The Last Heir of Slytherin
Summary: Everyone thought the line of Slytherin died with Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts. However, twenty-two years later, a new leader of the Dark claimed she is the last heir of Slytherin. Now, this battle was not for Harry to fight; it was for his children.
It was unusually bright and sunny for that time of the year, giving the illusion that it was July rather than late October. The sun shone proudly in the pale blue sky, giving out beams of blinding white sunlight and waves of scorching heat. People shielded their eyes and fanned themselves frantically in a vain attempt to avoid the sun. The sun, however, paid them no heed, and continued its daily job. The branches of the trees waved gently in the occasional breeze which everyone welcomed. It was not a day you would associate with fear, terror, pain and death. However, that is soon to change.
There was no warning; they could not have escaped. One moment, shoppers were milling around, inspecting the goods on display in the store windows; the children were enjoying their ice cream cones, chattering happily as they did so and licking the stains that ran down their arms, anxious not to waste a single drop. The next minute, the sky noticeably darkened, and around a hundred figures dressed in grey combat clothes appeared out of nowhere. They were each holding what seemed like thin wooden sticks in a fighting stance.
Then all hell broke loose as people fought and struggled to get further away from the strange intruders. Everyone knew enough to know that the figures did not fear death unless it was their own; they wanted their lives. One of the figures, which appeared to be the leader, was the only one in black and with a cloak. She seemed to be in her twenties, and she was tall for her age. Her hair was as dark as the night, and they fell to her shoulders in an ebony sheet. Her eyes were a clear blue, but there was no warmth in them at that moment, making them seem all the more like ice. Her skin was pale but not sickeningly so, as though she had not seen the sun for a long time. She stood at the front of the group, head held high as they waited for her signal to attack.
"We are ready, My Lady, to attack these… filth," one of them murmured respectfully while bowing her head, although she spat the last word as if it hurt her to do. Her hair was caramel-colored, and her eyes were the color of chocolate. Her lips curled upwards eagerly with the prospect of the coming bloodbath.
A nod came from the leader, and she replied. "Then attack, Jemina, as soon as you see fit." Jemina's smile widened, and she raised her wand and fired off a jet of light into the air. An image formed, dark against the sky, but the attackers gave the people no time to inspect it closely before they charged as one. Beams of light erupted from the attackers' wands and they hit the people accurately. Muggles were dropping dead left and right, some were tortured viciously in the worst way possible, and some lucky few were spared.
The female leader had been hovering in midair while this had been going on. She surveyed the scene, drinking it all in with hungry eyes – the screams, which were like music to her ears; the blood, symbolizing pain, which appealed so much to her as she watched others suffer because of her; and last and greatest of all, death. She craved the feeling she had when she have the ability to allow a person to live or die, and she always felt satisfaction when the familiar green light rushed towards a person, seeing it strike him and crumple like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Shaking her head slightly, she aimed her wand at a Muggle rushing for freedom at the edge of the wards her followers set up.
"Avada Kedavra!" The words rolled smoothly off her tongue, and the Muggle fell to the ground, dead. You should thank me, she thought as her gaze searched for her most loyal follower, Jemina. You would have suffered a much worse fate if you go crashing into the wards. She smiled grimly as she spotted a body torn apart by the wards.
The bloodbath ended precisely seven and a half minutes later as the Aurors would arrive ten minutes after the attack had started. The group gathered quickly, Vanishing the fallen fighters' bodies and collecting dropped wands, leaving no trace of themselves. Before long, there were five Muggles lined up in a row at the feet of the female leader.
"My Lady," Jemina bowed as she addressed her. "My Lady, whom shall survive to tell the tale?" The leader pointed at a middle-aged woman and a teenage boy. "They shall live. Tie them up and dispose of the others." Three more bodies soon joined the pile, leaving the pair of Muggles wide-eyed with fear.
"Come," the female leader said, facing her followers once more with a triumph smirk on her delicate features. "We have much celebrating to do with our fellow… associates." The attackers laughed at her choice of words, knowing she meant the rest of her followers. After all, they themselves were only a small portion of the supporters of the Dark. With a crack, they Disapparated one by one.
Jemina and the leader were the last ones to leave. They took a long look at the scene, with pride and what seemed like sadness gleaming in their eyes. "It has been a long time since we first planned for this, is it not, dear friend?" The leader sighed. "Thirteen years, Calypso," Jemina nodded in agreement. "Thirteen long years."
With a last look at their handiwork after years of planning, dreaming and speculation, they linked hands and turned on the spot, just in the nick of time before the arrival of the Aurors.
To be honest, this started off as a rather silly humor one-shot I was going to write. However, after reading what I had written for the first scene, inspiration hit me and this story was born. My thanks to Zoe tabbycat, who gave me the idea for the one-shot, leading me to this. Now, I would like to ask you all: Do you want to read the rather silly humor one-shot? Vote now by clicking on the pretty button below... Oh, and add your comments on this first chapter as well in the meantime!
Bianca tabbycat
