Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin

Harry simply stood and stared at the three Professors before him. Snape paced the length of the room, much as Sirius had done the previous afternoon. Professor McGonagall stood as though rooted to the floor, hands covering her mouth, looking stricken. Dumbledore was the only one who returned Harry's gaze; he looked wizened and weary. The lines in his face seemed to have deepened since Harry had last seen him--but, Harry thought, of course that was impossible. Dumbledore gestured toward the armchair closest to Harry.

"Harry, sit down."

Harry did as he was instructed.

Dumbledore took a seat opposite Harry and began to explain. "Actually, Winky the house-elf was the one who told us. She went to visit Professor Green late last night--apparently the two of them had struck up a kind of friendship--and she noticed that Professor Green wasn't anywhere in the castle."

Harry wondered how Winky could have known this, without the help of something like the Marauder's Map. Then he remembered that house-elves have their own powerful brand of magic--maybe they possessed a kind of magical radar for locating people.

"Winky thought nothing of it," Professor Dumbledore continued, "assuming that Professor Green must have gone out to Hogsmeade or possibly on a quick visit home. So, Winky went to bed without giving it a thought. But when she woke up this morning, Professor Green was still nowhere to be found.

"She reported Professor Green's absence to me just a few minutes ago. I thought this report odd--in fact, I was so concerned that I summoned Severus and Minerva at once, to see what they knew about Professor Green's whereabouts. They know nothing. Now, you have arrived to confirm my suspicions--haven't you?"

Slowly, Harry nodded. His heart heavy within his chest, he told Professor Dumbledore everything he could remember about the dream. He fought to recall every detail. As he reached the end, the part where he recognized Professor Green, he hesitated.

Dumbledore's own granddaughter, a Death Eater--how could Harry tell the old wizard something like this? Dumbledore might be a fearless leader but, after all, he was a worried grandfather as well.

In the end, Harry didn't have to tell him. As he began to describe the middle figure before the cauldron, Snape interrupted Harry in mid syllable, fuming.

"This is absurd! Professor Green was an Auror for fifteen years, and a teacher at this school these past nine months. In all that time, she has given us no reason to question her loyalty! I refuse to believe that she has gone over to the Dark Side solely based on the testimony of--" he pointed at Harry accusingly-- "that boy!"

"Severus," Professor McGonagall broke in. She was coming out of a deep reverie, and had an air of growing determination about her. "We have limited information from which to draw our conclusions, and Harry has no reason to lie. I understand your motivation--you spied on Voldemort for the past nine months, it must be a terrible disappointment to learn that one of our own colleagues was helping him all the while--but this is the only intelligence we have. And I, for one, believe that Harry is telling the truth."

Harry listened, and nodded, heartened by Professor McGonagall's faith in him. Snape looked indignantly at Dumbledore.

"Ridiculous!" Snape spat. His dark eyes gleamed with cold fury, and he lowered his voice. "We all know that Potter craves being the center of attention. Since he has come to this school, has one year passed when he hasn't been favored, coddled, cooed over by students--and teachers--alike?" At this, Dumbledore raised an eyebrow; Snape refocused his baleful glare in Professor McGonagall's direction.

Quite suddenly, Harry grew indignant. His face burning, he turned toward Snape. He had had enough.

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" Harry shouted. "Is it my fault that Voldemort always seems to be after me? You think I wanted to be entered into that Tournament last year? You think I'd rather have people like Fudge thinking I'm some sort of crazed Lockhart-in-training? For someone who likes to tell people not to talk about what they don't know, you seem to be doing a lot of it!"

Professor McGonagall stared at Harry, open-mouthed. He didn't care; he was rather surprised at his boldness himself, but he was too angry to stop now.

"You want to think that I'm lying about that dream? Fine! But I'm telling the truth--Green was there, I saw her!"

Snape's eyes were bulging. His jaw was set and his fists were clenched, as though they would like nothing better than to rip Harry limb from limb.

Still staring at Harry, Snape said, in a very slow, measured tone, "Headmaster. Surely you can't believe this nonsense?"

Harry turned to the old wizard, who now stood before the fire, examining it thoughtfully. His expression was difficult to read. His voice, when he spoke, was tight with what Harry could only guess was restrained emotion. Exactly which emotion--grief, anger, or fear--it was impossible to tell.

"I think," he said, turning to the three of them, "that Harry is telling the truth." Snape made an impatient noise and turned away very quickly, but said nothing.

"But," Dumbledore added, "we do not know that Professor McGonagall's conclusion about Persephone's loyalties is correct. One of the many unfortunate lessons we all learned during Voldemort's rise to power was that, as long as there are Dark wizards willing to use the Imperius Curse, we can never be sure of anyone's motivations, however suspicious their actions may seem. In any event, it is clear that we must act. Especially in light of Harry's report that Voldemort is on the verge of gaining immortality--we cannot stand idly by, arguing amongst ourselves, while he destroys any chance we might have of defeating him."

Professor McGonagall stared quizzically at Dumbledore, while Snape turned toward him with renewed attention. A hint of resentment lingered on Snape's face; only now, it was mingled with interest.

"Assuming Harry's impression is correct, it would appear that Voldemort's latest effort involves--" Dumbledore's voice wavered slightly-- "Persephone--somehow. If we are to find out how Voldemort intends to gain immortality, and if we are to stop him, then we must find her."

Snape glanced at Harry, then back at Dumbledore. For once, Harry thought he knew what was going on beneath that curtain of greasy hair: Snape was torn between supporting Dumbledore in his effort to find Green, and his own refusal to believe that Harry was telling the truth about his dream. After a moment's deliberation, Snape turned once again to Dumbledore.

"Yes," he said quietly, slowly. "Of course, you're right."

"Yes," Professor McGonagall chimed in. "Albus, how should we proceed?"

"I think the first thing we must do," Dumbledore answered thoughtfully, "is to send Harry off to class."

***

Harry skulked into the library and glanced from table to table. After a moment, found what he was looking for: a head of blazing orange hair hovering next to a bushy brown one. Fortunately, there was an open seat across from Ron and Hermione.

"Where've you been?" Hermione whispered anxiously as Harry sat down next to her. She didn't wait for him to answer. "Harry, it was the strangest thing, you'll never guess--Professor Green didn't meet us by the lake! No one did, in fact. We just sort of--ran on our own." She shrugged.

"Well, that's not exactly true, is it?" Ron challenged sulkily. "You made us run."

"I was the only prefect there! Somebody had to--"

Ron rolled his eyes, but he also let out a good-natured groan that gave out the slightest hint of amusement. He turned to Harry.

"So, where were you?" Ron asked eagerly. He and Hermione stared expectantly, giving him their full attention.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief at finally having an opening in the conversation; he leaned toward them conspiratorially.

He told Ron and Hermione all about the dream, and about his meeting with Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape. Hermione gasped when Harry described the scene before the cauldron in his dream, and again when he told them how he had barged right into Dumbledore's office. When Harry had finished his story, Ron and Hermione leaned back in their chairs, looking a bit pale; Hermione's hands covered her mouth.

"That's awful!" she whispered finally. "What are they going to do?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. They wouldn't tell me, just sent me off to study." He tried not to sound peeved.

"Oh," she said, nodding. "Well, then, it's probably just as well. We do have a good amount of studying to do, I'm beside myself about O.W.L.s--"

"Hermione," Ron cut in, "haven't you been listening? This is serious!"

"Well of course, Ron," she answered impatiently. "But there's nothing we can do about Professor Green's--absence--is there? I'm sure Professor Dumbledore is managing the situation. The only thing left for us to do is to mind our studies. Harry said himself that Dumbledore sent him away first thing--he doesn't want us involved."

Hermione made a good point. The resolve with which Dumbledore had sent Harry off, his insistence that Harry not be involved in whatever he, Snape, and McGonagall were planning--the Headmaster was trying to protect Harry, certainly. And since Harry had no idea where the scene in his dream had taken place (even though the place seemed tantalizingly familiar), there was no way Harry could help, anyway.

"Besides," Hermione lowered her voice, smiling anxiously. "I think I've developed a working theory about the scroll."

Harry looked at Ron in surprise. The scroll! As far as Ron and Harry knew, Hermione hadn't made any progress on the ancient piece of parchment for at least two and a half months. They had talked about it frequently, but each time, Hermione's frustration was evident, and lately she had appeared to tire of the subject.

Now, her attitude was different.

"I knew you'd want to hear about it, but I didn't want to say anything until I was sure. I've been checking my translation against an ancient Jordanian text that Professor Thorne just borrowed from a university library there--he had to go through his Muggle friend to get it, you see, to avoid telling the university who was really borrowing it and from which school--"

"Hermione!" This time, Ron's exasperation was real. "Just get to the point, will you?"

"Alright!" Hermione answered, slightly irritated. For a moment, Harry was afraid she might not tell them her theory, out of spite; but her look of irritation quickly dissolved into eagerness.

She looked around to make sure no one was watching, then reached into her bookbag and, with feigned nonchalance, set a piece of ordinary-looking parchment on the table before them.

"Okay," she began, "this is a copy of the scroll--Professor Thorne won't let the real one out of his safe. I keep telling him I wouldn't let anything happen to it, but he won't listen--Now then, look at this image- " she pointed at a copy of one of the glyphs Harry had seen on the real scroll, just after he'd discovered it--the image consisted of a pair of wavy lines. "Now, look at this." Hermione reached down again, and brought up a thin, ordinary-looking book bound in red fabric. She opened it to a page that she had marked with an owl feather. "This is a Muggle facsimile of an ancient Jordanian scroll, written in a language similar to that of our ancient scroll. Look here."

She laid the book down next to the parchment copy, and placed her finger next to a line in the book that included an image--two wavy lines, identical to the ones on the scroll.

"They're the same," Ron observed.

Hermione nodded. "Mm-hmm. Exactly the same! You have no idea how significant that is, Ron. Because we know what the Jordanian text is about--it's a catalog of protective charms."

She closed the little red book and set it aside. "The Muggles don't know that, of course; the parchment's had a Mistranslation Charm applied to it for a long time. They just think it's an inventory of the estate of a wealthy patriarch."

"Okay." Ron squinted in a visible effort to weed out the important details of what Hermione was saying. "So these squiggles have something to do with some kind of protective charm?"

"Yes!" Hermione whispered excitedly. "This one in particular is associated with a very old one, the defense against the Jelly-Legs Curse. Bet you didn't know that curse had been around so long, eh?" She chuckled, looking satisfied with herself.

"So what exactly are these images? Just some shorthand way of talking about the protective charms?" Harry asked.

"Short-what?" Ron asked.

"That's my guess," Hermione answered. "Look, there are more here--" she grabbed the little red book and opened it to a different page, which she had marked with a spare scrap of parchment. "The eye stands for the Conjunctivitis Curse. And the crown--that stands for the Imperius Curse." She looked up at Harry; a tacit understanding passed between them. They were both remembering the lightning bolt glyph.

"The Killing Curse," Harry said.

While the boys looked on, Hermione pointed to the very bottom edge of the parchment copy. There sat the lightning bolt. Harry reflexively reached up and touched his scar. He could have been looking in a mirror, or at a sketch of his own face; the image was identical to his scar in every way.

Hermione opened the red book to another page--this one was marked with a Fizzing Whizbees wrapper. And there it was: the familiar lightning bolt shape. She looked up at Harry. "The best I can figure, you got the scar in that shape because your mother had protected you against the Avada Kedavra by--by placing herself between you and Voldemort." She paused. "The parchment duplicated in this book isn't translated completely. But we know that this passage deals with the Killing Curse, and my guess is that it says that the only defense against the Killing Curse is the willing sacrifice of one life for another. After all," she said, closing the book, "that's the only defense against Avada Kedavra that we know of, isn't it?"

As Harry focused on the lightning bolt glyph drawn on the ancient scroll, a voice--Voldemort's voice--pushed its way back into his consciousness...

"So that's all it is, then?" The sound of Ron's voice snapped Harry out of his reverie. "Just a list of protections from curses?"

Hermione nodded. "That's my theory. I'm going to Professor Thorne with it this afternoon. He's teaching the third-years until four o'clock."

"Well, what's this?" A familiar, drawling voice drifted toward them from the other side of a nearby bookshelf.

A second later, Malfoy appeared around the corner. Crabbe and Goyle soon edged their way into sight, following him.

"Looks like a collection of mongrels and Mudblood-lovers to me," said Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle snickered.

"Get hexed, Malfoy," Ron muttered.

"You wish, Weasley. But that's not likely--not here, anyway." He looked around, caught Madame Pince's eye, and waved innocently before turning back to Ron, Hermione, and Harry. "Potter, I just wanted to let you know that your little scam out on the Quidditch field may have fooled Hooch and Dumbledore, but it didn't fool me." He shook his head and gave Harry a look of mock-reproach. "Tsk, tsk. Very unlike saintly Potter to bend the rules that way, I must say."

"You're accusing someone of bending the rules? Oh, that's rich!" Hermione snorted. "Coming from the--person--" Harry strongly suspected Hermione very much wanted to call Malfoy something else-- "who broke Ginny's collarbone in the first match of the year!"

Malfoy smirked. "That was an accident, I promise," he said in his most obsequious voice. "And don't change the subject. I--and the rest of the Slytherins--know who really deserved to win the Quidditch cup! Who cares if the entire school adores pretty Potter and his band of Muggle loving misfits?" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Soon, you'll get what's coming to you--all of you."

"Is that a threat, Malfoy?" Harry asked calmly.

"Mmm, let's just call it a prediction," Malfoy answered. He turned around to leave. Then, quite suddenly, he stopped and turned back. "By the way, odd business with Professor Green, isn't it? I do hope nothing bad has happened."

Before anyone could respond, Malfoy had departed, with Crabbe and Goyle scrambling after him.

Ron was staring after him, open-mouthed.

"Did you hear that? He knows something!"

Hermione was frowning. "Forget it, Ron. He's just trying to bait you- he doesn't know anything."

Harry looked from Hermione to Ron. "Let's see if we can find out."

"How?" Ron asked. "We don't have time to brew up a Polyjuice Potion and impersonate Crabbe and Goyle again."

Harry thought for a moment. They needed a way to get into the Slytherin common room undetected. "The invisibility cloak. We can follow Malfoy to the dungeons after dinner--"

"No!" Hermione whispered emphatically, startling them both. "You'd just get caught--and maybe that's what Malfoy wants, did you ever think of that?"

Ron looked as though he couldn't believe his ears. "Hermione, Malfoy practically admitted that he knows what's going on with You-Know-Who- for all we know, he could be involved--and you're worried about rules?"

"I'm not worried about you getting caught by the teachers. If you're discovered inside the Slytherin common room, the Slytherins themselves are the ones who'll catch you. And I'm willing to wager that they'll devise a worse punishment for you than anything Filch could come up with! Besides, if Malfoy is involved, he could be trying to lure Harry into a trap of some kind. If you really think he's up to something, go to Dumbledore, go to McGonagall--blimey, Ron, you could even go to Snape!"

"And tell them what? 'Malfoy was upset about Slytherin losing the Quidditch cup, so we figure he's working for the Dark Lord'? We don't know anything for sure--yet."

"That's exactly the reason you should leave him alone. If it's not worth going to Dumbledore, it's not worth risking your own skins." She looked imploringly from Ron, to Harry, and back to Ron. "Don't follow him--it's not worth it."

Ron looked completely horrified. "I can't believe what I'm hearing! Hermione, you're the one who came up with the idea to take Polyjuice Potion and follow Malfoy into the Slytherin common room our second year!"

"Don't be stupid. That was different!" she protested. Her face was red; she was obviously furious. "In our second year, the Slytherins were at odds with everyone--but there were no riots on the Quidditch pitch and no duels in the corridors. Plus, it was Christmastime and there were fewer of them then. Ron, listen to what you're saying--you and Harry want to go right into their common room--behind closed doors with an entire houseful of angry Slytherins! All because Malfoy made some snide comments!"

Ron's expression hadn't changed; in fact, Harry wasn't sure Ron had heard anything Hermione had just said. She was actually doing a better job of convincing Harry, who was starting to realize that he hadn't fully considered what might happen if he and Ron were found out.

"I cannot believe that you're telling me it isn't worth the risk to try to find out what Malfoy knows about--You-Know-Who--becoming immortal," Ron fumed. "I reckon being a prefect has changed you, Hermione. You remind me of Percy--you're more worried about following the rules and playing it safe than about what's really important."

Now Ron was being unfair, Harry knew. Ron had a tendency to overstate his argument, but what he had said about Hermione was totally untrue; she was nothing like Percy.

"What?!" Hermione shrieked, drawing annoyed glances from several students nearby. "That's completely untrue! Harry, will you tell him--"

But Harry was distracted now; Ron's mention of Percy had jogged something in his mind. Suddenly he had that feeling again, of having something on the tip of his tongue. There was some connection that his mind was struggling to make; he buried his face in his hands and concentrated.

The last time he had felt this way had been in his dream ...

And then he had it.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, looking a little alarmed.

Harry looked up at her. "Nothing. Come on, we've got to find Professor Dumbledore."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, nonplussed. Harry stood, and motioned for them to follow him. "Come on--forget about Malfoy, I know where Professor Green is, and Voldemort too."

Ron was startled--whether at hearing the Dark Lord's name, or at the fact that Harry knew his whereabouts, Harry couldn't tell. "What? Where?"

But Harry was already halfway to the door of the library. Ron and Hermione quickly gathered their things and scrambled after him. As they reached the door, Madame Pince shot them a disapproving look; she very much disliked any kind of disorderly behavior in her library, and that included running.

"Wherever you're going, I'm sure there's no need for such haste. I wouldn't make any sudden moves around that lot in particular," she said, pointing to the nearest bookshelf in the Restricted Section.

"Actually, it's very urgent, we need to see the Headmaster," Harry muttered as he passed her.

"Oh, well in that case there really is no reason to hurry. He's gone until tomorrow."

Harry turned to face her; behind him, Ron and Hermione did the same.

"What?" Harry asked.

"He said only that had a family emergency to take care of. He should be back in a day or two."

Harry was suddenly reminded of his first year at Hogwarts--that year, Dumbledore had disappeared at the precise moment the Sorcerer's Stone was in danger of being stolen. Then, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been forced to take action on their own. Would they have to do the same thing now?

"What about Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asked.

Madame Pince turned to her, frowning. "Off-grounds as well. I was just informed there was some sort of emergent crisis which required her immediate attention." If Madame Pince suspected that Dumbledore's and McGonagall's absences were related to Professor Green's, she showed no sign of suspicion or worry. "Professor Snape has taken responsibility for the day-to-day operation of the school until the Headmaster returns." She squinted formidably at Ron, Hermione, and Harry, and leaned toward them. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"No," Harry quickly muttered as he grabbed both Ron and Hermione by the arm and spirited them out of the library.

So Snape was the only teacher left who knew what was going on--they would have to go to him. Harry's throat tightened a bit. He wished he hadn't argued with Snape earlier in the day; he doubted very much that he would listen to a word Harry had to say now.

As they descended the staircase to the dungeons, Harry felt the temperature drop. He shivered.

"What are we doing here?" Hermione whispered urgently. Harry didn't answer, but simply continued briskly down the corridor leading to Snape's office.

Then they stood facing Snape's office door. Harry lifted his hand to knock--but Ron grabbed his fist.

"Harry, are you mental? You actually think Snape's going to listen to you? After what he said before?"

"You don't understand, Ron. It's the only way! I've got to tell someone, I've got to do something--"

"About what? You still haven't told us what this is all about!"

Just then, Harry heard footsteps at the far end of the corridor. His heart skipped a beat; the Slytherin common room was close by, and the last thing Harry, Ron, and Hermione needed was to be intercepted by Malfoy or his housemates. As Harry turned to look down the corridor, his shoulder brushed Snape's office door--and it opened. Tentatively, Harry poked his head inside.

"Professor?" he asked, more shakily than he had intended. There was no reply. Snape's office was completely empty; except for the crackling fireplace, there was no movement in the room. After one more quick glance down the corridor--Harry still couldn't see who was coming--he grabbed Ron and Hermione by the arm again and pulled them inside.

The room looked exactly as it had two years ago, when Snape had accused Harry of sneaking into Hogsmeade, and had nearly discovered the Marauder's Map.

"What did you do that for?" Hermione asked quietly. "When he gets back here and finds us--we've got to leave--" Hermione moved toward the door.

"No," Harry said, pulling her back. "Didn't you hear those footsteps? We're in Slytherin territory now, and we don't have time for a duel at the moment. Besides--" he moved with a sudden decisiveness toward the fireplace and began examining the objects on the mantel-- "we won't be here long."

What he was considering doing was not safe, but it wasn't foolish either. It was simply the only option. It was possible, after all, that Snape and Dumbledore were right, and Professor Green was under the Imperius Curse or something similar; in that case, Harry would have to do something to help her. If they were wrong, and Professor Green was working for Voldemort, Harry was still, as far as he knew, the only one who knew Voldemort's whereabouts; in that case, he was the only one who had any chance of stopping Voldemort's attempt to gain immortality.

Harry didn't understand much about the Floo network; he strongly doubted that anyone could Floo into Hogwarts, as it would leave the school too vulnerable to Dark wizards. But he remembered talking to Sirius in the Gryffindor common room fire last year, so he knew that the Hogwarts network must have some contact with the outside world. He found himself obliquely wishing he had a copy of Hogwarts, a History on hand.

Abruptly he turned to Hermione.

"Is Hogwarts on the Floo network?" he asked.

She stared at him blankly for a second. He expected her to ask for an explanation, but she must have thought the better of it, because she simply said, "Well, that's a complicated question."

"Give me the short version, then," he said quickly, turning back to the mantel.

"Yes," she answered, "but there's no access to Hogwarts. The school's internal Floo network is only available for communication purposes, and to allow people who are already inside to leave--" She abruptly stopped. "Ooh, is that what you're playing at?"

But Harry had already found what he was looking for, in a crude-looking clay bowl near the farthest edge of the mantelpiece. He grabbed a handful of the Floo powder and tossed it into the fire. The flames instantly burned a deep purple, and cast an iridescent violet glow over the room.

"Ready?" he asked. "Follow me." Straightening his glasses, Harry stepped into the fire.

"Clear Lake Manor," he said, careful to enunciate each syllable.

***