Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin

Harry was so busy keeping up with classes and studying for O.W.L.s that the last Quidditch match of the year seemed to come upon him without warning.

"We're in second place, as far as points are concerned," Angelina explained during breakfast the morning of the match. "Slytherin's seven hundred thirty points ahead of us." She looked down at her plate disappointedly. "Obviously we don't have much of a chance of winning the Quidditch Cup. But--" she brightened-- "Ravenclaw's twenty points behind us, so if we play hard, we can take second place, at least."

"I know," Harry answered. Angelina had explained all of this- repeatedly--during the week's practices. She was obviously frustrated at having virtually no chance at winning the Cup, and thought about it often. Over the past week, however, she seemed to have resigned herself to the fact, and now sat chewing her bacon with a subdued air.

Harry looked around. The Great Hall was filled with the buzz of excited students discussing the end of the season. Even though Slytherin was practically a lock to win the Cup, everyone wore either blue rosettes, for Ravenclaw, or red, for Gryffindor--except the Slytherins themselves.

They wore green rosettes--along with expressions of disdain and defiance. The tensions between the houses had become so rancorous that the Slytherins even refused to support Ravenclaw, despite the proud Slytherin tradition of supporting any house that opposed Gryffindor.

The one good thing about losing the Cup was that Harry wasn't nervous about the match--on the contrary, he was actually looking forward to it. Over the past few weeks, Quidditch had become a welcome escape from academic pressures, concerns about his friendship with Ron and Hermione, and tension between himself and his teachers--specifically, Professors Green and Snape.

"Good," Angelina answered. "Ravenclaw's got a decent team this year, but no one's got a better Seeker than us." She winked at him.

"Or a better Keeper either," Fred put in, patting Ginny on the back so hard that she nearly choked on her cantaloupe.

"Oi! Fred!" Ginny protested, coughing. But she reddened a bit, and an embarrassed grin showed through her scowl. The shade of scarlet in her cheeks was rather cute, Harry found himself thinking. He turned abruptly back to Angelina.

"You alright, Ginny?" Angelina looked at her, a bit concerned. Harry knew Angelina wasn't asking about the cantaloupe; she was remembering the match against Slytherin.

"Yes. I'm ready. Can we just get out to the field, please?" Ginny answered with a note of irritation in her voice.

The others nodded their assent. The Gryffindor team stood up and, after receiving a volley of "good luck" shouts from their housemates, they began to file out of the Great Hall.

As Harry followed his teammates through the doorway leading to the entrance hall, he was jostled from behind. He turned around. Draco Malfoy grinned back at him broadly, while Crabbe and Goyle stood close behind and snickered.

"Sorry about that, Potter," Malfoy said, not looking sorry at all. "But as long as I'm here, I might as well say: it's a shame about Gryffindor's chances for the Quidditch Cup, isn't it? But I guess it was inevitable. Your team had one winning year, but the real winners always find their way back at the top, don't they?"

Harry concealed his anger, and affected a thoughtful look. "You know, I think you're right. That does make me feel better, Draco. Thanks." He smiled brightly.

Malfoy was not amused. "Funny. Well, we'll see who's laughing when Dumbledore hands the Cup to the Slytherin team." He looked into the distance and sighed. "I can't wait to tell Father. I reckon he might even buy me that Twigger 95 I've had my eye on--it's the very latest thing, you know. Well, see you later, Potter." The three of them brushed past Harry and sauntered out of the hall.

"Ooooh, that little toad really burns me up," said a voice to Harry's right. Cho had evidently caught the tail end of Harry's conversation with Malfoy on her way out. Her Ravenclaw teammates surged past, making their way into the entrance hall. Harry looked around; the Gryffindors were already gone. He turned back to Cho, registering what she had said with mild amusement.

"Tell me about it," he answered.

"Wouldn't you just love to wipe that smirk right off his pointy little face?" Her eyes were narrowed in an expression of profound dislike.

"Oh, yeah," he said.

Suddenly Cho started, as though she had been hit by an invisible Bludger. "Harry," she said slowly, "what if there were a way that we could?"

Harry was nonplussed. "But there's not. He's right--Slytherin's seven hundred thirty points up." He shrugged. "I'd say it's pretty unlikely that either team could score that many points in one match. You and I are both good enough Seekers that one of us would catch the Snitch way before--"

He stopped. Cho's face broke into a huge smile. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

He spoke slowly, comprehension dawning on him. "The match doesn't end--"

"--until one of us ends it!" she finished excitedly.

He was still unsure. "But--is that allowed?"

She shrugged. "It's not against the rules. Anyway, the Slytherins didn't exactly follow the rules when they racked up that seven hundred fifty point lead--sorry, thirty for you--did they?"

"But Angelina really wants to win. I couldn't do that to the others, I couldn't intentionally lose the match."

She shook her head, "No, no. I'm not asking you to. I think we can still work out a way to make the match fair between us."

He was intrigued.

She smiled, then looked at him with mock-thoughtfulness and put an arm around his shoulder. "I have a feeling that the Snitch is going to be uncommonly difficult to catch today, Harry." She ushered him out of the Great Hall, and began quietly to explain her plan.

***

"What were you talking to Cho about?" Ginny asked as the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams took their places on the field.

"Oh. Nothing," Harry replied, hoping very hard that he sounded convincing.

She eyed him suspiciously but said nothing as they lined up facing the Ravenclaws.

"Captains, shake hands!" Madame Hooch cried, thinly veiling her own excitement. The last match of the season was always especially important, and Madame Hooch's enthusiasm for the sport of Quidditch could not be quelled, even by Slytherin's staggering lead.

Angelina shook Roger Davies' hand amicably. Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and the fifteen of them left the ground at once.

Lee Jordan's voice boomed out over the pitch and through the stands. "And it's Gryffindor in possession of the Quaffle! Alicia Spinnet dodges past Ravenclaw Keeper Arminius Archer, and--Gryffindor scores!"

The Gryffindor side of the stands erupted in cheers. Harry looked down to see a huge banner flashing a red lion and the words, "Go Gryffindor!" Just beneath it stood Ron, Hermione, Neville, and the other fifth-years, raising their fists in the air and whooping with joy. On the other side of the stands, a blinking blue banner bore an eagle drawn in white, and the words, "Come on, Ravenclaw, you're doing pretty well this season so let's have a decent showing for once."

Cho flew just behind Harry, appearing to mark him, evidently waiting for him to spot the Snitch.

Gryffindor scored five more times, and Ravenclaw twice, before the Golden Snitch appeared. When it winked into view high above the Ravenclaw goalposts, a few in the crowd gasped and pointed; soon everyone saw it.

Harry started toward it instantly. Anyone in the crowd below, or in the air around him, would have thought he was flying at breakneck speed--he was the only one who knew that the Firebolt could have flown just a bit faster, and even now he could be closing his fingers around the Snitch.

It worked--he reached the Snitch just a fraction of a second after it whizzed out of sight again.

The Gryffindor crowd let out a disappointed groan, while the Ravenclaws cheered. Harry turned around to see Cho, following hard at his tail and barely restraining a smile.

"That's alright, Harry, you'll get it next time," George called cheerfully.

"Thanks," Harry answered.

Meanwhile, Katie Bell had scored once more, taking advantage of the Ravenclaw Keeper's distraction at the appearance of the Snitch.

The rest of the players refocused their attention on the Quaffle and Bludgers, and the match went on.

Gryffindor scored six more times, while Ravenclaw only scored once, thanks to Ginny's lightning-fast Double Eight Loop, which effectively blocked three separate shots by the Ravenclaw team. The Gryffindor spectators--including Lee Jordan--shouted with glee each time the Quaffle glanced off Ginny's arm, or leg, or even, one time, her head. Finally, the Snitch made another appearance. This time, Cho was slightly closer to it. She and Harry both raced toward the Snitch from different directions, but at the last second, she veered in front of him in an apparent attempt to block him. He swerved out of the way, and she resumed her course--but in the extra time it had taken her to block, and him to react, the Snitch had disappeared again.

Nearby, Angelina swore under her breath. "It's that girl and his wretched crush again. Hey, Harry!" she called. "Oliver was right, you know--you have no friends on the Quidditch pitch! THAT GOES FOR GIRLFRIENDS, TOO!"

Cho giggled madly, while Harry simply blushed and flew to the other side of the pitch. He snuck a glance at Ginny. She was looking at him, and her jaw was set, but her eyes were flashing. She turned and eyed the Ravenclaw Chasers hurtling toward her

"You mean that, Angelina?" Fred called, and winked at Katie.

Angelina turned on him. "Fred, not now!" she yelled, obviously not in the mood for jokes.

"Blimey, I guess she did mean it," George put in, as he and Fred both swung at the same Bludger, sending it straight toward the Ravenclaw Chaser in possession of the Quaffle.

"Dopplebeater Defense!" Lee shouted. "And Shah drops the Quaffle, which is picked up by--Bell! And GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"

The game went on like this, with the Chasers scoring, and Harry and Cho narrowly missing the Snitch each time it returned. Usually Cho appeared to get in Harry's way, with Harry then swerving to avoid colliding with her. Once they really did collide, and spun off in opposite directions, though the 'accident' looked far worse than it had actually been.

After three hours of this, the players--and the crowd--were exhausted. But as the match wore on, their fatigue grew into anticipation. A few in the stands realized that both teams were almost within reach of Slytherin's lead, and as word spread throughout the stadium, the crowd became reinvigorated.

"This is insane!" Angelina cried excitedly during a timeout. "I mean, Harry, you need to catch that Snitch, but--my word!--we could almost win the Quidditch Cup!"

"Yeah, who would have thought it?" Harry put in innocently.

Angelina didn't appear to hear him. "Even if Ravenclaw won it, at least it wouldn't go to Slytherin. In any case," she rambled breathlessly, "Harry, wait for us to score three more times before catching the Snitch, if you can."

"I'll try," Harry answered, fighting back a wild urge to giggle.

Directly across from Harry in the huddle, Ginny stared at him thoughtfully. She said nothing. The team members each returned to their places, and the game continued.

"And the score is Gryffindor, five hundred sixty, Ravenclaw four hundred ninety," Lee Jordan said. His voice had acquired a scratchy kind of edge to it after three and a half hours of announcing. "Let's just hope these Seekers get it together before we all fall asleep--ouch! Alright, sorry, Professor.

"Wait, I've just received something--I'm told that Slytherin's lead for the Quidditch Cup has dwindled to a mere hundred seventy points!" He began to shout excitedly, apparently forgetting his tired vocal cords. "Ladies and gentlemen, we may have an upset on our hands!"

From amidst the cheers, a strangled cry rose up from the stands. Harry looked down to see an indignant Draco Malfoy shaking his fist in the air, apparently too angry for words. Harry and Cho exchanged grins of sublime satisfaction.

Angelina scored next, followed by Katie. Then Ginny put up a brilliant block on a shot by a Ravenclaw Chaser named Hodges, after which Angelina scored again--putting Gryffindor within range for the Quidditch Cup.

Angelina looked at Harry and nodded, giving him implicit permission to catch the Snitch. He nodded back, but hers wasn't the signal he was looking for. He turned to Cho, who smiled and nodded. He grinned.

Now it was a real match. He had to keep his eyes open, because from now on, Cho would go for the Snitch in earnest. And if she caught it, Ravenclaw would win.

They didn't have to wait long. But, even though Harry was looking as hard as he could for the golden gleam of the Snitch against the brilliant blue backdrop of sky, he heard it before he saw it. A whizzing sound passed close behind his head, and he turned around to see the Snitch passing Cho, who wore a rather startled look on her face.

The race was on. Fortunately, Cho hadn't seen the Snitch coming either. But on the other hand, she was in a better position to catch it than Harry was. They both hurtled towards it, gaining speed as they closed in. Harry was right behind Cho--she was so close to the Snitch! A second before he overtook her, he ducked underneath her, reached up, and caught it.

She was almost fast enough--she was so close, in fact, that she closed her hand a fraction of a second after he did. But she only found herself clutching his closed fist, which in turn held the Golden Snitch.

Madame Hooch blew her whistle. Cho let go, conceding the Ravenclaws' defeat, and the players landed. Harry held up the Snitch for everyone to see. The roar of the crowd--particularly the Gryffindor side--was deafening. The Ravenclaws cheered politely, despite their disappointment.

Their dissatisfaction, however, was nothing to that of the Slytherins, who wore open-mouthed expressions of abject horror.

Gryffindors piled onto the field to congratulate their team; Harry could see instantly that the horde was headed for him. He looked around, and caught sight of Ginny, her hair windblown and tangled, and her robes soaked with sweat. She smiled at him wearily. Before the ecstatic crowd could reach Harry and pull him onto their shoulders, he turned to her. She opened her mouth to say something to him, but before she got the chance, he grabbed her around the waist and picked her up off the ground.

"What are you doing?" she cried as the throng surrounded them, yelling, jumping, and laying hands on players' shoulders in congratulation.

Ginny was small, but Harry wasn't much bigger. "George! Fred!" he called. They rushed to his aid, and a second later Ginny was on the shoulders of the crowd, being borne off the field.

Suddenly Harry felt himself swallowed up within the crush of a huge, bearlike hug. It was Hagrid. "Brilliant, Harry!" was all he said.

Hermione was in tears. Ron followed the crowd and shouted, "that's my sister! My sister!" Even Lee Jordan was on the field, attempting to add his shouts to those of the crowd. He jumped around frenetically and mouthed what Harry guessed were happy words, not seeming to notice that his voice was now completely gone.

Suddenly another voice cut through the crowd, and Harry recognized it with instinctive distaste. "Madame Hooch! It's not fair, I tell you! They did it on purpose! They were conspiring before the match! THEY DID IT ON PURPOSE!"

Just outside the joyous fray, Madame Hooch held up her wand to silence Malfoy. He was obviously livid.

"Mister Malfoy, if you can cite a rule that was broken in this match, you will have the chance to challenge the outcome. Now, please excuse me while I locate Professor Dumbledore and the Cup."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looked balefully around at the happy crowd, and stormed off the field in a huff.

Ten minutes later, Dumbledore presented the Quidditch Cup to the Gryffindor team. Due to her pivotal role in the match, and the fact that this was her first year on the team, they had unanimously agreed to force Ginny to accept it from him. She blushed violently as she shook Dumbledore's hand, and then held the Cup high above her head. The crowd- Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs now, with hardly a Slytherin to be seen anywhere--erupted in cheers.

***

"I don't think I've ever seen such a high-scoring game," Ron mused as he, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry made their way back to the castle.

"Yes. I suppose Cho's found a pretty effective blocking strategy, eh Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I guess so," he answered.

Ginny smiled to herself for a moment. Then, "Harry, could I talk to you for a second?" she asked tentatively.

Harry's heart did a supremely annoying backflip inside his chest. Ron and Hermione looked at each other; Hermione looked as though she might be fighting back a giggle. "Sure," Harry answered.

"We'll catch you two later," Ron called as he and Hermione left Harry and Ginny behind. When they had walked out of earshot, Ginny turned to Harry.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you? You and Cho," she said.

"What?" Harry tried to look surprised. Ginny laughed.

"Nice try. Don't worry, I won't tell. It's not strictly against the rules anyway, but I figure Angelina might kill you for not letting her in on your little plan."

"What plan? What is there to tell? We just had a tough time catching the Snitch, is all." But even as he protested, Harry couldn't resist smiling.

"Right. Well, it was very clever. I just wanted to let you know."

She smiled back. The excited rush that Harry had felt when the team had won the Quidditch Cup was nothing to the warm flood of contentment that spread through him at that moment. Oddly, it reminded him of the Patronus Charm. A fleeting thought flashed through his mind--he knew he would have a new memory the next time he cast it.

She turned away from him and headed up the lawn toward the castle. He followed.

"Say, Ginny, where are you going?"

She cocked her head to one side and looked at him quizzically. "Common room, of course! It's Fred and George's last victory party!"

The victory party, of course--Harry had forgotten. "Oh, right. Well, wait up then!"

She slowed her pace. "Sure," she answered. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she reached out and clasped his hand within her own. Together they crossed the lawn, entered the castle, and wound their way up the staircases to Gryffindor Tower.

***

"Something's definitely going on."

The day after the Quidditch final, Harry and Sirius sat in Dumbledore's otherwise-empty office--they had taken to meeting here ever since the night of the Valentine's Ball. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace. The former Headmasters and Headmistresses, who had at first been indignant at having to share their quarters with a convicted murderer, seemed to have warmed up to Sirius. At the moment they were snoozing contentedly. At his perch, Fawkes dropped a tuft of gray feathers; he looked as though he might erupt in flames at any moment.

"What's going on? Does anyone know?" Harry asked.

"No," Sirius answered. "Same as before. That's what's so frustrating." He stood up and began to pace before the fire. "Snape's spoken to Dumbledore--he's said that Voldemort's cut him off, won't see him any more. That's all we know."

Harry considered this. "But that doesn't necessarily mean anything."

Sirius stopped pacing and turned to him. "Harry, you're not thinking. This is Voldemort we're talking about. He keeps up contact with Snape throughout the school year, tries to get inside information about what's going on here at Hogwarts, and then all of a sudden, he cuts Snape off? It's not right. It does mean something--it means that something is about to happen."

"But surely someone knows where he is! There's got to be some way of spying--"

"No, that's just it. We know where he was, but he's disappeared without a trace. He's a slippery old snake." Sirius regarded Harry gravely. "You haven't been having any dreams, have you?"

Coming from anyone else, Harry would have taken this as an insult or an accusation. But coming from Sirius, he knew it was an honest question.

"No," he answered. "Not for a few months."

Sirius looked thoughtful. "Well, that's something, but it doesn't tell us much. You'll let me--no, Dumbledore--know if anything unusual does happen, won't you?"

Harry nodded as he stood up to leave. "Of course. If you promise to tell me as soon as you know anything."

"Absolutely. And Harry," Sirius called. Harry turned around, his hand on the door. "Nice job at the Quidditch final, by the way."

"Thanks," Harry grinned appreciatively.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, then paused a moment before saying anything. "You're not--scared, are you?" he asked. This, too, Harry would have taken as an insult coming from anyone else.

But since it had come from his godfather, Harry considered the question. He searched himself and found that, actually, he wasn't scared. He was curious--he wanted to know what was going on. And he was angry. But not afraid. "No," he said.

"I thought not." Sirius nodded solemnly. "You really are your father's son, Harry."

The words struck Harry with a force he hadn't anticipated. He stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say in return.

But the moment passed, and Sirius smiled, glancing at an ancient clock on the mantelpiece. "He always put off studying, too. Go on, now. I'll see you later."

Harry nodded, and closed the door.

***

That night was unseasonably chilly for the month of May. Remembering that their run with Professor Green was scheduled for 6 o'clock the next morning, Harry, Ron, and Hermione each packed up their books and trundled off to bed earlier than usual.

In the boys' dormitory, Ron sat down on his bed and shivered. The legs of his maroon paisley pajamas seemed to have shrunk since last year: now they only reached down to his calves.

"Bit chilly, isn't it?" Ron remarked, rubbing his arms to warm himself.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. He glanced out the window. It was a clear, but moonless night. Stars twinkled in the inky sky--from the looks of it, it could have been midsummer or dead of winter. He curled up under his quilt. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Ron answered. Harry stared and the ceiling and felt his eyelids growing heavier. He had spent so many hours studying that he could still see the Latin names of plants swimming before him in the darkness: Conium maculatum. Mandragora officinarum. Valeriana officinalis...

Slowly, the letters rearranged themselves, growing taller and thicker, sprouting leaves until they looked like trees. Harry walked through the trees, weaving between them, until he came to the wood's edge. Before him, a very wide, grassy area opened up. A short distance away, through the grass, stood a garden wall, covered in ivy.

Harry approached the wall and felt along its surface until he found an opening, a kind of gateway crowned with a stone arch. He walked through it.

Once he was inside the garden, Harry was dazzled by the glow of firelight. As his eyes adjusted to it, he saw shadows flickering off a stone wall to his right. This place looked familiar somehow, but he was unsure why. It was the most unsettling feeling, like having a word on the tip of your tongue and being unable to recall it.

He turned to his left. A very large cauldron sat atop a fire--the source of the light. Only when he saw the fire did Harry hear the crackling of the branches fueling it. This scene, too, seemed familiar, but this one Harry was able to place: the cauldron reminded him of the one from which he had seen Voldemort rise, in a small-town churchyard, one year ago.

Three figures stood before the cauldron, facing away from Harry. One was short, and although Harry could not see his face, he noticed the gleam that came from his right hand--a magical hand. Peter Pettigrew.

Another figure was tall and thin; when he turned sideways, Harry saw the skin so white it was nearly silver; the eyes like slits; the thin, nearly lipless mouth. In a convulsive shock of mingled horror and hatred, Harry realized that it was Lord Voldemort himself.

The third figure stood between them. He was taller than Pettigrew, but shorter than Voldemort, and his back directly faced Harry. With the firelight behind the figure, nothing about his appearance was discernible to Harry--he couldn't even tell what color hair the man had.

Voldemort spoke, in a dreadfully familiar, high-pitched voice that oozed malice.

"My new servant will assist me very well, I think. Better, even, than you, Wormtail. Though that is hardly saying much."

"Master," Pettigrew said. His voice still sounded petulant, but a bit more weary than the last time Harry had heard it. "I gave up my own right hand for you, willingly."

"No more than you owed me, after your unfaithfulness!" Voldemort spat. "But," he mused, more calmly, "I will admit, your sacrifice was very useful. This one's sacrifice, though--" he reached out, grabbed the figure to his right by the arm, and turned him to the side-- "will be absolutely essential to my immortality." Unexpectedly, he laughed--the shrill, mirthless laugh that had rung in Harry's ears for the past year. "Finally! I will be immortal!"

As the anonymous figure abruptly turned to face Voldemort, a pair of long braids flung out and came to rest again. Harry took in the blank green eyes, the familiar face, and, running along the side of her neck, the long, thin scar.

"Harry!"

Harry sat bolt upright in bed. He put a hand to his chest and felt his heart pounding furiously. He rubbed his forehead; cold sweat soaked his hair.

"We've overslept! It's time for our run," Ron said, tying his shoelace and not noticing Harry's panicked state. "Better get up now, or you'll be late." At the far end of the room, Seamus and Neville were hurriedly putting on their running shoes.

Harry didn't even try to explain. He jumped out of bed and dashed down the stairs to the common room before Ron even knew that he was really awake.

"Caramel apple!" Harry shouted at the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office, hoping intensely that the password hadn't been changed since yesterday afternoon.

The gargoyle leapt aside.

Harry sprinted up the winding staircase and, upon reaching the top, cast caution and etiquette to the wind and flung the door wide. To his surprise, Professor Dumbledore stood in his office, awake and dressed in his everyday clothes. Professors Snape and McGonagall were there, too. The three of them turned and stared at Harry as he burst through the doorway.

"I'm sorry, Professor. But it's urgent, it's--it's Professor Green."

Professor McGonagall found her voice first. "Potter!" she cried, a bit hoarsely.

"It's alright, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said, waving a hand to quiet her. He turned to Harry.

"Harry, we know. Professor Green is missing."

***