OphidioZeuso:
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and this is a kind of spin-off. I also don't own whatever quotes pop up, and you think they don't belong to me. A what-if fic, and if I get reviews, I'm planning to continue it. This sounds so Mary-Sue-Authorish, but it's true. If I get flames, I'm still planning to continue it, with their comments in mind.
Keep in mind that he's already at Hogwarts, and this is Christmas vacation.
What He Is:
Harry ran.
His breath fanned out in front of him in icy waves of mist, and he tripped on his long black robes. Sprawling into the snow, he lay there, slumped on the ground, breathing hard and fast. Tiny drops of wetness dotted his cheeks, and at first he thought they were tears. Harry opened his eyes in disbelief. He wasn't sad, far from it. He was furious, simply and utterly furious. Then he opened his eyes and realized that he wasn't crying after all. How ridiculous. It was only snowing, and it looked as though the storm were building up. Harry got up, dusted his trousers off, and then it hit him. In his haste to leave, he had left the Firebolt back at the castle. And now that he thought about it, wasn't this too small a matter to leave school? Was this a good reason for the Boy-Who-Lived to run away from his fifth year at Hogwarts?
Yes, his mind whispered sarcastically, it is. What do you want to do, go back to the Dursleys and live like an outcast Muggle for the rest of your life? Where can you go in the wizarding world, that they cannot hear what was said this afternoon? The Hogwarts students will go home eventually, and they will have to tell their parents. Their parents will spread it further. Where can you go?
Where can you go, that they don't hear that you are Slytherin's heir? That you are the heir of the very Enemy you destroyed? Where can you go?
**************************************** An Hour Ago:
"Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall (I think I spelled that wrong. Correct it, and tell me please!) inclined her large hat towards Harry. "Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak to you." Harry stood, mouthing an "I'll be back" to Ron and Hermione, who nodded distractedly, and continued trying to help Ron understand how to transfigure a Newt into a Goblet. Ron seemed extremely annoyed at the prospect of spending all of Friday evening being distracted by a frazzled Hermione who couldn't seem to understand that some people just couldn't grasp the rather complicated part of shrinking the newt's tail. Harry grinned on the way to Dumbledore's office as he recalled one of Ron's less brilliant speeches after another lesson (this time during Potions class) from Hermione.
**FLASHBACK**
"You don't have all the time in the world to learn this, you know! You won't have the chances you have when you're young, and you won't be young forever!"
"Yes," said Ron agreeably, stretching lazily while shooting murderous glares at Malfoy, who was glaring at Hermione like a fiend. "I may not be young forever, but I'll always be stupid." Here he paused, clearly waiting for something to happen. Perhaps for Hermione to disagree, perhaps for Harry to come to his defense. Unfortunately, Professor Snape had arrived to inspect their Handwriting Solution (a potion that enchanted quills to write your words, like Rita Skeeter's. "Although," added Hermione hastily, "our writing won't be as colorful as hers.")
"I have never heard a truer word from you, Weasley. Five points each from Gryffindor for speaking out when you should've been stirring your cauldron, and if you speak out again, Potter, I'll make it twenty." His cold black eyes gleamed in the half-dark of the dungeon, and both Ron and Harry hastily shut up, dreaming longingly of Snape's decapitation.
**END FLASHBACK**
"Dumbledore will be waiting for you inside, Harry." Said Professor McGonagall. Harry nodded and turned to go through the gargoyle, but was that pity he saw in her face? "Please keep in mind," she added huskily, "that the objects in Professor Dumbledore's office have been charmed with an Unbreakable Spell. And when Dumbledore has finished speaking with you, you have been excused from the rest of your classes. You may go straight to the dormitories." Harry nodded again, and continued to walk to Dumbledore's office.
He knocked on the door first. "Come in, Harry," came Dumbledore's voice from inside, and Harry entered. "You wanted to see me, Professor?" he asked as he came in. Dumbledore was sitting in his chair, the Sorting Hat on his lap, looking, for once, faintly disturbed. He frowned as Harry came in. "Please sit, Harry, as the news may be a bit of a shock for you. Well," here Harry was glad to see him smile slightly. "Not so much of a shock as of an unexpected surprise."
"What is it, Professor?" asked Harry nervously. Dumbledore leaned forwards, seeming determined to have Harry catch every word. "Do you know why Voldermort wanted to kill you, Harry? You, a mere baby, not even fully grown yet? Do you know why he has pursued you all these years in hopes of fulfilling your death?" Harry shook his head, not understanding. "No, Professor." "It is because you, not Voldermort, are the Heir of Slytherin. Voldermort only completed the process, by transferring the right of the Heir of Slytherin to you, through that very scar." Harry turned white, and clutched his forehead, but Dumbledore continued.
"He knows, as I do, that he will be even stronger when you are dead, when his blood-right flows out from your blood. This is another reason he had to have your blood, the blood of the Heir of Slytherin." Dumbledore finally sat back, as if satisfied that he had delivered the whole speech to Harry. Harry looked dazed, still uncomprehending. "I can't be Slytherin's Heir." He said firmly. "If I'm the Heir, then why didn't the snake obey me in my second year? Why did it obey Tom Riddle?"
Dumbledore pushed his half-moon glasses up the bridge of his nose, and smiled crookedly. "I believe that Voldermort put himself into that diary to, ah, "complete Salazar Slytherin's noble work" at the age of sixteen. He hadn't met you then, and so, was still the Heir of Slytherin. And how do you know the snake would not have obeyed you? Did you even try to command it?"
Dimly, Harry shook his head. Then another thought occurred to him. "You said that I had a choice, in my second year." He said accusingly to Dumbledore. "You said that choices make us who we are. Well, I can choose not to be Slytherin's Heir, can't I? I'm in Gryffindor, aren't I?"
He looked at Dumbledore with a direct and challenging gaze, and Dumbledore had to marvel exactly how much Harry, though he didn't know it, looked like his father. The resemblance to James Potter was strikingly obvious. No wonder Severus hated the boy so much. And then he remembered that Harry had asked him a question.
"Choices do indeed make us who we are, Harry, and I think you know that more and better than most people. And you can change your status as Slytherin's Heir, if you like. You have the power, right and will to do so. You can hide it, try to destroy it (though I doubt that will work), but eventually you are what you were made to be what you are. Slytherin's Heir." He saw Harry incline his head stiffly, and knew that the boy would need time to get used to it. "You may go to your dormitory, Harry."
As Harry turned to leave, he added, "Oh, I was speaking to the Sorting Hat, and it wishes to speak to you as well. Do you have time to speak to it?" Harry nodded blindly. "Yeah, sure." Everything was a blur now. To be Slytherin's Heir was a reversal of everything he was, so who was he, exactly, now? Was he Harry Potter, he who defeated Voldermort, Slytherin's Heir? Or was he some more sinister being, and would he turn out like Voldermort? Fumbling, he finally managed to shove the overtly large hat onto his head.
"Bee in your bonnet, Harry?" The Sorting Hat asked. Harry managed a weak grin in return. "Sort of. Dumbledore said something about you wanting to speak to me?" "Yes, Harry, I did want to speak to you. Do you remember, five years ago, I wanted you to consider Slytherin?" Harry remembered that incident all too well, though it was set among his most treasured memories, as the day he entered Hogwarts.
"Well, you see, Harry, ever since we discovered that you were Slytherin's Heir, the Headmaster and I have been thinking about transferring you to Slytherin." "No!" yelled Harry in horror. The Sorting Hat looked regretful, or as regretful as hats can look. "I'm sorry, Harry." He said firmly. "But your transferring papers have already been signed and sealed. You are now a Slytherin."
Author's Note: It gets more interesting later. I'm sorry if you disliked it. Please review with ideas! I need ideas! Well, it's not like I'm desperate. Just to get people's attention, and to make this good.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and this is a kind of spin-off. I also don't own whatever quotes pop up, and you think they don't belong to me. A what-if fic, and if I get reviews, I'm planning to continue it. This sounds so Mary-Sue-Authorish, but it's true. If I get flames, I'm still planning to continue it, with their comments in mind.
Keep in mind that he's already at Hogwarts, and this is Christmas vacation.
What He Is:
Harry ran.
His breath fanned out in front of him in icy waves of mist, and he tripped on his long black robes. Sprawling into the snow, he lay there, slumped on the ground, breathing hard and fast. Tiny drops of wetness dotted his cheeks, and at first he thought they were tears. Harry opened his eyes in disbelief. He wasn't sad, far from it. He was furious, simply and utterly furious. Then he opened his eyes and realized that he wasn't crying after all. How ridiculous. It was only snowing, and it looked as though the storm were building up. Harry got up, dusted his trousers off, and then it hit him. In his haste to leave, he had left the Firebolt back at the castle. And now that he thought about it, wasn't this too small a matter to leave school? Was this a good reason for the Boy-Who-Lived to run away from his fifth year at Hogwarts?
Yes, his mind whispered sarcastically, it is. What do you want to do, go back to the Dursleys and live like an outcast Muggle for the rest of your life? Where can you go in the wizarding world, that they cannot hear what was said this afternoon? The Hogwarts students will go home eventually, and they will have to tell their parents. Their parents will spread it further. Where can you go?
Where can you go, that they don't hear that you are Slytherin's heir? That you are the heir of the very Enemy you destroyed? Where can you go?
**************************************** An Hour Ago:
"Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall (I think I spelled that wrong. Correct it, and tell me please!) inclined her large hat towards Harry. "Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak to you." Harry stood, mouthing an "I'll be back" to Ron and Hermione, who nodded distractedly, and continued trying to help Ron understand how to transfigure a Newt into a Goblet. Ron seemed extremely annoyed at the prospect of spending all of Friday evening being distracted by a frazzled Hermione who couldn't seem to understand that some people just couldn't grasp the rather complicated part of shrinking the newt's tail. Harry grinned on the way to Dumbledore's office as he recalled one of Ron's less brilliant speeches after another lesson (this time during Potions class) from Hermione.
**FLASHBACK**
"You don't have all the time in the world to learn this, you know! You won't have the chances you have when you're young, and you won't be young forever!"
"Yes," said Ron agreeably, stretching lazily while shooting murderous glares at Malfoy, who was glaring at Hermione like a fiend. "I may not be young forever, but I'll always be stupid." Here he paused, clearly waiting for something to happen. Perhaps for Hermione to disagree, perhaps for Harry to come to his defense. Unfortunately, Professor Snape had arrived to inspect their Handwriting Solution (a potion that enchanted quills to write your words, like Rita Skeeter's. "Although," added Hermione hastily, "our writing won't be as colorful as hers.")
"I have never heard a truer word from you, Weasley. Five points each from Gryffindor for speaking out when you should've been stirring your cauldron, and if you speak out again, Potter, I'll make it twenty." His cold black eyes gleamed in the half-dark of the dungeon, and both Ron and Harry hastily shut up, dreaming longingly of Snape's decapitation.
**END FLASHBACK**
"Dumbledore will be waiting for you inside, Harry." Said Professor McGonagall. Harry nodded and turned to go through the gargoyle, but was that pity he saw in her face? "Please keep in mind," she added huskily, "that the objects in Professor Dumbledore's office have been charmed with an Unbreakable Spell. And when Dumbledore has finished speaking with you, you have been excused from the rest of your classes. You may go straight to the dormitories." Harry nodded again, and continued to walk to Dumbledore's office.
He knocked on the door first. "Come in, Harry," came Dumbledore's voice from inside, and Harry entered. "You wanted to see me, Professor?" he asked as he came in. Dumbledore was sitting in his chair, the Sorting Hat on his lap, looking, for once, faintly disturbed. He frowned as Harry came in. "Please sit, Harry, as the news may be a bit of a shock for you. Well," here Harry was glad to see him smile slightly. "Not so much of a shock as of an unexpected surprise."
"What is it, Professor?" asked Harry nervously. Dumbledore leaned forwards, seeming determined to have Harry catch every word. "Do you know why Voldermort wanted to kill you, Harry? You, a mere baby, not even fully grown yet? Do you know why he has pursued you all these years in hopes of fulfilling your death?" Harry shook his head, not understanding. "No, Professor." "It is because you, not Voldermort, are the Heir of Slytherin. Voldermort only completed the process, by transferring the right of the Heir of Slytherin to you, through that very scar." Harry turned white, and clutched his forehead, but Dumbledore continued.
"He knows, as I do, that he will be even stronger when you are dead, when his blood-right flows out from your blood. This is another reason he had to have your blood, the blood of the Heir of Slytherin." Dumbledore finally sat back, as if satisfied that he had delivered the whole speech to Harry. Harry looked dazed, still uncomprehending. "I can't be Slytherin's Heir." He said firmly. "If I'm the Heir, then why didn't the snake obey me in my second year? Why did it obey Tom Riddle?"
Dumbledore pushed his half-moon glasses up the bridge of his nose, and smiled crookedly. "I believe that Voldermort put himself into that diary to, ah, "complete Salazar Slytherin's noble work" at the age of sixteen. He hadn't met you then, and so, was still the Heir of Slytherin. And how do you know the snake would not have obeyed you? Did you even try to command it?"
Dimly, Harry shook his head. Then another thought occurred to him. "You said that I had a choice, in my second year." He said accusingly to Dumbledore. "You said that choices make us who we are. Well, I can choose not to be Slytherin's Heir, can't I? I'm in Gryffindor, aren't I?"
He looked at Dumbledore with a direct and challenging gaze, and Dumbledore had to marvel exactly how much Harry, though he didn't know it, looked like his father. The resemblance to James Potter was strikingly obvious. No wonder Severus hated the boy so much. And then he remembered that Harry had asked him a question.
"Choices do indeed make us who we are, Harry, and I think you know that more and better than most people. And you can change your status as Slytherin's Heir, if you like. You have the power, right and will to do so. You can hide it, try to destroy it (though I doubt that will work), but eventually you are what you were made to be what you are. Slytherin's Heir." He saw Harry incline his head stiffly, and knew that the boy would need time to get used to it. "You may go to your dormitory, Harry."
As Harry turned to leave, he added, "Oh, I was speaking to the Sorting Hat, and it wishes to speak to you as well. Do you have time to speak to it?" Harry nodded blindly. "Yeah, sure." Everything was a blur now. To be Slytherin's Heir was a reversal of everything he was, so who was he, exactly, now? Was he Harry Potter, he who defeated Voldermort, Slytherin's Heir? Or was he some more sinister being, and would he turn out like Voldermort? Fumbling, he finally managed to shove the overtly large hat onto his head.
"Bee in your bonnet, Harry?" The Sorting Hat asked. Harry managed a weak grin in return. "Sort of. Dumbledore said something about you wanting to speak to me?" "Yes, Harry, I did want to speak to you. Do you remember, five years ago, I wanted you to consider Slytherin?" Harry remembered that incident all too well, though it was set among his most treasured memories, as the day he entered Hogwarts.
"Well, you see, Harry, ever since we discovered that you were Slytherin's Heir, the Headmaster and I have been thinking about transferring you to Slytherin." "No!" yelled Harry in horror. The Sorting Hat looked regretful, or as regretful as hats can look. "I'm sorry, Harry." He said firmly. "But your transferring papers have already been signed and sealed. You are now a Slytherin."
Author's Note: It gets more interesting later. I'm sorry if you disliked it. Please review with ideas! I need ideas! Well, it's not like I'm desperate. Just to get people's attention, and to make this good.