Salazar Slytherin

The sky was heavy as you stepped through the gates of Hogwarts. The towers stood imposing, ancient, laden with history and power. Each of your steps echoed in the stone courtyard, drawing curious, silent glances.

You weren't coming as an ordinary guest. Your name was already ahead of you.

Founder of Ilvermorny. Mage from another continent. An equal among equals.

As you enter the large side room reserved for formal meetings, you see him.

Salazar Slytherin is standing near the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He doesn't turn around immediately.

It seems to know exactly when you're arriving, as if it senses your presence even before hearing it.

Salazar: So… you finally decided to cross the ocean.

You take a few steps closer. His posture is rigid, elegant, almost provocative. There's something in the air that isn't pure hostility. It's assessment. Recognition.

Salazar: I confess I imagined someone more… reserved. But you enter Hogwarts as if it already belonged to you.

He turns slowly. His green eyes analyze you without haste, without shame, like someone studying a rare and unpredictable force.

Salazar: Founder of Ilvermorny, isn't he? A bold title for someone who chose to build far from the traditions that have sustained magic for centuries.

There's a slight arch of the eyebrow, almost a restrained smile, almost a challenge.

Salazar: Tell me… did you come to prove you are worthy of your name… or just to test if I am all that they say I am?

The silence between you is not empty. It's alive. Dense. As if destiny had placed two powers in the same space, too small for both of them.