Chapter 4
The writing was still on the wall the following morning, with an addition: a sheet of parchment which read, This tasteless upstart should take their own advice. – The True Heir of Slytherin.
“Ominous,” Vince said as the Slytherins arrived at breakfast. Now there were two competing claims to the title, both anonymous. The first message promised vengeance and overwhelming force; the stark simplicity of the second message carried a more subtle confidence.
“Are you going to take credit for this one, too?” Blaise asked him.
Draco shook his head. “None of us are that cool.”
“Whoever this True Heir is, they have style,” Millicent agreed. Farther down the Slytherin table, Marcus Flint offered a different opinion:
“The first one’s shown his strength, he’s the one who’ll put the mudbloods and blood traitors in their place.”
“Ten points from Slytherin for foul language, Mr Flint,” McGonagall announced, as she strode past their table.
***
Draco was in a bind. He knew how Omegas were viewed; weak magic, weak-willed, only useful for popping out babies. Draco needed to prove that he wasn’t like other omegas, that he was capable of leading the Malfoy family. And everything he tried fell flat.
He was crossing the entrance hall when Caretaker Filch grabbed his elbow. “Walk with me, Malfoy.”
Draco didn’t think he’d broken any school rules recently. “I don’t want to be associated with – ” He cut himself off. Filch snorted.
“No one does. You’ll learn.” He led Draco to a side corridor on the third floor. A door there was marked with a single Ώ. Draco blinked.
“How?”
“Takes one to know one.” Filch pulled him inside. The room within was a large parlor, with broad windows on one side and a crackling fireplace on the other. Between them were scattered various armchairs and settees, worn and less than fashionable. “No one can get into this room except Omegas; only exception is the school nurse, just in case.”
Draco looked around. A few students were scattered among the seats; he recognised Longbottom, Percy Weasley (who appeared to be knitting), a few upper-year Slytherins who he traded cautious nods with. And to his ultimate surprise, Professor Snape.
“I trust that anything you see in this room will remain in this room,” Snape said.
“I understand, Professor.” Draco wouldn’t want his magical gender gossiped around the school either.
“I am here infrequently,” Snape continued. “However, I am available to answer questions regarding our gender.”
“And to get your arse kicked at draughts,” said Filch; he had taken out a board and pieces.
“That remains to be seen, Argus,” sneered Snape.
Draco ventured farther into the room. There were bookcases stacked with board games, craft supplies, and volumes of fiction – even a few of Muggle origin. Murder on the Orient Express, one cover announced. If what he did here would not be spoken of – perhaps Draco would linger a while.
***
Harry tapped on the doorframe of Filch’s office. “Caretaker Filch?”
Filch glowered up from his paperwork. “What do you want?”
Harry stepped into the office and checked that no one else was present. “Are you sure it was me who you sensed the other night?”
Filch studied him, brows bent; something old and vast lurked in his eyes. “Hmm. No, I see now it was different. A magic I thought unique to you, but you have elements the other does not.”
Oh dear. “I think I may have an evil twin running around.” Or rather, Thomas had an evil twin; what fit that description better than a Horcrux? Parselmagic could mimic a basilisk’s petrification; the treatment was, fortunately, also the same. “Now that I know, I’ll be looking for him. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
Filch grinned suddenly. “There’s a reason this place likes you. Good hunting.”
***
“How many iterations of Thomas can we expect to encounter?” Severus had dispensed with any pretense of a detention; he, Harry and Peter sat around the table in his private lab, sipping tea. Thomas’s projection stood at Harry’s elbow with his own illusory cup in hand.
“Counting Thomas himself, seven,” Harry replied. “I shan’t lie, some very dark magic is involved.”
“Herpo the Foul, right?” said Peter. “I remember overhearing a bit about that,”
“You have quite the talent for overhearing things,” Thomas said
“It’s my insatiable curiosity.”
“That’s not the only way you’re insatiable,” said Severus, which made Harry splutter into his tea.
Harry continued, “One of them was hidden at Hogwarts, so our best guess is that a student stumbled across it and is now possessed.”
Snape frowned. Quirrell had been one thing; he was an adult and capable of looking out for himself. A student was quite another. “Can you detect the other fragments?”
“Only when they’re active,” Thomas said, looking irritated. “What of the mandrake potion?”
It was Snape’s turn to look annoyed. “Dumbledore insists on waiting for the mandrakes in the greenhouses to mature. For all his fondness for Muggles, he’s such a pureblood a ttimes; paying for anything is an offense to his dignity.”
“Foolishness,” said Thomas.
“Indeed. I have found a supplier of mature mandrakes. I intend to brew several doses as a precaution.”
Harry nodded approval. “Let me know how much it costs. Merlin knows I’ve got enough gold for it.”
***
While Harry waited for the errant Horcrux to show itself again, Gryffindor had their own turn at the health class. Hermione devoured the slim textbook before the evening was out, and as usual, she was full of questions. “This makes it sound as if switching sexes around is commonplace.”
“Well, yeah,” Ron shrugged. “Mum and Dad are both Alphas, so they could switch off carrying – that’s how they were able to have so many kids. Dad carried me and Percy, Mum carried everyone else.”
Hermione’s brow creased as she processed this. “And your dad didn’t mind? Even though he’s a man?”
Ron looked confused. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“I don’t even know what my parents’ magical genders were,” Harry mused.
“Um, I know,” Neville piped up. “Gran’s mentioned it before. Lily was an Alpha, and James was a Beta.”
Hermione shuffled her notes. “But that would mean that it was James who was pregnant with you.”
“I suppose so.” It didn’t make any difference, besides removing all doubt that he was the Potter heir.
“But all of the history books make it sound like Lily was the one who was pregnant.”
“Maybe it was a coverup,” Ron suggested. “What with the war and all.”
***
“Dear Tom,” wrote Ginny, “I still haven’t gotten a chance to talk to Harry. He spends all his time with Ron, it’s not fair!”
W̵̱̉͝ê̸̠͜͠ ̴̲̤͆a̶̡̰̿l̷͇̀͝l̶̤͚̕ ̸̼̟̑̒è̴͓̗n̵̛͍̼͂c̴̩͗ͅo̶̧͗u̵͈͖͝n̴̠̐̉t̸̲̎͝e̴̡̐́r̸̻̱͋ ̵̞͘ò̴̝b̴̞͙̄͠s̴̱̾t̶̲̱͂̿a̸̘͛c̶̰̊͋l̶̲͆ȅ̴̖s̷̐̈́͜ ̸͈̓̂t̴͍̱̔̃o̵̫̙͛ ̶̢͐͝o̶̪̠̊͝u̸̽ͅr̷͎̍͌ ̷̦̼̃̚p̸̯͌͝l̵̰̠͆̓a̸̜͗͘n̸̺͖̔͘s̵̟͐
“Romilda keeps saying she’ll catch Harry’s eye because she’s the prettiest girl in our year. And Lockhart still hasn’t caught on to the notes that pop up when he talks. And since Halloween, all anyone’s talking about is this heir of Slytherin business.”
O̸̖͆̂h̷̛̙̬͂?̵̜̣̃ ̷̳̭͐W̸͔̳̔h̸̗̉͗ā̶̰̎ṫ̶̡̈ ̷̨́h̸̝́ä̶̢̨́̒p̷̓͜p̴͎̎͆e̸̠͐n̶͈̑e̷̻̻̕d̷̥̯̄̎?̸̻̯̈́
Ginny wrote what she remembered about the two messages which had appeared on the corridor wall.
W̵̤̪͂ȟ̴͎̙í̴͓̣́c̷̹̰̈́ḧ̸̟̰̇ ̵̜́h̶͊͜͠e̸̥̿i̷͓͒̔r̵̢͋̚ ̷͕̾ỉ̶̫͜͠s̴̙̞̅͆ ̶͉̬͋̎t̸̢͉̋̆ḧ̵̫͉́e̸̛̼̙͘ ̴̞̮̈́ŕ̸̙͋é̵͓̝a̷̜͌͜l̸̳̆̓ ̵̦̽͝o̷̝͌̀ͅn̶̲̂͜ë̶͍?̷̤̱̃̽
“I think they’re both just pranksters. It seems like somethng the Twins might come up with.”
Ă̴̦k̶̨͎͆;̸̝̚f̶̢̘́̋j̸͚͚̀k̵̩̈́̒å̸͓̣d̵̻͚̍j̷͔̑͌g̴͇̋h̴̫̋
“Pardon?”
N̵̛̜̯̈́e̵̺̗̅̓v̸̹͉͝ḛ̴͕͐͠r̶̞̅ ̶̥͇̓m̵̲̚͜i̷͓͂̅n̸̜̹̎d̵̥͐̓ ̵̱̃͜͝t̶͉͛ḧ̶̠́ǎ̶̟͇̆t̸͕̏.̴̠͆ ̶͓͗̇Ţ̷̌̇é̴̳̼̃l̸̨̈́̓l̸͍̔ ̷͍̇͘m̶̞̥̈è̷͚̺ ̵̳̬͐m̵͍̙͘õ̶̰̉r̶̭̓͌e̸̥̎̈́.̶͚͌̎
***
Harry was changing after Saturday quidditch practice when he sensed the rogue horcrux awaken, like a twinge in the back of his mind. Thomas immediately focused on tracking it, while Harry threw on his robes and hurried into the castle. They had a crude sense of direction, and that could get them close enough. They could tell the shard was moving through the castle, descending from the higher floors. If Harry went up the main staircase, he should be able to intercept them –
“Ah, Harry, just who I wanted to see!” Gilderoy Lockhart swooped out of his office and threw an arm around Harry’s shoulders to drag him inside.
“Can I help you, Professor?”
“You’re a difficult man to get hold of, Harry. I’ve been wanting to have a word about your career.”
“It’s a little early for that, isn’t it?”
“Your celebrity career, Harry!” Lockhart flashed a grin which was too bright to be natural. Meanwhile, the soul shard had reached the ground floor and was lingering there.
“I’m not that interested in being a celebrity,” said Harry.
“Nonsense, my dear boy. Your fame is not something you can neglect! That publicity stunt at the start of the year was a nice move, but you have to maintain the momentum!”
The soul shard was moving back up towards the towers. Harry had to move now, or lose the trail. “Professor?”
“Yes?” Lockhart sparkled.
“Is that a grey hair?”
“What? Where?” Lockhart whirled toward his mirror; Harry darted out the door. He raced to catch up with the aura he was sensing. He followed it all the way to Gryffindor Tower and was sure he had it cornered, but when he reached the common room, the horcrux had disappeared up the stairs to the girls’ dorms.
“Foiled again,” Thomas grumbled.
“I suppose a body mod charm won’t help here.” If the gender exclusion wards were that easy to trick, there would be no point to them.
“We have narrowed down who the shard is possessing, Master. A Gryffindor girl who did not go to Hogsmeade today. ”
“And who wasn’t at Quidditch practice.” Instead of waiting to see who came out of the girls’ dorms for dinner, which would be creepy, he went out to examine the ground floor.
There was another message scrawled on the wall: “The Heir will not be mocked. Beware the perils of the Chamber!”
***
There once was a Slytherin heir
Whose antics lacked cunning or flair
So we’ll scoff and we’ll wheeze
As much as we please
At such vacuous bursts of hot air
– The True Heir of Slytherin
***
Draco’s first official Quidditch match had arrived, and it was against the Gryffindors. This was his chance to prove himself as Potter’s rival, and secure Slytherin’s grasp on the Cup.
He wondered if the True Heir of Slytherin was watching. Would they be impressed with his performance? Most of the team was in favour of the other one; but as Draco saw it, the True Heir had gotten the better of each exchange so far.
He almost missed Madame Hooch’s whistle, and after that he needed to focus on the game. Just as planned, the Nimbus 2001 brooms gave them the advantage over the Gryffindors’ Cleansweeps, and Draco could even outmaneuver Harry’s Nimbus 2000. He smirked. “Having trouble there, Scarhead?”
“Not yet, Malfoy. Try harder.”
Draco would show him. All he had to do was find the snitch first. Rain started falling and and made the match miserable for everyone, and the Gryffindors were having trouble with the bludgers. They called a time-out to discuss it and Draco smirked the whole way through it. He was determined to catch the snitch quickly now; Slytherin might be the House of Water, but that didn’t mean he liked being soaked to the skin. Meanwhile, Potter seemed to be distracted playing tag with a bludger.
“Practicing for the ballet, Potter?”
That finally got a reaction; Potter’s eyes locked on to him as he launched forward, hand aiming for his face. Finally, Draco could say that Potter took him seriously –
Potter’s hand skimmed past his head, and then the whistle blew. Potter had caught the snitch, and Draco hadn’t even noticed it.