Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin

Darkness again. This time, though, no one said anything to Professor Green; they simply waited in silence for her to speak.

"Neville, you saw what your father did for me. I owe him my life." Suddenly a room appeared around them again. This time, however, it was a kitchen, with the early morning sunlight streaming through a window over the sink, and framed photographs placed all around: on the tops of cabinets; on a side table; covering the walls. All of the pictures featured the same person--a round-faced, wide-eyed infant who reached out toward the viewer, or poked a wand curiously at a houseplant, or yawned to display a single tooth, or slept. At the far corner of the room sat a small square wooden table surrounded by four chairs.

"Now," Professor Green continued, "I'm going to show you what your mother did for me."

Somewhere, in another room, a door opened and slammed shut. A moment later Frank Longbottom walked through a doorway to the right, followed by a short blonde woman who half-guided, half-carried the younger Green to the table in the corner, where she sat. Green looked pale; the glazed look still hadn't left her eyes. The blonde woman turned to her husband.

"Frank, why don't you make us some tea?"

She spoke softly, but her voice cut through the silence like the ring of a bell. As though he had been waiting for her directions, Mr. Longbottom quickly produced a kettle from a cabinet, and busied himself setting the water to boil.

The blonde woman sat next to Green, taking both Green's hands in her own, and looking into her face intently. Green did not return the woman's gaze or acknowledge her presence, however; she was watching Frank Longbottom prepare the tea, but her eyes did not follow his movements.

Now that Audrey Longbottom had taken her seat at the table, she faced the four watchers. Harry noticed that she had a pleasant sort of face framed by straight, shoulder-length blonde hair. As she sat at the table, it was clear that she was very short--at least a head shorter than Green. And although she couldn't have been much older than thirty, her pale blue eyes, now red and a little puffy, were surrounded by little lines. Harry imagined she must have got those lines by laughing a lot; it was very easy to imagine her laughing, even though just now she wore a concerned frown.

No one spoke as Mr. Longbottom prepared the tea. Finally he reached over the table and set a cup in front of Green, and a cup in front of his wife. Then he took a seat and began drinking from his own cup in silence.

"I should go home."

The Longbottoms glanced at each other soberly. "What, dear?" Mrs. Longbottom asked Green softly.

Green looked over at her, as though noticing her for the first time. "Someone should be there when he gets home. He'll be wondering where I am." She articulated her words slowly and calmly, as though stating the obvious.

Mr. Longbottom opened his mouth to speak, but his wife put up a hand to stop him.

"Persephone, you can't. Not just now." She took a deep breath. "They may know where you live. Let the Ministry check things out first, make sure it's safe. You can stay here in the meantime."

"No," Green protested. She shut her eyes tightly and shook her head. "No. You've got Neville to tend to. And I want to meet Demetrius at home. He'll be wondering where I am. I have to go."

Suddenly Green stood up from the table and moved toward the doorway. The Longbottoms stood up as well: he stood in front of the door to block it, while she reached out and grabbed Green's arm from behind.

"Let me go!" Green shouted, jerking her arm away violently. She wheeled around to face Mrs. Longbottom. Green and the Longbottoms were very close to the watchers now, and Harry found himself wishing he could back away. Even though he knew they couldn't touch him, their proximity was unsettling.

"Don't you understand? There's been a mistake!" Green's face was contorted with anger--or was it fear? Mrs. Longbottom just shook her head in pity.

"There's no mistake, Persephone."

But Green wasn't listening. She moved to the door where Mr. Longbottom stood, and attempted to walk right through him. He grabbed her by the shoulders to stop her.

"Let me go!" Green was crying now. She reached back and hit Mr. Longbottom across the face. A bead of crimson appeared on his lower lip.

"Persephone, stop!" he shouted. He pushed her back against the wall next to the doorway and shook her roughly. "Listen to me! He's gone! He was our friend, we loved him too, but he's gone now!" He then buried his face in his hands and began to sob quietly. Green started to cry.

Mrs. Longbottom rushed over and put her arms around Green, who was slowly sliding to the floor in tears. Mrs. Longbottom sat on the floor with her as she cried loudly; she placed Green's head on her shoulder and ran her fingers through the dark, wavy hair still matted with dirt and leaves. Mr. Longbottom sat down at the table again, his face still in his hands.

"It can't be, it can't be true!" Green shouted through her tears. She raised her head and looked into Audrey Longbottom's red, wet eyes. "If he's dead, then so am I. He's my life! If he's dead--how will I live?"

She threw her head back and let out a long, low, piercing scream that made Harry and Neville shiver, and Snape cringe. She screamed like a person being tortured, or like someone whose soul is collapsing under the weight of their grief. The screamed word seemed to reverberate around the room endlessly.

"Metri!"

The room went dark again, but just for a split second. Scene after scene appeared in rapid succession. The same kitchen, with Green and Mrs. Longbottom seated at the table in silence. A small country churchyard on an overcast day, with a handful of mourners wearing black. The kitchen again, with Green and Mrs. Longbottom talking, while a baby sat in a high chair at the table. As these scenes appeared and disappeared, Professor Green spoke.

"Neville, I wish I had time to tell you all the things your mother did for me. All I can say is, she was my best friend in those weeks after Demetrius' murder. I saw her every day. Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we just sat. If she didn't see or hear from me, she would come over and check on me. And she would cook." She chuckled softly. "Neville, your mother was the best cook I've ever met. She was always cooking me casseroles, of all things. Whenever she suspected I wasn't eating enough, she would show up on my doorstep with some dish or other. And if I didn't bring the dish back the next day--empty--she would come by on the pretense of needing it back." She paused. "Your mother was the best friend I ever had. Besides Demetrius, of course." She turned back to the current scene: Green and Audrey Longbottom, sitting on a couch in a living room.

It was clear to Harry that this room didn't belong in the same house as the kitchen they had seen before. For one thing, there were no pictures of the infant Neville set around the room. In fact, the room only contained one photograph: a very large wedding picture set on the mantle above the fireplace. Even though the picture was across the room from Harry, he could see the newlywed couple clearly. The young version of Persephone Green, identical to the one who had sat in the kitchen with Mrs. Longbottom, stood in red dress robes alongside a very tall dreadlocked man in black. He smiled down at her as she stared happily out into the room, waving occasionally.

"It's about time."

Harry looked over at the two women. The Green on the couch inspected the exterior a large brown backpack, but did not open it. She looked much thinner than before, with disheveled hair and dark circles under her eyes.

"They've had it all this time?" asked Mrs. Longbottom.

Green sighed. "Yes. Insisted on searching it. I can't imagine what they expected to find; did they suppose one of the Death Eaters was going to leave a present for me in here?"

"Don't even joke about that!" Mrs. Longbottom exclaimed. "You know quite well that's exactly what the Ministry was worried about." She leaned over and examined the backpack herself. "So they checked it for hexes, did they?"

"Yeah." Green eyed the large pack with a mixture of apprehension and eagerness. "I already went through all his things, you know, I had forgotten about the things he took to work with him ..." Her voice trailed off. She glanced briefly at Mrs. Longbottom.

"You don't have to go through it now, you know."

Green took a deep breath. "If not now, I'll just have to do it later. Better to get it over with."

Green carefully pulled the zipper to open the main compartment of the pack. She reached inside and pulled out several articles of clothing- including what appeared to be hospital scrubs--sunglasses, and a couple of small books. These she set in a pile on the floor. Finally, she reached inside and pulled out a small box wrapped in bright crimson foil.

Mrs. Longbottom put a hand to her mouth. "Do you think?--someone at work must have given him an early birthday present--"

"No," Green replied as she examined the box. She set it on her palm. It was so small it didn't even cover her hand. "He hadn't worked there very long. He was just transferred a couple of months before--"

"From his family, then?"

Green shook her head. "He hadn't seen them for three weeks. Look." She fingered a tag attached to one side. Even from across the room Harry could make out the four letters in large black print: "Seph".

"A year," Green muttered. Then she started to laugh. Mrs. Longbottom stared at her in puzzlement. Green turned to her. "Can you believe I nearly forgot? It would have been a year, five days after his birthday."

"Oh. Your anniversary."

Green nodded. She turned back to the little crimson package on her palm.

"Are you going to open it?"

Green thought about this. She turned the little package over and over in her hand, as if it would help her to decide.

"Yeah."

Slowly she slid a finger along a crease in the foil, and opened it. She pulled the foil off the package and set it aside. A tiny box sat on the palm of her left hand.

Mrs. Longbottom and Neville gasped simultaneously.

The box was dark brown and open at the top, without hinges or a lid. Harry could see the lines and curves of shadow that covered its sides, but it was too far away for him to clearly make out the carvings. He stole a glance at Snape, whose eyes glittered with recognition. Harry recognized the box too, of course--it was the same one that Peeves had smashed on the first day of classes. He wondered exactly what it was.

The younger Persephone Green of the memory couldn't have read Harry's mind or emotions, but she gave voice to his thoughts anyway. "What is it?"

"Persephone," Mrs. Longbottom answered in a low, surprised whisper, "haven't you ever seen a Hornbox before?"

Green frowned and shook her head. "A what?"

Mrs. Longbottom stared in amazement at the little box in her hand. "You're a pure-blood witch, I'm surprised you haven't seen or at least heard of one. They're incredibly rare, and very valuable." She carefully picked the box up out of Green's palm. "It's a box carved in a single piece from a unicorn's horn--that's why there's no lid, see?" She pointed to the open top. "It carries a very powerful Protection Charm that keeps its owner safe from harm; all the person has to do is place a lock of hair inside."

She smiled warmly at Green, who continued to frown in confusion. "I don't understand. It didn't protect him--"

"No, dear," Mrs. Longbottom interrupted. "That's not how it works. It has to be given by someone who loves, to someone who is loved by that person. The giver invokes the charm, you see. Demetrius must have charmed it before he wrapped it."

Green took the box out of Mrs. Longbottom's hand and held up close to her face. "He always complained about how dangerous my job was. He worried. I--I didn't worry about him at all." She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "Where--how--did he get it?"

"That's what I don't understand." Mrs. Longbottom peered closely at the box as well. "Because Demetrius was a Muggle-born, and these are found almost exclusively in wizarding families. Frank's cousin has one, in fact. Most of them are very, very old. Handed down from parent to child, or sometimes from one spouse to another. There may be some new ones for sale, but the cost--well it would be ridiculously expensive." She shook her head. "I just don't know."

They sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at the box.

"You're sure they checked everything for hexes?" Mrs. Longbottom asked, standing up.

"Yes, of course."

"Well, just the same, I wonder if you would let Frank check it over. To be sure."

Green glanced up at Mrs. Longbottom. "Of course, I don't mind," she replied hoarsely, obviously not meaning it. But her friend was right; if this item did not belong with Demetrius' things, it would be wisest to double-check that it wasn't hexed. Reluctantly, she handed the Hornbox over.

Mrs. Longbottom sensed Green's unwillingness to part with the gift. She hugged her, and whispered, "Don't worry, dear. I'll bring it back as soon as I can." Then Mrs. Longbottom walked to the door, opened it, and stepped outside.

Once again darkness filled the room, completely blinding the four watchers. "Lumos," said a voice to Harry's right, and Professor Green's wandtip lit up. She waved it over the lamp on her desk, which immediately illuminated the room. Neville stood silent at Harry's side, lost in thought.

"Professor Snape," Professor Green said as she moved toward him. For one gleeful moment Harry thought she was going to insult him again. But she wasn't smiling, as she had been in the corridor; she simply looked at Snape earnestly. "I shouldn't have struck you. I'm sorry." Inspecting the receding red mark on the left side of his face, she reached up and touched it.

But the apology appeared to anger Snape more than the original offense. He flinched and backed away, still clenching his fists at his sides. His expression changed in an instant from surprise to utter hostility. "I'm not interested in your trite apologies," he hissed. "And I sincerely hope that in the future you will find more appropriate ways of expressing your frustration. I would expect as much from one appointed to teach students how to defend themselves against violent acts." He did not meet her eyes as he spoke. He did, however, glance briefly at Neville before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

Professor Green stared at the door thoughtfully.

"What a shame," she mused. "You boys must think of him simply as a big bully. But he once had a great deal of potential. Still has, in fact."

Harry didn't understand. "Potential to become a powerful wizard?"

"Potential," Professor Green answered, turning back around to face him, "to become a decent human being."

She turned to Neville.

"Seeing those memories again, I realize how little I'm showing you. All my memories are through my eyes, so I can only show you your parents as I saw them. I wish you could see them as they really were."

"No," Neville answered, staring at the far wall as though he might still glimpse his parents there. "I've never seen them--like that. They--they don't remember me, you know." His voice was a little sad, but carried no trace of self-pity. "Professor Green, thank you."

She smiled. "Harry, you were going to ask me something."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, trying to remember what it was that he had meant to ask. "Oh! The Summoning."

"Yes?"

"Well, what happens to the person afterward?"

Green walked around her desk and sat down behind it. "That's a very good question. It depends upon what the wizard chooses. If he chooses good, then he gets another chance. He goes on just like he did before."

Neville looked as confused as Harry felt. "But then he can just go right back to the Dark Arts?"

"Theoretically, yes. But none ever has. Though that hasn't stopped Fletcher from causing mischief anyway." She laughed.

"And what if the person chooses the Dark Side?" Harry asked.

She paused for a moment, then looked gravely from Harry to Neville and back again. "Didn't you ever wonder where Dementors come from, Harry? They don't get together and have little Dementor babies. Dementors are made, not born. Made from Dark wizards who have forsaken everything that is good within them--the last vestiges of their humanity."

Harry was stunned. He couldn't believe he had never considered the Dementors' origins before, but this made sense. Suddenly he was struck by a thought.

"And you--have you ever made a Dementor?"

Professor Green chuckled. "Oh, no. Summonings are very rare nowadays. When the incantation was first invented several hundred years ago, wizards used it indiscriminately--that's how we got most of the Dementors we have now. They live a very long time, you see. Then the Wizard's Council finally wised up and reined in their Summoners. Now the incantation you just saw is only used as a last resort."

"So that's why you have to be able to read people. You have to know what they would choose," Neville concluded. Professor Green nodded.

"The Summoning Incantation is only used on dabblers--those who we doubt would turn completely over to the Dark Side, but who prefer not to choose. We force them into a decision, so to speak."

As Neville and Harry made their way up to Gryffindor Tower a few minutes later, Neville explained what had happened to his parents, and Harry pretended to listen as though he hadn't known. As he settled into bed, he tried to imagine what it must be like to have parents who can't remember you. Was it worse never to have known them, or to be able to know them when they couldn't know you back?

***

"Where were you two last night?"

Harry opened his eyes to see a mass of brilliant orange hovering a few inches above his face. It was Ron. The full morning sunlight tinged his hair with a fiery glow. He grinned toothily into Harry's squinting face.

"Get up already, it's nearly eleven! You've missed breakfast. We waited all morning for you, but we're not waiting any longer. Hermione's in the Common Room right now."

As Harry got up and began to dress, Ron moved back toward the stairs.

"Hey!" Harry called hoarsely. "Where are you going?"

"Back down to the Common Room. I want to tell Hermione you're coming. We're both dying to hear where you were all night."

"Don't go yet." Harry looked over at Neville, still sleeping soundly. "Wake him up too. He can go down with us."

Ron shrugged and walked over to Neville's bed. "Oi! Neville! Wake up, it's almost lunchtime!"

Neville sat up in bed and looked around confusedly. "It is?"

"Yeah." Ron was laughing now.

"Neville," Harry called, "how about a game of chess before lunch?"

Neville really looked confused now. Not only had he just been woken up out of a dead slumber, but he was being invited to join Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the Common Room. He smiled.

"Oh. Alright then," he replied quietly.

They reached the foot of the stairs to fine Hermione standing there waiting for them. "Well, where were you? I was really worried, you know!"

Ron snorted. "Yeah, she thought Snape had finished you both off once and for all--"

"No, Ron!" Hermione interrupted. "That was you. I thought Neville might have been hurt really badly--"

"I told you he wasn't! Anyway," Ron said as he herded them all toward four fluffy chairs in the corner of the room. "Let's hear it. What happened?"

Harry glanced at Neville, uncertain whether he would want to tell them about his parents. But Neville just grinned, and began to tell the story of the previous night's events. When he told them how Professor Green had hit Snape, Hermione gasped and Ron howled with laughter. When Neville explained about his parents, and how he had seen Green's memories of them, Ron and Hermione fell silent and listened attentively. Neville told them everything, including the origins of the little box they had seen Peeves smash, and where Dementors came from.

"Well, I knew that part," Ron said when he had finished.

"But you actually got to see a Summoning!" Hermione squeaked. "Oh, tell me what it was like, Neville. I want details!"

"Tell her on the way to lunch, Neville," Ron advised. "I'm hungry." And the four of them crossed the room and climbed through the portrait hole on their way to the Great Hall.

As they sat down at the Gryffindor table, Hermione was still listening raptly as Neville thoroughly described each detail of the memories he had seen the night before. Ron turned to Harry.

"Oh, I meant to tell you! Errol came this morning with a message from Mum. She says I'm to come home for Christmas this year; Charlie and Bill are going to be there. Percy and Penelope too."

"Oh," Harry replied, trying unsuccessfully to hide his disappointment.

"Yeah, I guess she's still worried about You-Know-Who being on the loose and all. Probably wants to have a proper holiday with us before something awful happens." Ron rolled his eyes. As he moved to hand over a large bowl of green salad, he caught the look of dismay on Harry's face. "No, you nitwit! She wants you to come too!"

Harry perked up instantly. "Really?"

"Yeah. She also owled Hermione's parents and invited her, but they said they want her home for the holidays. Something about her having been away for four Christmases." He shrugged. "Oh, but Mum says you've got to get Dumbledore's permission."

Harry glanced over at the staff table, where Dumbledore sat in conversation with Professor McGonagall. He was certain Dumbledore wouldn't begrudge him a nice Christmas with the Weasleys, but then he had also forced Harry to return to the Dursleys' every summer, for reasons Harry still didn't know. There was no telling what he would say.

But there was only one way to find out. After downing their lunches, Harry and Ron made their way to the staff table. As he stood across the table from Dumbledore, Harry suddenly realized that he had never approached the table in the middle of a meal before. He hoped this wasn't some sort of breach of etiquette. Professor McGonagall eyed them curiously.

Dumbledore looked up from his tomato soup. "Yes, Harry. Ronald. May I help you?"

"Professor," Harry began, "I needed to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"Well, I--Mrs. Weasley's just invited me to spend Christmas with her, and I was wondering ... I mean, I would need your permission ..."

Dumbledore and McGonagall looked at each other. Dumbledore turned back to Harry and Ron.

"Boys, I've just finished my lunch. Why don't we go for a walk and discuss this?"

Dumbledore stood up, and Harry and Ron followed him out of the Great Hall across the entrance hall to the large stone staircase. They expected Dumbledore to say something to them, but he didn't speak a word until he gave the stone gargoyle guarding his office the password ("treacle fudge") and took them inside.

Ron had obviously never been inside Dumbledore's office before. He whirled around to fully take in the large round room--the tall bookshelves brimming over with volumes; the venerable portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses, most of whom slept. As he caught sight of Fawkes sitting on his perch near the door, he started. "Hullo, Fawkes," he said.

"Now then," Dumbledore began, sitting down behind his desk and motioning for the two boys to sit in across from him, "I apologize for bringing you boys all the way up here just to tell you this. I'm very sorry, Harry, but I can't send you to the Weasleys' over the winter holiday this year."

"But why not?" Ron cried impatiently. "The Muggles won't mind!"

Dumbledore smiled at him. "That's not the problem, Ronald. Harry, I believe Mrs. Figg told you over the summer about the Fidelius Charm I invoked when I first took you to live with your relatives?"

"Yeah," Harry said, remembering the conversation which had taken place in Mrs. Figg's kitchen several months before.

"She may not have told you all the particulars. You might have been wondering, for instance, why I did not allow you to return directly to the Weasleys' last summer."

Harry thought for a moment. It took him a while to remember that the Weasleys had invited him to stay with them last summer, and that Dumbledore had insisted he return to the Dursleys'. With all that had happened at the end of the last term, he had nearly forgotten.

"The way this particular charm works," Dumbledore explained, "you're protected while you're with the Dursleys, and then for two months after you leave them. When you're here at school, of course, you're safe anyway, so the school year is not a problem. But if you left here now, you'd be unprotected."

Harry winced. He had already received a letter from the Dursleys informing him curtly that they were spending Christmas with Aunt Marge and her vicious pit bull, Ripper, and that Harry was to stay at school for the holiday. He wouldn't even be able to go to the Dursleys' briefly, and then have Ron pick him up.

"But there's no danger, is there?" Ron asked impatiently. "I mean, if he was with me and my parents, he'd be safe."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid that would be too much of a risk."

"But we haven't heard anything--"

"Especially because we haven't heard anything of Voldemort." Dumbledore crossed his hands on top of the desk. The matter was clearly decided. "I'm sorry."

Someone knocked on the door behind them. They turned around just in time to see the door open and a large black dog bound excitedly into the room.

Sirius stopped next to Harry's chair and resumed his human form. Harry stood up to greet him, and Sirius put his arm around Harry's shoulders. He looked into Harry's eyes concernedly.

"I didn't expect to find you two here," he said, noticing Ron. "Is everything all right?"

"We've just been discussing our holiday plans," Dumbledore replied warmly. "It's good to see you again, Sirius. Any news?"

Sirius looked slightly confused by Dumbledore's answer. Still, he answered him quickly. "No, I'm afraid not. Remus wasn't able to find out anything." He turned back to Harry and Ron. "Say, what did you mean, holiday plans?"

"My Mum's invited Harry for Christmas," Ron answered, "but he can't come because of that Fidelius thing."

Sirius smiled. "Well, that's alright, isn't it? We'll just have to spend Christmas together at Hogwarts."

"Yes," Dumbledore mused. "Yes, I'm sure that could be arranged."

"I'm staying too," a voice called from behind them. Harry and Ron whirled around; they hadn't noticed Professor Green standing there. She must have been the one who let Sirius into the office in the first place. "My dad is going to spend the holidays with my stepmother's family, and Penny's going to be with the Weasleys." She nodded at Ron. "So it works out. I mean, it won't look odd for my dog to be here if I'm here, too."

Harry smiled. Now Ron was the one who looked disappointed. Dumbledore clasped his hands together enthusiastically. "It's settled then! Harry, you will politely decline Mrs. Weasley's invitation and inform her that you will spend your holiday here."

"Great," Ron muttered as they walked through the corridor toward the portrait of the Fat Lady. "You get to spend the holiday here with Sirius, Hagrid, and Green, and I get to spend it listening to Percy go on about quality control standards for imported wand cores."

***