This Fanfiction is the Sequel to James Potter and the Continuous Legacy which can be found on my author page.
If you have not done so already, I highly recommend that you should read 'Legacies' or you will have a hard time understanding some of the plot elements in this Fanfiction. However, it is not absolutely necessary to read 'Legacies' in order to enjoy this Fanfiction, so if you're too lazy to read it you can still read 'Bloodlines' and enjoy it all the same.
Chapter One: The Heir Among us
The backmost and most secret alleyways and hidey holes of London were abuzz with rumor, rumor of strange stories that had been circulating the country in recent months. In most centers of gossip, even the most gullible of people would not have put much stock in these stories; however these rumors were not being told in the usual centers of gossip. These stories were being heard only in the most hushed of tones, by those with knowledge of things secret to most, and with magic in their blood.
However, even by the standards of Wizards, this was not the easiest of stories to believe. The stories held that a radical sect of Dark Wizards, referring to themselves as the Magical History Movement, had blasted apart half of Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest in their search for some legendary magical object that would have enabled them to destroy Harry Potter: who they viewed as a traitor to the Wizarding World for killing the to-be-savior of Wizardkind, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!
They further held that James Potter, the eldest son of the infamous Boy-Who-Lived, had been the one responsible for stopping them! Him and a bunch of First Year students! At first, very few had believed the stories; however a headlining Daily Prophet article praising the young Potter's heroics had begun to convince people of the rumor's validity.
Once people had been forced to accept what had happened, the Magical History Movement had lost much of the fear and respect that it had held amongst the Wizarding Community. "If they could be thwarted by a bunch of snot-nosed eleven year olds," people asked, "then just how dangerous and powerful could they really be?"
Then, of course, was the organization's glaring lack of any presentable leadership. While everyone knew that the MHM was led by a single man his identity was unknown to just about everybody, whether they were inside the organization or not.
Ordinarily, this may have inspired terror of the unknown in the hearts of many, however in light of the organizations recent failures it served only to underline the organizations apparent weaknesses. Rather than being designed to maintain an air of mystery around him, it was now believed that he was keeping his identity a secret out of embarrassment of his organizations shortcomings.
Though the true reasons for his concealing his identity lay in keeping himself away from the reach of the Ministry of Magic, the public perception of his cowardice was something that would be very difficult to change. And if it did not change, it could prove to be an insurmountable hurdle to the aims of the Magical History Movement.
That was why this scheme had been hatched, in order to ensure that the name of their movement once again instilled fear and terror in the hearts of their enemies, and respect and admiration in the eyes of those loyal to the cause of justice. The Magical History Movement needed a public face, someone who could stand as a figurehead in representation of their goals: and they believed that they had found exactly that!
As was generally the custom for the secretive movement, the meeting that was called consisted of only a very few. The fewer people who knew of the specifics of the plan the better; besides, gathering in such large numbers left them vulnerable to a raid by the Ministry. If they ever gathered in one place, and the location of that meeting were discovered, it could prove fatal to their noble goal.
So tonight, under the silvery light of the waxing crescent moon, only four were gathered in the stuffy old house, if it could be called that, to hear of this plan. The house, as it has been called, was actually more of a garage or a shed, as certainly no one had ever lived in such a small, foul smelling environ.
The gatherers all wore long black cloaks with upturned hoods, though everyone in the room knew exactly who the others were, it was a tradition of the noble organization that hoods be worn during such meetings. They hid their faces from the world, as they had been forced to keep the truth hidden in much the same way.
But, if all went well, that was all going to change very very soon! With a visible, inspirational public symbol of a leader at the head of their organization they would soon be attracting more recruits than ever before! What did it matter that this new 'leader' was to be nothing more than a puppet without any real power of his own? There was no need for the people to know this; all they needed to know was that he stood in line with the MHM's goals.
Of course, there was always the remote possibility that their target would not be supportive of their goals, but if that were the unfortunate case there were many ways of bending a person to your will.
The room was silent, not a whisper, not the slightest hint of any kind of noise or sound. Finally, the mysterious leader of the Magical History Movement spoke. In a voice that sounded as though it were speaking to them across centuries, he said "My friends, we gather here tonight under some of the darkest times that our ill-fated venture has ever known. As he toil to enlighten the Wizarding World to the lies that have been foisted upon them, our efforts have been blocked and shunted aside."
There was no reaction from the listeners, who simply stared back at the man intently, waiting for the reason for their meeting to be addressed. They would have to wait a little longer though, as the man continued "Yes, and what is worse, it was mere dumb luck that enabled that Potter boy to stop us! No doubt he is just as meddlesome and interfering as his father, but he is of no concern to us. He is a mere child who happened to stumble upon something far too big for him. Should he ever cross our paths again, we shall destroy him without a second thought."
There was a pause, and the silence began to creep back into the room before he continued "But as it is, we need not worry ourselves with him. Remember my friends; we are not murderers like Harry Potter! We do not needlessly kill and slaughter to get what we want!"
There was a low murmur of assent from those gathered in the room, but otherwise the others remained silent. They knew better than to interrupt when The Master was in the middle of a speech.
"But now," he continued "Our efforts are being scorned, and laughed at by those who mistake Potter's luck for our incompetence! Who mistake our necessary precautions as fears. Well my friends, that no longer need be the case."
With a grin that contained no mirth or humor, only the cold hard look of a man possessed, he explained, "For we shall have our face to the public my friends, someone in whose veins runs the Blood of Kings! The legacy of a hundred generations! Someone in whom rests the last remnants of the ancestry of Salazar Slytherin!"
There was a collective gasp of shock from those present, surely such a thing would be impossible. Everyone knew that the last dregs of Slytherin's known Bloodline had dried up with the murder of the Dark Lord all those years ago.
As though their shock amused him, the man continued as though he had not been even remotely faze by their reaction, "Yes, though it was believed that the Bloodline of the most noble of Hogwarts' Founders had run dry, I have stumbled across an ancient birth record that show another heir to the Slytherin legacy! It took some digging to get to the point where modern records were available, but there is no doubt that one other heir remains!"
The room was silent, but this was a silence of a completely new form. Rather than a silence of respectful attention, this was a silence of shock and disbelief. It was simply impossible to consider that what The Master was saying was true; but at the same time there was no questioning anything that he ever said. The penalty for such insolence was far too terrible to imagine!
"I can see that some of you harbor doubts." The man said, as though he had been expecting such. Nodding he continued "That is, of course, understandable. But here," he added with a flourish as he pulled a tattered and yellowing piece of parchment from within his robes, "I have irrefutable proof of the validity of my claims! Anyone who wishes may feel free to test the authenticity of this relic magically. I will not object."
No one dared to ask to test the scroll, doing so would be akin to placing the noose around one's own neck.
Tutting in disappointment, he finally spoke again, "No takers, pity. Very well, I shall have to prove it myself." With another flourish he drew his wand out of his robes and stabbed the scroll with it muttering an incantation; when he did so there was a flash of yellow light that blinded all of those present.
After a few moments, as their eyes began to refocus, the men saw that the parchment scroll was unharmed: proof that it said exactly what he had said it did. This knowledge filled the men present with no little amount of fear and awe. The heir of Slytherin could be an enormous boost to their cause, but at the same time he could also bring about their doom should he stand in opposition to them.
"Does…does he know?" one man finally breathed, his bald head glistening with sweat as the fast pace of events were beginning to overwhelm him.
"No, he does not know." The Master said, before adding almost as an afterthought, "Though I believe that somewhere, at the very core of himself, he may have some sense of who he is. He may not know why, but I believe he knows that he is someone important. Someone who will have a future to match his families incredible past: a past that he knows nothing about of course."
Then, the question that had hung on all of their lips, "Will he join us?" asked a tall dark woman whose complexion was that of someone from the Mediterranean: perhaps French.
The Master laughed, a cold mirthless laugh that filled all those present with dread. "He will not have a choice." He said simply, "I will make absolute sure of that."
There was some a feeling of discontent amongst those present, but nobody dared to speak up, for The Master's word was law! Anyone who dared act as though it were else wise should count himself lucky if he lived to see out the week!
"Who…who is this man?" asked the last person in the room, a short and squat man who had tufts of red hair that stuck up irregularly.
"No, it is not a man that we are after!" The Master corrected, "No, the person we are looking for is a child, much easier to control that way!" He glared out the window, seemingly thoroughly enjoying keeping them in such suspense. "In just a few months he will have returned to Hogwarts, if we could take him before then it would make our lives much easier. But alas, we cannot. If all is to go according to plan, he must appear as our rallying point immediately after we take him, and if he is resistant to our goals, then we will need the power of the Amulet in order to control him."
"The Amulet, my liege?" asked the woman, breathless with anticipation of what The Master would say. It was all starting to fall into place, to make perfect sense. A child would appear as a shining beacon of the power of virtue and innocence to their cause. An ace in the hole, a great victory for their noble cause!
The Master flashed another of his cruel grins and explained "Yes, it will enable us to bend the boy to our will. But it will take some time to acquire. As such, we will be unable to take the boy until he has returned to Hogwarts in the Fall. And while it might be easier to wait until next summer to take him, I feel that our cause would be better supported if we took him…a bit earlier than that. But all will be explained in time."
Then, he seemed to remember the question that had started his speech. "Ah but yes, you asked of the identity of the boy. Well feast your eyes my friends, upon the last surviving trace of Slytherin's Bloodline!" he shouted, as he unfurled the scroll…