Harry Potter and the True Heir

Harry Potter and the True-Blooded Heir

Chapter One- It is Time

Day 1128,

Nothing could have prepared me for the day I was just witness to.

The expanse of the sky was as velvet blue this Saturday of August in Privet Drive as it had been this entire week. The stars echoed out the hopes and accomplishments of mankind into the outer regions of the universe as tiny blinking lights in acknowledgement. They each obeyed gravitational laws and were firmly held in place. Many have tried to reach out and touch them, but nothing really sustained in their grasps. The stars still remained in position, alive now more than ever. Some, though, still are dying, but brightly envelop the night as they always have.

Some have wondered why humans are so tainted by greed, malice, and power that they can never remain faithful to their vows. A young girl, sitting in an empty, dusty attic with uncompromising dreams, continued to ponder that thought as she poured out her heart--and as it appeared, a profusion of liquid spilling from her eyes--onto a piece of stationary superfluously decorated with reddish in hue tulips and peachy roses. Each extended stroke of her pen exemplified the strain it took for her to even write. Her long, straight, silky-black hair hid her sun-kissed face with only remnants of bright, blue eyes shown behind it.

Horror and shock can't begin to describe what I'm feeling right now.

She put her pen down, grabbed an old, dust-covered Bible and blew the dust from its surface. The girl flipped open the Bible to a single page with only two previously highlighted verses. She then set the Bible aside and resumed writing.

Everything that I've been led to believe is a lie. I wonder if anyone else out there has ever gone through something like today. I wonder if any of them know what it's like being told something so impossible believe, your mind literally feels like it's been spliced in two.

She glared at the Bible and began copying, word for word, the verses she had turned to onto the other side of her stationary.

Luke 20:17-18--

17. Jesus looked directly at them and asked, "Then what is the meaning of which it is written: 'The stone the builders rejected is now the capstone'?" 18. Everyone who falls on the stone will be broken to pieces, but on he whom it falls, will be crushed.

She closed the Bible and put it back in its place, before picking up her pen and continuing to write furiously.

These are the words that my dad always repeated to me whenever the other kids at school would poke fun at me. He reminded me that whenever anyone discards me, they've made me that much stronger, and are in turn, inviting trouble upon themselves. But who knew that I'd one day be in such a heap of a mess that would explain just how powerful I am?

It was around two in the morning when I was awakened by a buzz of alarm and frightened scowls by my dad and brother. I grabbed my bath robe and was on my way downstairs, trying to be as quiet as possible not to make the old, wooden steps creak. "If we're being robbed," I then thought, "I'll be better use to my family alive." So I halted myself near the top of the stairs and crouched down low enough to see that the commotion had stopped. There was a man with some sort of a pointed hat seated on our sofa with his back turned to me. Joseph was out of sight, but I knew that he was near.

The impostor bent his head low and uttered the following words in a crisp, clear, and apologetic voice:

"Marcus Arrhenius, please forgive me."

My dad simply glowered at the man speaking to him and nodded his head. I became inquisitive, more than worried now. My thoughts of having been robbed now dwindled into the curiosity I felt about this strange man's visit. My thoughts were cut off by my dad's booming and commanding voice addressing our trespasser.

"Professor, I know why you are here. But I still stand firm with the decision I made three years ago." My dad's fingers were entwined in one another and his legs were crossed; he definitely looked uncomfortable with the man. But whatever his relationship was with him, my dad knew more than I had first assumed he did.

"I am afraid that I do not quite agree with you," the other man said, as he put down his hat onto our coffee table and revealed gray hair glistening by the fireside with only embers outlining his lanky fingers promptly resting on an arm of the sofa.

"With all due respect, Professor, I don't believe your feelings can be catered to all the time. Not when it involves something so important. I can't tell my children what you wish of me."

"I have the letter in my hand, Marcus Arrhenius. You won't have to explain anything about Armola. She's done it herself-" The man had said it, a forbidden name in our house. I saw my dad's fists squeeze harder together, and his face turned red with anger.

"We do not speak of her name in such a disregarded manner, Professor."

"I am aware of that, but neither was my comment with any disregard to her. However, I do believe that this letter must be presented to its intended."

"Why come back now? Why now? They do not need--"

"Your love for your beloved is crowding your better judgment, Marcus."

"It is not!" My dad, in all my years, has never raised his voice at anyone. No one mentions the name of Armola Black, let alone calls her my dad's beloved.

"Calm down, Marcus. Your young ones might catch whiff of this. By the way, nice charm-work on your son, Marcus. I see your favorite subject in school has still stayed with you all these years." My dad distractedly looked into the fire as the man said this, with a hint of apprehension.

"Not another word, Professor, please. Leave me out of Ministry matters."

"My dear man, this has nothing to do with the Ministry. This has everything to do with official Hogwarts business."

"So, after I've managed to keep it all hush-hush these years, you're going to spring up like this and tell them evertyth-" My dad looked to me like an unruly beast. His burnt sienna locks dangled madly in front of his eyes.

"No, you seem to misunderstand me. I'm here to inform you that YOU have to be the one to tell them. As a father, your word will be taken more seriously than mine. They need to know about Hogwarts, Marcus. You mustn't stop them."

"And if I choose to keep it a secret?"

"You and your wife were excellent Aurors, Marcus."

"Yes, and only one of us is alive to tell the tale."

"Come off it now. Your children need to know where their abilities come from. I was watching your girl the other day at her schooling place. Another young girl came up to her and started picking on her terribly. However, your daughter repelled with a most impressive unspoken Conjunctivitus curse."

"She did that?" My father looked rather uncertain about the credibility of the man's words.

"Yes, I didn't even have to call the Ministry to have them erase that Muggle's memory." The man paused for a brief moment, observing my dad's uncertain reaction, and then continued. "Think on it. Hogwarts could teach her to hone her abilities far beyond what she can do here."

"Sounds fairly easy for you, doesn't it, Professor?"

"No, I understand the difficulty-"

"You 'understand' having to see your wife die? You 'understand' having to see remainders of him in your daughter? You 'understand', Dumbledore?" It was the first time I had heard my dad calling the man by what appeared to be a name as opposed to a title.

"Yes, believe it or not, Marcus, I do understand what you are going through. You see, I have Armola's letter with me now." My dad glanced up to look at this Dumbledore man and surveyed him with his eyes. "You won't find it by doing that, Marcus. 'Accio' is not going to work."

"Why would I want to do that?" My dad's eyes were still fixed on this man; however, he was careful not to meet him eye to eye.

"To throw it into the fire once you've taken hold of it."

What I didn't understand was how Dumbledore could've gotten hold of a letter my mother had written. I was becoming furious once more that this man was speaking in what sounded like tongues. He spoke of things and places I had never heard of before, and more importantly, I was never told about them.

"And what of Joseph? He'll think I'm a liar because of all of this. Shalimar will be more confused than ever. It was difficult to make her even understand when it had happened."

"You'll be free of all the lies, Marcus. I will see to it that no harm befall your chil-" I couldn't stand it anymore. I felt a sudden urge to confront this man. I rushed down the stairs, ignoring the many creaks, and landed promptly in front of the man's seat. His face was rather furrowed and his eyes were bespectacled with a frame the shape of half-moons. Upon seeing my intrusion into his words, I thought that I would make out acerbity in his expression. However, what awaited me was a warm smile; I preferred to ignore it.

"You are a coward." I didn't realize, at the time, the weight of my words. They were simply uttered for the sake of my defense, and any unpleasantness upon hearing them after that, was not my responsibility.

"Shalimar!" I heard my father exclaim. I chose to treat his cry without proper respect or attentiveness.

"You speak of her as though she meant nothing on this earth; as though you knew her personally! Hogwarts! Is this some sort of place where they house misbehaved teenagers? Well, I'm not going! And what in the world are Aurors? Why have you come here so early in the morning, disturbing this family's sleep? What do you want, and where's this letter from Mum you claim to have? And I didn't curse anybody. I don't even know what it does--if it does ANYTHING!"

I flooded him with so many questions; however, he was in no hurry to address each immediately. Dumbledore merely got up, picked up his hat, placed it on his head, and whipped out a silvery-white powder from his cloak--oh, yes, he was wearing a cloak. It had beams of golden-lighted stars all over it and was deep sapphire blue.

"Marcus, she is your child. I have performed my duty. And now, it is your turn to do likewise. I suppose it was supposed to come to this." He turned and addressed me. "Should you choose to come to us, I will have everything arranged for you by owl post." He handed my mum's letter to dad and threw the powder into the fireplace and stepped inside the now glowing green embers, saying the word, "Hogsmeade," and disappeared along with the flames. I was suddenly enveloped by darkness and didn't even realize that I was rigid in my place.

"Lumos," I heard my dad call, and a faint light surrounded the room, leaving dark shadows to remain to themselves. He then said, "Accio Joseph," and my brother burst through the kitchen doors frozen as stone and landed right next to me. I turned to my father, and he spoke again, "Momenta," and my brother had the ability to flex his fingers once again. I turned from my gaze at Joseph to my dad and saw a little, what seemed to be, wand in his left hand's grasp. I shrieked and the next thing I knew, it was 8 o'clock in the evening, and I was lying down in my bed.

Chapter Two- A Witch Calls

After the fear that I felt this morning I didn't think that I would ever wake again. A memory of the past event merely haunted my dreams, leaving me with a great sense of confusion, a feeling I've grown used to. That man, Dumbledore, knew something that neither my brother nor I were told about. My dad was most certainly concealing something. For a second, my thoughts danced around the idea of that stick that he was holding. It wasn't--"No"--I refused to bring myself to think of such stupid things. I simply knew that I had to open my eyes and bring myself out from this dream. After all, that's what it had been, hadn't it?

"Shalimar, look here." It was unmistakably my dad's voice. I didn't respond by speaking, I simply waited for him to tell me what it was. "Look what I've got for you." Without being aware that I had suddenly made a conscious decision, I opened my eyes cautiously.

"That's it," I head him call to me again. "Good job, that's it." I made a gesture with my body that suggested I needed to be in an upright position; my dad, without hesitation, put me in it.

"Anything else you need?" I shook my head. "Alright then, I've got something here for you." He bent down to the foot of my bed and pulled out a chess box. The cover read "Wizard's Chess" in bright periwinkle letters and with pictures of the pieces on the cover.

"Dad, Christmas won't be for months," I dissented.

"I know, but I thought that I'd let it come to you a little earlier this year. I know how much you've wanted this," he said, as he was removed the cover from the box to reveal the instructions, the pieces, and the board. For a brief moment, I thought I caught a glimpse of the pictures on the cover moving. I heard loud crashes, bangs, and the pieces were slashing each other left and right, or so it appeared.

"Dad, they're--" I took my gaze from the cover to my dad, and he simply gave me a mischievous grin.

"Don't worry about that," he said, as he set up the board on my bed. I folded my legs to give him more room, but as I did so, caused a knight to topple and roll off the board. But, just as I was about to reach out and put it back in its place, the black knight picked itself and its horse up and resumed its position at G1.

"Dad, did you see that?" I gasped as I pointed to the moving chess piece.
"It moved!" My dad simply kept putting the rest of the pieces on the board. All of this seemed uncanny. I did want a Persian Marble Chess Set for Christmas, but I didn't know that they could come this technologically advanced. After he put the last white pawn in front of its castle, my dad clapped his hands and took a deep breath.

"Are we going to play chess right now?" I asked him. He merely laughed at this.

"No, I'm going to show you something. This is called 'Wizard's Chess, Shalimar."

"Yes, it's really nice, Dad. I like the special effects."

"Special effects? Oh, no, my dear girl, this is very much real." He picked up the box's coat and showed it to me. "This is real." The picture was ever-moving. It didn't seem like a hologram. It was just a two-dimensional picture-- that happened to be moving.

"But how can it be--even though it seems to be moving?"

"It is called Wizard's Chess. Well, it's real because the pieces are real. They move because they're alive; they're not programmed like you think they are."

"I don't underst--"

"I don't expect you to right away." He set aside the cover and drew my attention to a white pawn at H2. Instead of moving it with his fingers, he ordered the piece to go forward two spaces. "Pawn at H2 to H4." The pawn obeyed. Then he turned to me. "Command one of your pieces to do something," he suggested.

"Pawn from B7 to B5." My pawn obediently positioned itself in the ordered square. I turned to my dad and said, "Now what?"

"Diagonal attack." And right before my eyes, I saw my pawn being exploded to pieces.

"But how?" I cried out.

"This is "Wizard's Chess,' Shalimar, which means that a little bit of magic is involved. These pieces are alive, because they're magically enchanted."

I was as baffled as ever, and my dad's sweet wasn't going to cut it. I didn't understand what he was saying.

"Young and old wizards and witches play this game. Just like you and Joey."

"Dad, what kind of joke is this?"

"It isn't a joke; I'm very serious." And then I saw it: he was no longer smiling; he had a rather harsh look on his face. "Wizards and witches, Shalimar. Wizards and witches. Not the lot of them that we see running around the streets with their crystal balls claiming they foresee the future. But there are wizards and witches with actual powers."

I thought it best to stay silent and let him continue with his explanation. All of this seemed rather like a mythical fantasy, but I didn't dare to turn my concentration elsewhere.

"See, Shalimar, there are people on this Earth chosen to get these powers since the day they were born because of some possible potential. Others are merely handed down their powers because it runs in the family. And yet still others are merely gifted them. Shalimar, you fall under all three categories.

"You ever wish something on someone whenever you're being bullied? Do you wish that they would run into a locker as they're backing away from you, and then right then and there, they run into a locker?" Although his particular example made no connections to my actual wishes on people, which are more unbearable than that, I still understood his "big picture," and so I nodded. "This isn't simply coincidence, Shal. It's reality. Because of your abilities as a witch, you were able to do those things." He said it, that word Dumbledore had used when referring to me at my school. He said, "Hogwarts could teach her to hone her abilities." Was my dad correct? Were there really such people as wizards and witches, and were Joseph and I ones?

"I know this is all confusing to you right now, but you've got to listen to me. I've kept this a secret from you and your brother for several reasons. We, your mum and I, led dangerous lives. We were Aurors, who are employees of the Ministry of Magic--our wizarding form of government--who track down and capture Dark Wizards. At the time of Joseph's birth, a wizard, one more evil and greatly feared above any other, rose to power. He threatened the lives of every wizard, witch, squib--or a person of wizarding descent but has no magical powers, and non-magical people- Muggles.

"His attempt was to rule the world, and he had almost succeeded. His followers named themselves the "Death Eaters.' The 'Dark Mark' was placed above a home if it meant that the Death Eaters had murdered someone, claiming it as a victory. He was, we thought, invincible. However, a little boy, just a baby, with no extraordinary powers, was able to fight off Voldemort--the Dark Lord--by simply being shielded by his mother's love. The only remains of that fight is a lightning-bolt scar on the boy's forehead." Dad continued by telling me this baby boy lived to be the young man Harry Potter. He didn't know he was a wizard until his call at age 11. He was now 16 and had encountered Voldemort numerous times after that miraculous day. However, there was a price. He was left orphaned, for Voldemort claimed the lives of his parents that day.

"After Harry's parents died, the Ministry arrested Sirius Black for their murders, as well as countless Muggles'. He was, evidently, the best mate of James and Lily Potter, so it added a dosage of shock to your mum when she found out about that-"

"But why?" This is the first I had spoken since he started telling me the tale, for that is what I still wanted to believe it was.

"Sirius Black, Armola Black... Can't you tell why?"

It had then occurred to me: they were related.

"Armola was Sirius's cousin sister; his mum's sister's daughter. The very thought of him having spend the rest of his living days in Azkaban for murders that he never could've committed was very painful for her. Oh, Azkaban is our wizarding prison. But, Sirius was on the run.

"You see, Shal. We thought that years away from the magic world would do us good. That ever since Harry Potter was able to weaken Voldemort into seclusion for 11 years, we thought that it would leave him out of our worried lives and maybe even dead. But, Shalimar, he didn't die. Harry went to the Ministry, Dumbledore, and his professors even, but no one seemed to take heed of his 'complaints.'

"Then under two years ago, the Dark Mark was found, and that told us everything we needed to know. Voldemort has come to power once again. A year ago, Sirius was acquitted of his charges because Harry told everyone who really committed the murders, but that murderer got away. Then at the Ministry, Voldemort came to collect the Prophecy that Trelawney had told. Sirius met up with him, but was killed by a Death Eater. Dumbledore and Harry, and even some of his school chums who showed a ready will to fight to the death, joined in the miniature battle.

"Voldemort indeed is of most danger to your lives once again. But this time, he will come after you and Joseph: you two WILL be targets and ANYONE who poses as an obstruction in his path. I am equipped with magical knowledge, but, Shal, as I told your brother, it is important that you two do everything to prevent anything from happening to yourselves." And so he sighed and rested back in his chair beside my single bed, staring at me with his cappuccino eyes. I took that gesture to be his concluding statement. It was difficultly maddening my senses- trying to grasp the information that had been passed on to me. I was supposed to believe that I was a witch with powers, and more importantly, that I was in danger because of this Voldemort character. I took in the atmosphere for only a few moments before saying something.

"What was that man here for?"

"He was trying to persuade me into sending you to 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'"

"And should I go? All of the other kids have 5 years experience ahead of me. They know their teachers, their classes, they've made 'best friends' and they're settled in!" I was more upset than I had thought, and it showed in my tone. However, my father was sulking and looked emotionally drained enough that I decided to drop it.

"I understand--"

"No, you don't." Apparently, I couldn't 'drop it' as soon as I'd like to have. "You've kept all this from me, and then suddenly expect me to care about the lot of it? I don't need Hogwarts!" As I said this, I pushed off my bed sheets, rose to my feet, and walked towards the door of my room. I then turned the knob and made my way downstairs, yelping through and through, "Why do I need to go to yet another school where everyone will laugh at me and question me about my dead mother?!" I knew that I had crossed the line. I saw the silent fury brewing in my dad's glowering eyes. I halted at the foot of the stairs and realized that out of panic I had once again been immobilized.

"Your mum's death was unfortunate, Shal." He didn't speak so commandingly anymore. Rather, his voice was raspy and his expression meek. "No one feels more than you, I know. Your brother and I have tried our best to fit in her place, but it's not quite the same, is it?"

I was silent. Not only could I not move, but my larynx seemed to have closed shut.

"Shalimar, you have to claim your destiny. Your mother and I were magically trained, but what about you? How will you protect yourself? Joey has agreed and I know that you want to get away from this pla--"

"What, are you sending me from one hell to another?"

"No--"

"Then why are you telling me this as if I have no choice? I do!"

"I'm telling you all of this because it's what your mum would've wanted!"

I saw Joseph emerge out of the hallway by the kitchen as he heard my dad's cry. We all exchanged glances, then dad opened his mouth to speak. "Look at what I have here, Shalimar." He pulled out a rather fashionable stick from his back pant pocket. "It's a wand."

"No," I protested. "It's a fashionable stick."

He laughed. "No, it's a wand, alright. It was I who stupefied your brother, which is why he came out of the kitchen doors frozen as ice. Andd it was I who lit our room after Dumbledore left by Floo Network. And it was I who summoned Joey out of the kitchen. All using this wand."

"All with a stick?" I demanded, more cynically than I had intended to be.

"No, all with a wand."

"You can try and deny it, Shalimar, but my destiny is your destiny." It was Joseph who had spoken to me. It was only a few months after my mum's passing away that I was told that Joey was not my full brother. He was my half-brother. I was not my dad's flesh, nor was he my blood. But not once has treated me otherwise as I heard Harry's aunt and uncle mistreated him because he was, as my dad chose to put it, differently. My brother and I rarely speak to one another. When we do, he's usually arguing with me, or I'm yelling at him for getting involved with my affairs at school. So, I was surprised to see him address me like that. "It took me a while to come to this, but, Shal, I will go to Hogwarts. I will learn magic, and I will do damn well, too."

"Great, but I'm not you."

"Shalimar, you can run from it, and you can hide, but the truth you have been told will always remain with you. You can't escape yourself."

"Oh, but you've never given me the chance to show you how I can."

I had made my way to the front door when I heard my father say "Stupefy," and I found myself as frozen as an overweight block of ice. He then came down the stairs and placed himself between me and the door, as if I was going anywhere. "You must do this, Shalimar. When Voldemort comes for you, you need to be able to protect yourself." Then he flicked his wand at me, and I found the use of my legs rather comforting. I took the opportunity to vent out my anger and frustrations.

"What if I don't fit in? What's going to be different there? I don't know why you keep thinking that I'm going to be a target for Voldemo--" I was cut short by my dad.

"Remember the letter Professor Dumbledore was talking about yesterday? The one from your mum before her loss of life? Oh, and should you choose to go to Hogwarts, Professor will be your headmaster. Then I take it you realize what he meant by 'the intended'? The letter's for you, Shalimar."

"Where is it?"

"In due time. If you don't go, then there's really no point in me giving you the letter. But if you do, then the letter will provide itself as the last missing piece of the jigsaw."

"Is that blackmail?"

"No, I'm merely informing you that the contents of the note are quite powerful."

"Then I take it you've READ it?"

"Had to... Sorry..."

"Yes, well, I need some time to think on it."

"You don't have all day, Shal." My brother had yet again managed to insert his stupid opinions into my dad's and my conversation. I disliked seeing him there, accepting to go to a place we've never heard of before, and all in a matter of a few hours. I think that I really wished on his pain, because the next I knew, he was dangling upside down form the air, frantically calling to my dad to rescue him.

"Oh, dear," said my father as he reached for Joey's legs and then got him down with a tap of his wand. "See what you're capable of?" He did not say this with contempt or rage, but in awe and optimism.

"Yes..." It had dawned on me that maybe I could do great things if I went to Hogwarts. That maybe I had a minute scope of being accepted by a lot much like myself. That would be a first. Maybe I could escape all of the pain. "Sure, I'll go to Hogwarts." Although the words fortuitously slipped from my tongue, I was in no hurry to retract them.

"You're going to Hogwarts!" my father exclaimed in a sort of fearful statement, as opposed to a question. "You're going to Hogwarts." He said this as a more of a declaration. He dropped his wand, embraced me, and then went on to my brother, then suddenly stopped with the cheeriness, realizing that his generally austere personality was being compromised. "I'll send an owl to Professor Dumbledore immediately. Then tomorrow, you and Joseph will accompany me to Diagon Alley, so we can get everything we need for start of term. I'm happy, yet frightened. There's lots of danger out there. So be out on the lookout at all times."

"But, Dad? How will we be able to jam five year's worth of studying into our brains?"

He simply winked. "I'll have the Professor arrange things for you." And he hurried up the stairs to his room, followed by Joseph. But I had a different destination. I went where I always go when I'm unsure of how the next day might unfold. I went to the attic. Mum and I used to play here for long hours. We would look for "treasure amongst the clutter." And right now, I believed that I needed to once again embark on a journey into the unknown, with only one fact ahead of me: there are good things in store.