Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin

Harry's mind raced to concoct an explanation, but couldn't settle on one that made sense. He looked around the room, and noticed Fawkes standing unobtrusively on his perch near the door. Today Fawkes looked like neither a half-plucked turkey nor his usual scarlet-and-gold-plumed self; he was very small, and resembled a young chick, its tiny body covered with downy red feathers. Apparently, he'd just gone through a Burning.

Harry turned away from Fawkes and looked from one face to the next, wondering whether anyone else understood what was happening. Dumbledore stared pensively at Green--Harry got the feeling that he was searching his vast memory for a satisfactory explanation but, like Harry, was coming up empty-handed. Snape's tightlipped, impatient expression thinly concealed his bewilderment. McGonagall still stared in open puzzlement. Hermione frowned thoughtfully; Ron, surprisingly calm, looked expectantly at the teachers as though waiting for a lesson. Everyone's eyes were on Green, but no one spoke.

Still holding the child, Green sank slowly into a chair near Dumbledore's desk and took a deep breath. After a few minutes, she met the expectant eyes watching her, one pair at a time.

Weakly, she began to speak. "When he said--when he didn't find anything in the cauldron--I didn't think it worked, you see."

"What do you mean?" Professor McGonagall asked, more calmly this time.

Green blinked and turned to McGonagall. "The potion. That Voldemort was brewing." Distractedly, Harry realized that no one in the room winced at the mention of Voldemort's name. "When he said there was nothing in the cauldron, I assumed it hadn't worked. But it did. I suppose that you--" she looked at Ron-- "got there first?"

Ron nodded.

"But, how did you know what the potion was for?" Hermione asked Professor Green.

"I was there, remember? Under the Imperius curse. Oh, I had no will to speak of, but the entire time I was with Voldemort, I was aware of everything going on around me. And I overheard quite a lot of the conversation between him and Pettigrew. I knew exactly what they were planning--I just couldn't do anything about it." She closed her eyes and looked down, a pained expression on her face.

"Headmaster," Snape broke in, "can't the explanations wait? Professor Green was badly injured in the confrontation with Voldemort. She should see Madam Pomfrey at once."

For the first time, Green looked down to survey her dirty, blood stained robes. Then she looked up and shook her head conclusively. "No, it's alright. I'm fine."

Snape stared at her levelly. "Professor Green, you were stabbed through the heart--I saw it myself." Everyone saw Green bristle at the reminder, but Harry's involuntary flinch went unnoticed.

Snape proceeded to recount the evening's events, from the moment he left the fireplace in his office to the moment Dumbledore found them. When Snape had finished, he turned his steely gaze back to Professor Green and said, "Do you really think it wise to continue without seeing Madam Pomfrey first?"

Green considered this for a moment. Finally, she answered simply: "Yes. I want to tell them what I know now, while it's still fresh in my mind. Before my memory has the chance to rewrite things or leave some of them out entirely."

Dumbledore weighed this for a moment. Finally he nodded. "In that case, I think," he said as he looked to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "that Mister Potter, Miss Granger, and Mister Weasley should stay, as well. They ought to understand what they've just been through. Unless, of course, one of you has a life-threatening injury?"

Ron, Hermione, and Harry shook their heads. Hermione spoke up. "No, sir. I'd like to stay." Harry felt the same way--he was beyond tired, but more than anything he wanted to finally know exactly what was going on.

Dumbledore pointed a wand at one of the chairs before the fireplace, and it scuttled sideways a few feet. He took a seat directly facing Green. "Before we begin, would anyone like a peppermint?" he asked, drawing several candies from his pocket and glancing around the room. "No?" Ron and Hermione exchanged slightly incredulous frowns. "Alright, Persephone. I think you had better start at the beginning."

She smiled wearily. "A million details are running around in my head, and I'm not sure how to tell the story in a way that will make sense."

"Then allow me to help you. Tell us about this potion."

Green nodded, visibly grateful for his direction. McGonagall found a chair nearby and sat down, but her eyes never left Dumbledore and Green. Snape remained standing. Harry, Ron, and Hermione found that they all fit very comfortably on the sofa before the fireplace.

"That's the part I understand the least," she said. "I know more about what Voldemort was planning than about what he had already done, or how he'd done it. But the potion must've been the same one he'd been brewing all year. The one he had Professor Snape giving him ingredients for." Harry glanced at Snape, whose expression had not changed. That possibility must have already occurred to him.

"Very well, we shall seek details about the potion itself later. But it was meant to create that child?" Dumbledore nodded toward the baby sleeping in Professor Green's arms.

She looked down. "Yes," she said after the briefest of pauses.

"Why?"

She looked back up at Dumbledore. "Voldemort wanted an heir," she said simply.

The other teachers were visibly taken aback. McGonagall gasped. "But that makes no sense," Snape interjected quietly.

"Severus. Minerva." Dumbledore held out a hand to quiet them, but he had clearly taken Snape's point. "He's right, Persephone. Voldemort expects to become immortal; he has no need for a protégé, or for an heir. Even if he weren't consumed with the concept of immortality, and vain enough to believe himself capable of achieving it--even if he anticipated his own death--he has not the least bit of concern for any living soul apart from himself. Why would he want an heir?"

Green shook her head. "You misunderstand me. Voldemort isn't looking for someone to teach, or to leave his legacy to. He needs a biological descendant in order to gain immortality. It has to do with the spell."

Snape and McGonagall both flinched. "He has an Immortality Spell of some kind, then?" Dumbledore asked.

Green closed her eyes and nodded. Suddenly her eyes opened and she was still.

"Thorne!" she exclaimed. "Of course! Of course, it had to be him!"

"What about Thorne?" Dumbledore interrupted.

"I'm sorry, but I've just realized--of course he was working for Voldemort, it all makes sense--because Voldemort got the Immortality Spell from an ancient Moabite text."

"Not my scroll!" Hermione exclaimed. Apparently months of translating the scroll had given her a kind of proprietary attachment to it.

"No, not that one, Hermione, but one like it. You see, Thorne worked in the Department of Mysteries before he came here--he told us as much, just now--translating ancient magical texts. That was when he first discovered the scroll with the protective glyphs--the one you've seen--" she nodded at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Well, at the same time, he also found a very, very old Immortality Spell, written in the same Moabite dialect."

The room was a silent for a moment. Then Ron asked, slightly incredulously, "Do you mean to say that other wizards have tried to become immortal?"

Dumbledore turned in his chair and regarded Ron patiently. "Of course. Human resourcefulness is not a recent development, Mister Weasley." Ron reddened slightly as Dumbledore continued. "In the very first moment that human beings realized they eventually would die, they also realized that they didn't like it. And they began to try to avoid it--Muggles with their sciences, and wizards with magic."

Dumbledore spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "Muggles have their codes of ethics to prevent the unscrupulous from lengthening their own lives at the expense of others, just as we have ours. Unfortunately, in both communities there have been those who consider themselves above such nuisances as considerations of right and wrong. They conduct experiments in secret, unhindered by the constraints of either law or conscience."

He turned back to Professor Green. "You mentioned that Voldemort would need a descendant in order to perform this Immortality Spell. How is that?"

Professor Green looked down at the bundle she held, and shifted uncomfortably. "Well--whoever the ancient wizards were who developed this spell--they weren't concerned with its effects on others, either." She sounded nervous. "You see, even a Muggle historian can tell you--the Moabites are one of several ancient cultures who are known to have performed--ceremonies involving--child sacrifice."

Dumbledore nodded. Professor McGonagall made a strange, half-choked noise. Ron grimaced.

"I did a little research on Moabite culture after Harry found that scroll," Green continued. "What the Muggle historians don't know is that those sacrifices were a part of early attempts at the Immortality Spell."

McGonagall swallowed, then said, "Just a moment. If the existence of this spell is a well-known fact, then why have I never heard of it? And wouldn't we have assumed straight away--years ago--that Voldemort would try to perform it?"

"Ah, Minerva," Dumbledore answered, "you forget, no one knew that the spells had been written down, much less that they still existed, except Professor Thorne. Is that right?" He looked back to Green.

She nodded. "Yes. Based on what I overheard, Thorne was the only person in the Department of Mysteries with the expertise to translate the text. The existence of the spell was only known to him and whoever he chose to tell--and he chose to tell only Voldemort, of course."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Hermione fidgeting slightly, as though something bothered her. "Um," she broke in quietly, "excuse me, but did they--did they ever get it to work? The wizards who invented the spell, I mean." Harry could see now why she was nervous. The idea of a band of ancient, immortal Dark wizards roaming the earth made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"No ... at least, I don't believe so. I think we would have heard of them if they had. They'd be incredibly powerful." Green smiled comfortingly at Hermione, but Harry wished she sounded more certain. "Anyway, Voldemort believes he's found their mistake, as well as a way around it."

Ron leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "So Voldemort brewed the potion in order to create an heir," he pointed at the bundle in Professor Green's arms, "in order to sacrifice it as part of this Immortality Spell. What I don't understand is, couldn't he just use any child? Why go to the trouble of brewing up his own?"

"That's a good question." Professor Green frowned, as though she were trying to combine several strands of thought into one coherent thread. "First, there's something you have to understand. Every person carries within themselves the potential for their own immortality. Ordinary people achieve it through their children--by giving life to the next generation, who gives life to the next, and so on.

"It's not surprising that Voldemort would find this arrangement- unacceptable. He's not interested in being a part of anything larger than himself--if indeed anything larger than himself exists in his mind. He wants to live on exactly as he is, with his own consciousness intact."

She looked down and said quietly, almost to herself, "At first I couldn't understand why anyone would want to perpetuate such a miserable existence. But when I met him, I understood--he's not miserable at all. He actually enjoys destroying people's lives. Over time, he has gradually killed the every part of himself that would have objected to his evil acts, so that there's almost nothing decent left in him now. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen--" She trailed off, and after a moment she shut her eyes and shook her head as though trying to shake the thought loose.

"Almost nothing decent left?" Snape sneered. "You saw his Summoning as well as I did! Of course he chose the Dark side, there's nothing left in him except the Dark. He's not even human--" Green opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't get the chance.

"Severus," Dumbledore interrupted, turning toward Snape. "I beg to differ. It is certainly convenient to say that Voldemort has completely divested himself of his humanity, but the difficult truth of the matter is that he is human--and it's important that we do not forget that. We must remember how much we have in common with him. The difference is in our choices, not in our nature." Snape stared back at the Headmaster, jaw clenched, but did not answer. His black eyes didn't flash with anger, as Harry now realized he had expected. After a moment of meeting Dumbledore's gaze, Snape looked down.

"Persephone, please continue," Dumbledore said, motioning to Green. "You were saying, about the spell--?"

She looked from Snape to Dumbledore. "Right. Well, the spell makes use of the immortal potential bound up in a person's own offspring. It only works for a parent who sacrifices his own child. And it had to be his only child, since in that case all of the parent's immortal potential resides in the one person.

"That was the mistake the inventors of the spell made. They would sacrifice one child of many, not realizing that their immortal potential was spread out among all their children. So sacrificing any one of them had no effect."

Professor McGonagall had heard enough. She shut her eyes tight and shook her head. "Who could possibly--who could do such a thing? It's too perverse!"

"Voldemort could," Snape answered instantly. Dumbledore nodded, then turned back to Professor Green.

"So, we know why this child is here, even if we don't fully understand how. But we still don't know why he needed you."

Green sighed, and nodded.

"Not only does the victim have to be the only child of the witch or wizard casting the spell," she began hesitantly, "but--it also has to be magical. The spell won't work if the victim is a Muggle or a Squib. Something about the transfer of immortal potential--both parties have to be magical in order for it to work.

"The Progenetic elixir that Voldemort brewed is a Dark potion that requires the blood of two donors--one male, one female--in order to create a totally new person from that genetic material."

"But he could have used anyone's blood, couldn't he?" Hermione put in. "Well, any witch, I suppose."

"He didn't want to take any chances. He wanted to be as sure as possible that this child would be magical. So he chose a pureblood witch from a magical family whose lineage contains no Muggles or Squibs as far back as anyone can trace--even the Malfoys have a Squib second cousin, much as they'd hate to admit it--and Voldemort wanted to be absolutely sure."

Dumbledore nodded pensively; she turned to him. "I think the fact that I'm your granddaughter was just--a bonus. It gave him a chance to strike out at you--kill two birds with one stone, as they say," she muttered grimly.

Dumbledore considered her for a moment--and then, to Harry's astonishment, he smiled. "I can see that it is getting late." He stood up and looked down at her. "You only use cliches when you are very tired, my dear. But as much as I would love to send you all to your beds, I am afraid we still have one or two things left to discuss before you leave here tonight."

Dumbledore crossed the room to stand before Harry, Ron, and Hermione. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and looked down at the three of them.

"Do you understand the gravity of the situation in which we find ourselves?"

They nodded.

"Please indulge an old man's fancy, and allow me to state the obvious, for clarity's sake. That child--" he pointed to the bundle that Professor Green still held-- "is the living key to Voldemort's immortality. If he is to have what he seeks, she must die."

She. So it was a girl. For some reason, Harry had been thinking of the baby as a boy.

"Not only that, but if Voldemort obtains immortality, I don't think I have to tell you that the consequences for the wizarding world--as well as for the Muggle world--would be disastrous."

They nodded again. Of course they understood. What was Dumbledore getting at?

"For those reasons, you must not tell anyone what has transpired tonight. You especially must not mention the existence or identity of that child."

"Of course," Ron answered.

"We understand," Harry and Hermione interjected.

Dumbledore looked satisfied. "Good," he said. "Now, there is just one matter left to discuss: O.W.L.s."

Ron brightened instantly. "Are we excused from taking them?" Hermione looked from Dumbledore to Ron, and back again, with an expression of deep consternation.

Dumbledore chuckled--an earnest, heartfelt laugh the likes of which Harry hadn't heard from him all year. "No, Mister Weasley, I am afraid not. In fact, quite the opposite." Hermione relaxed a bit. Now it was Ron's turn to look dismayed.

"I apologize but, although it would seem appropriate to exempt you three from O.W.L.s on account of tonight's events, it is more necessary than ever that you take them. Your absence would be noted by your classmates, and all of your teachers who are not currently standing in this room would come to me with questions. And," he said firmly, shaking his head, "above all else, we must not invite questions. The fewer people who know, or even wonder, what happened tonight, the safer that child will be. The safer we'll all be."

All at once, Harry felt exhausted. It was almost as if all of this were happening to someone else, and Harry was lost somewhere inside him, watching it.

"Now," Dumbledore said, clasping his hands together, "I think that it is time for us to adjourn. Minerva, would you mind escorting Harry, Ron, and Hermione to Gryffindor tower?"

"Of course not," McGonagall responded tersely. Her face had resumed its usual stern expression, but Harry sensed that she was feeling more speechless than reserved at the moment. She opened the office door and motioned to the three students. Slowly, they stood.

"Professor." Hermione's voice sounded uncharacteristically small. She looked worriedly in Green's direction. "The little girl--what will happen to her?"

Green's smile faded; she blinked soberly."I'm not sure, Hermione. But we'll find a place for her. A safe place."

Hermione nodded, and Professor McGonagall led them out of the room.

***

As he sat down to breakfast the next morning, Harry felt thankful that he and the other fifth-years still had two days left before O.W.L.s would begin. For the hundredth time, he pushed the previous day's events out of his mind. He hadn't waited in the common room for Ron and Hermione -- he hadn't felt particularly social.

"Harry! There you are," said a girl's voice. He looked over his left shoulder. Smiling amiably, Ginny placed a short stack of books on the table and sat down.

"Hullo, Ginny," Harry said, smiling back. It was a genuine smile, and Harry considered that maybe there was one person he wouldn't mind talking with today. For the first time that morning, he didn't have to struggle to forget the previous day's events.

"I looked for you--and Ron and Hermione--in the library yesterday," she said, buttering a muffin. "Then here, then in the common room. I couldn't find you anywhere. Where were you?"

"Oh." He shifted nervously. He wanted to tell her, but he dared not disobey Dumbledore, especially in something as important as this. His mind raced. "We--er, we had to talk to Professor Snape." It wasn't actually untrue. It didn't make up for not being able to tell her everything, but at least it wasn't a lie.

"Oh," she glanced at him sympathetically, then turned back to her breakfast. "You know, I did hear Colin Creevey saying something about seeing you in the corridor with Snape." She shrugged. "Didn't know if it was true, though. Anyway, listen, I wanted to tell you lot--I got an owl from Mum last night at dinner. The letter said something very interesting."

"Oh, really?" Harry looking over at her curiously. He took a bite of his toast; he was beginning to feel a bit better.

"Yeah," she replied. "The Ministry's raided Malfoy's mansion again. Dad thinks Lucius Malfoy might've been helping You-Know-Who."

"But there's nothing about it in today's Prophet," Hermione chimed in from the other side of the table. Harry was very glad to hear her interrupt, as he was having difficulty swallowing his toast. "Hi, Harry." She smiled down at Harry and Ginny, and took a seat. Ron nodded as he sat down next to her.

"Hey Ginny. Hey Harry." Ron's smile was a little forced, and there was an uncharacteristic heaviness to his tone. Fortunately, Ginny didn't seem to notice; she was paying more attention to Hermione.

"It's just been delivered, see?" Hermione held up today's edition of the Daily Prophet. "Nothing about the Ministry raiding Malfoy's."

"Well, not the whole Ministry, of course," Ginny chided. "And it wouldn't be in the Prophet anyhow. According to Mum, Fudge's being as thick as ever. No, Dad heard something, and sent people in under the pretense of investigating misuses of Muggle artifacts."

"Did they find anything?" Ron asked.

Ginny shook her head. "No. If Malfoy was helping He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named, he must have hid the evidence before Dad got there."

Just then, Malfoy entered the Great Hall, with Crabbe and Goyle trailing him as always. Malfoy looked lazily around the Hall, and his gaze settled on Ron. He smirked; his eyes narrowed in a combination of triumph and hatred.

"Come on over here if you've got something to say, Malfoy," Ron muttered under his breath. "I'm not afraid of you."

Hermione nudged him. "Let it go, Ron. It's not worth it."

After a moment, Ron shook his head and turned back to the table. "You're right," he said. "I've got more important things to worry about." Ron shot a glance at Harry, and suddenly a wicked grin began to spread across his face.

"Besides, there's always the train ride home, isn't there?"