A Potter Secret

Faux Heirs

A heavy snow falls. Harry sits atop one of the towering hills facing Hogwarts. Hedwig sits beside him. "Who am I, Hedwig? What am I?" Harry asks.

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The trio study. Harry, burdened by dark thoughts, looks up at Ron. He smiles at Harry, then, seconds later, Hermione does the same, something forced about it all. Unable to bear it, Harry gathers his books, gets up from the table. As Harry walks, students glance up, meet his gaze, then look away. Even Madam Pince eyes him from her desk. Ginny Weasley, tired and pale, scribbles furiously in a small black book. Harry exits, walks into the hallway and pauses. From inside a room, the voices of a group of Hufflepuffs can be heard. "So, anyway, I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim, it's best he keep a low profile for a while," Ernie says.

"But why would he want to attack Justin?" Hannah asks.

"Justin let it slip to Potter that he was Muggle-born," Ernie ponders.

"And you definitely think Potter's the Heir of Slytherin?" Hannah inquires.

"Hannah, he's a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's the mark of a dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue," Ernie says, whispering darkly. "Remember what was written on the wall: Enemies of the Heir Beware. Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we know, Filch's cat's attacked. That first-year Creevey's been annoying Potter. Then Creevey's attacked."

"He always seems so nice, though. And, after all, he is the one who made You Know Who disappear," Hannah shouts.

"That's probably why You Know Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord competing with him." Harry doesn't need to hear anymore. He slips quietly away.

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Muttering, Harry storms straight into Hagrid, who stands covered in snow, a dead rooster dangling from his hand. "Allrigh', Harry?" Hagrid asks.

"Hagrid, what're you doing here?" Harry inquires.

Hagrid holds up the rooster. "Second one killed this term. Reckon it's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin' Bugbear. Need Dumbledore's permission ter put a charm round the hen-coop. Yeh sure yeh're all righ', Harry? Yeh look all hot an' bothered."

"It's nothing. I'd better get going. I've got a lot of studying-" Harry replies.

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Harry enters, slows. Up ahead, in the light of a flickering torch, something dark lies. A window pane rattles in the wind and the torch, goes out. Harry steps closer, finds- Justin-Finch-Fletchley. Lying rigid on the floor, a look of shock on his frozen face. Nearby, an inert Nearly Headless Nick floats, body teeming with black smoke. Kneeling, Harry notices a trail of spiders scuttling away from Justin's body and out the loose windowpane, when suddenly, Harry senses someone watching him, wheels: McGonagall. "Professor, I swear I didn't-" Harry starts.

"This is out of my hands, Potter. Mr. Filch, will you take care of this, please?" McGonagall asks.

Harry's eyes shift. Filch lurks in the shadows beyond McGonagall. He steps forward, hisses quietly. "Caught in the act. I'll have you out this time, Potter. Mark my words-" Filch mutters. As McGonagall leads Harry away, he looks back. Filch stares at Justin and Nick, then turns. "Dark magic. That's what you've got, Potter. Even the air you breathe comes out poison. You're evil. Evil as they come-"

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McGonagall marches Harry down to an ugly stone gargoyle. "Sherbet lemon," McGonagall says. The gargoyle springs to life, its wings opening. "Professor Dumbledore will be waiting for you." McGonagall ushers Harry inside. It's an elevator. The Gargoyle's wings close. Harry rises to an upper floor.

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Harry steps out of the Gargoyle's embrace and enters a large, circular room. Strange silver instruments whir quietly. On a nearby shelf, the sorting hat sits. Harry casts a wary eye at the past headmasters snoozing in the portraits around him. In the last portrait, the Headmaster is awake, reading a book. He is Professor Dippet. Harry approaches the Sorting Hat, glances around, then places it atop his head. "Bee in your bonnet, Potter?" the sorting hat asks.

"Well, you see, I was wondering-" Harry starts.

"If I put you in the right house? Yes, you were particularly difficult to place. But I stand by what I said last year, you would have done well in Slytherin," the sorting hat replies.

Harry strips the hat off, tosses it back onto the shelf. "You're wrong!" Harry insists. The hat sits motionless. Silent. Hearing a gagging sound, Harry wheels, finds an old, decrepit bird, Fawkes, sitting on a golden perch. It wobbles, then, bursts into flames. "Harry!" Isabella cries, jumping up and hugging him. Harry wraps his arms around her on instinct, keeping her from watching Fawkes. "Are you alright? I heard what happened."

Harry nods. "I- I'm fine." As Dumbledore enters, Harry looks horror- struck. "Professor, your bird, I couldn't do anything, He just caught fire."

"About time too. He's been looking dreadful for days. Pity you had to see him on a Burning Day. He's really very handsome most of the time. Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes," Dumbledore explains. Harry looks to the floor. The ashes swirl. A baby Fawkes pokes out his wrinkled head, blinking through the dust. "Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."

Just then, Hagrid, still clutching the dead rooster, bursts through the door. "It wasn't Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" Hagrid calls.

"Hagrid-" Dumbledore says.

"I was talkin' ter 'im jus' before that kid was found. It can't've bin 'im!" Hagrid replies.

"Hagrid-" Dumbledore calls.

"I'll swear ter it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic-" Hagrid replies.

"HAGRID! I do not think that Harry has attacked anyone," Dumbledore assures.

"Oh. Right. I'll wait outside then," Hagrid replies.

"Perhaps you'd take young Miss Isabella with you," Dumbledore suggests.

Isabella sits down, latching onto Harry's leg. "I'm staying, Professor." Dumbledore nods and waves Hagrid off.

As Hagrid exits, Harry looks hopefully at Dumbledore. "You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry checks.

"No, Harry. But I must ask you, is there anything you'd like to tell me. Anything at all?" Dumbledore asks. Dumbledore waits. Harry debates.

"No, Professor. Nothing," Harry replies.

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Students drift into the snow with their trunks, heading home for holiday. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione appear, Ernie and few others cast wary glances. "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin! Seriously evil wizard coming through!" Fred calls.

Ron grins, amused, then sees Harry, anything but. "Oh, c'mon, Harry. Fred's just having a laugh," Ron teases.

"He's the only one," Harry mumbles.

"Okay, so half the school thinks you're nipping off to the Chamber of Secrets every night. Who cares?" Ron asks.

"Maybe they're right," Harry whispers.

"Harry!" Hermione reprimands.

"I didn't know I could speak Parseltongue. What else don't I know about myself? Maybe you can do something, even something horrible, and not know you did it," Harry demands.

"You don't believe that, Harry, I know you don't. And if it makes you feel better, I just heard Malfoy's staying over for holiday, too," Hermione says.

"Why would that make anyone feel better?" Ron asks.

"Because, in a few days, the Polyjuice Potion's will be ready. In a few days, we may truly know who is the Heir of Slytherin," Hermione replies.

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linC!-