull himself together, to stop his emotions getting the better of him.
“Think about this logically Salazar, there’s no need to get angry,” replied the other woman, the ever logical Rowena Ravenclaw.
“You don’t know that. You could never know that.”
“Salazar, if you can’t pull yourself together I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” said a concerned Godric.
“If that is what you wish,” snarled Slytherin in reply, turning on his heel and leaving the Hall, soon to be leaving the school. They had only meant that he leave the Hall for a few moments to calm down but he didn’t see that. Anger blinds you to the obvious.
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He left the one place he felt he even slightly belonged to. He never managed to recover from that argument. He opened himself up to his hatred towards those who killed his sister. His father had passed away years before so he transferred his hatred to the only other party involved. Muggles. He took out all his hatred on the muggles. The anger and hatred he felt was greater than merely towards those who had actually killed her. It was bigger. It consumed him. He wanted to hurt them all. Hurt them like they had hurt him. He wanted to kill them. He wanted to kill them and make them suffer.
Some reasons are well known. Others remain hidden. Others are twisted. The reason for what happened to Salazar Slytherin has been hidden and twisted so many times that there is barely a shred of truth in the story commonly told. The true reason lost in the midst of the lies and deception. There are reasons for everything. The reason may not justify the action, it rarely does. But there is always a reason. And it is in these reasons you can discover what people are really like. What they really felt. What they really were. It is because of the reasons.
Reasons
There are reasons for everything, reasons for why people do what they do. The reasons may not justify the actions, but there are still always reasons. Salazar Slytherin was no exception; it was just that no one ever bothered to ask him why. It was a few sentences, a simple string of words that pushed him over the edge. Something so innocent, until you knew the whole story, then it seemed nothing but cold hearted.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He stared into the flames as they licked at the charred remains of a body. He couldn’t look at her; that hurt too much. He had to block his ears from her screams; they caused him too much pain. I can’t believe they’re doing this to her, his thoughts screamed, she never did anything wrong. And Father just let it happen, it was just accidental magic! He could have stopped this, he has more than enough influence. But no, he just stands and watches his own daughter burnt at the stake! She didn’t even think she could do magic! Father never let her be taught, simply because she was a girl. That was the day Salazar Slytherin taught himself not to cry, age 9 and a half, the day his six year old sister was burnt to death.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In time he found some sort of peace, became slightly closer to a few people, but not many. He founded a school with some of these acquaintances, he wouldn’t call them friends, he was too scared that they’d turn on him like his father had turned on his sister. He tried to help his students but he never thought he did adequately. He was perfectly happy in his abilities at potion making, it was helping those emotionally he struggled with. How could he help a student get over the loss of a loved one when he never had?
He hid behind a mask. Always. He never let it fall, that would mean showing himself openly, and he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t ready, and maybe he never would be. In the end, he was never even given the chance. Of course there were opportunities, but none when he was ready. No true opportunities for him to explain. The one time he had tried, it had simply been too late.
Slytherin swept though the corridors, heading towards the Great Hall and his dinner. He caught snippets of the students’ conversation as he passed them.
“Urg! I can’t believe Ravenclaw is making us memorise spell definitions! How will that help us?” moaned a student. Salazar grinned inwardly at this; he could just hear Rowena’s reply to that inside his head. Going on about knowing the definition of spells helped you learn when to best use a spell.
“Did you hear about what Helen did yesterday?” gossiped an excited fourth-year. He just rolled his eyes at that particular comment, why would anyone be interested in what Helen did? he thought.
“Did you read that chapter for History of Magic?” asked a pupil to the friend they were walking with. “It was fascinating!” Salazar sighed inwardly at this; at least somebody has some enthusiasm.
“Have you spoken to any of the puny first-years yet?” a seventh-year boy sneered to his companion. Salazar shook his head at this; couldn’t they at least try and help the younger students? he thought. He reached the Great Hall, the room thronging with students eager to get their dinner. Inwardly it amused him slightly that he had managed to over hear the conversations of each of the stereotypes associated with each of the Houses at Hogwarts.
As he drew closer to the staff table he caught part of a particular conversation. It chilled him to the bone, even more so than the detachment he usually felt. It did more than merely annoy him, as was such with many of the conversations he overheard the students having. It made him angry, furious. And Salazar Slytherin hadn’t gotten angry since he was nine. Since he closed off his heart.
“Did you know there are people who pretend to be witches?” said a boy in the hushed tones of someone who is imparting information of great knowledge. “They’re apparently possessed by the Devil! We burn them in our village. Everyone says they’re evil!”
Slytherin spun round and stood stock still. Shaking slightly from anger.
“That’s,” began another student but they never got a chance to finish.
“What did you say?” growled Slytherin, his voice low. He trembled from anger, barely able to stay still. His anger nearly getting the better of him.
“I said that people in our village burn people who pretend to be witches because they think they’re possessed by the Devil, sir,” the small boy shook as he said this, stuttering slightly from fear of the ominous professor.
“And why do they think they’re possessed by the Devil?” asked Salazar through gritted teeth.
“Because they do evil things sir,” replied the still shaking boy.
“How do you know that they do evil things?” growled Slytherin, shaking more violently.
“I don’t know sir,” stuttered the boy.
“I bet you don’t,” he hissed back. Salazar’s anger finally got the better of him, he delivered a swift back hand to the child’s face.
“Salazar!” came three cries from the staff table, the owner’s of these voices standing up at the same time.
“What do you think you’re doing?” asked one of them, the male. Godric Gryffindor.
“Does it really matter to you?” hissed Salazar, his eyes flaring in anger.
“Yes, now calm down!” pleaded one of the women. Helga Hufflepuff. Always friendly. Always trying to avoid conflict.
“Why should I?” Slytherin demanded. He clenched his fists into balls, wishing that he could be away from here. Wishing for a few moments to pull himself together, to stop his emotions getting the better of him.
“Think about this logically Salazar, there’s no need to get angry,” replied the other woman, the ever logical Rowena Ravenclaw.
“You don’t know that. You could never know that.”
“Salazar, if you can’t pull yourself together I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” said a concerned Godric.
“If that is what you wish,” snarled Slytherin in reply, turning on his heel and leaving the Hall, soon to be leaving the school. They had only meant that he leave the Hall for a few moments to calm down but he didn’t see that. Anger blinds you to the obvious.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He left the one place he felt he even slightly belonged to. He never managed to recover from that argument. He opened himself up to his hatred towards those who killed his sister. His father had passed away years before so he transferred his hatred to the only other party involved. Muggles. He took out all his hatred on the muggles. The anger and hatred he felt was greater than merely towards those who had actually killed her. It was bigger. It consumed him. He wanted to hurt them all. Hurt them like they had hurt him. He wanted to kill them. He wanted to kill them and make them suffer.
Some reasons are well known. Others remain hidden. Others are twisted. The reason for what happened to Salazar Slytherin has been hidden and twisted so many times that there is barely a shred of truth in the story commonly told. The true reason lost in the midst of the lies and deception. There are reasons for everything. The reason may not justify the action, it rarely does. But there is always a reason. And it is in these reasons you can discover what people are really like. What they really felt. What they really were. It is because of the reasons.
