On Sunday morning, that Halloween cheer from the day before was replaced with a newfound tension and anxiety. As for Slytherin House, that tension and anxiety was also mixed in with excitement and anticipation.
"You'd think the school might be cleansed finally?"
"About time."
"Hopefully it's Granger that the Heir gets. Won't have father get on my case about my marks anymore," Draco could be heard loudly saying from across the table.
Agatha angrily speared her sausage with her fork. Keeping back any words that threatened to spill from her mouth.
"It would be something if the Heir were to attack one of us," said Cassius as he finished his eggs.
"The Heir goes after Mudbloods, Cassius," spat Ernessa. "Also, why would they attack an Slytherin?"
"They attacked Filch's cat, Ernessa," argued Cassius, trying not to appear affronted by her usage of the slur. "If they attacked an cat, one of us could be attacked for being in the way as well. Besides, not all of us are purebloods. We have a handful of Muggle-borns, like Peter for example, and the half-bloods outnumber us purebloods. Miles and Abigail's mother is plain Muggle, and the Heir could attack them simply for that."
"Don't remind me," sniffed Pansy Parkinson a few seats away. Down a ways, was said Peter Weatherby conversing with his friend Joseph Engle. Both of whom were from Agatha's year. Judging by the worried look on the former's face, there was no doubt that he was afraid of being on the list of the Heir's targets. Being one of the few Slytherin muggle-borns referenced by Cassius.
As Agatha and her friends left for the library to finish some studying, they could see Filch try to remove the message with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover.
"Never seen the library this packed on a Sunday," said Cassius as they managed to find an empty table next to a bunch of first year Ravenclaws over by the newspaper archives ("You might want to be careful," called a dreamy-sounding voice belonging to one of them. "There's wrackspurts flying over that table"). "Usually, it's Friday afternoons and Saturdays."
All around them, the aisles containing the historical books were streaming with students. Even the Restricted Section was seeing a bigger influx of sixth and seventh years than usual. A couple tables away, Granger had laid down a bunch of books.
There was no doubt as to why the library had now seen a surge in students then before.
Agatha had just retrieved her notes for History of Magic when she sees Uncle Severus sweep into the library; approaching an harassed looking Madam Pince. Her gaze still drawn to them as she sees him whispering to her.
As his eyes glanced to her at one instance, she figured it was about her.
"I'll be right back." Agatha stands up from her chair as Madam Pince gestures her to come forward. "Probably a message from father. You know what he's like from time to time."
She leaves her chair and right when she meets Uncle Severus, he sweeps out of the library. Agatha following his billowing, black robes down the corridor.
"The Headmaster would like a word with you in his office," he says as soon as she walks besides him.
It was as if someone had forced the Golden Snitch down into her throat.
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
"I didn't…" she started, Draco's words and the writing on the wall coming to mind. "I wasn't the one that –"
"That is not why he wants to speak with you, Agatha," Uncle Severus interrupts.
"Then why?" she asked.
He doesn't answer. Which only fuels to her anxiety then abate it.
Momentarily, the two of them face with an gigantic, stone owl. "Sherbet lemon," he says, and her heart pounds even harder as it slowly turns. Revealing an flight of spiral, stone steps. Uncle Severus nods in encouragement, and Agatha – her stomach twisting in knots – ascends the stone steps.
She inhales deeply before giving the door an few taps.
"Come in, Miss Malfoy," he answers rather amiably. Which only increased her anxiety at this meeting then reducing it. She opens the door, and he could be heard saying, "Have a seat, my dear."
Swallowing repeatedly and clenching her fists, she walks over to the stone dais where his desk sat. Whatever it was, she hoped it was brief. There was no need to worry Cassius, Abigail, and Miles if she took too long here.
"Care for a sherbet lemon?" he asked, offering her a tin as soon as she sat down.
Agatha stared at the yellow candies sitting in the tin. Had father been here, he'd knock her hand away even before she would move to take one. Desiring to not appear rude, she answered, "Yes, thank you, Professor," before taking one.
"Now…" he hesitates for a moment before continuing. "I'm certain that this is a shock to you. It seems that the truth about your parentage has come to you sooner than how your adoptive parents planned it."
The blood drains from Agatha's face. What? How would he – ?
Her first thought was to chuckle and say that he did not know what he was talking about. That she was the eldest daughter of the House of Malfoy. That it was ludicrous of him to ever suggest something otherwise. There was that persistent voice in her head that being the leader of the Light during the Wizarding War, that there were some things that were probably leaked that got to his attention.
As the Dark Lord had his spies, perhaps Albus Dumbledore had his own as well. As for the last sentence, it wasn't as if father would keep Uncle Severus in the dark on certain things.
Yet, she had an nagging suspicion that it was maybe something else.
"Have you been intercepting my mail, Professor?" she asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion in her tone.
"To the contrary, Miss Malfoy," he answered, placing an parcel on his desk. "In fact, just yesterday, I received a letter from Remus Lupin. Along with an package for you."
He…what?
"He honestly never expected to hear from you in years," he continued, as if saw the shock on her face. "You could imagine the shock he must have felt when an owl arrived with an letter from you. He didn't know how to respond, so he wrote to me for my input."
"Is he…" she drifts off, not finishing the question.
And of course, the Headmaster seemed to know what she was going to say.
"Upset? Oh no," he answered. "He wouldn't have sent you anything if he was. In fact, it was his heart's desire that he'd hear from you. He'd doubt that you would due to your current circumstances."
Current circumstances. He didn't need to explain what those were. "Which is why I sent it from here," she answered. "That way if he answered, nothing would seem suspicious."
"I understand that you preferred that he'd write back," he began, "though I think it would be better if the two of you met face to face."
Yes, she wanted an written correspondence, but to see him in person. She swallowed. There were too many factors regarding her hesitation in the matter, even if it was beneficial. It was too soon. Not to mention another obstacle –
"I doubt my parents would approve of me visiting what they call an filthy werewolf," she vocalized. "My godfather would have his reservations, as my uncle was literally friends with the boy who tormented him when they were students here."
"Rest assured, this visit will not reach your parents," he said. "And your godfather has agreed to cover for you in case people ask regarding your absence from the one of the next Hogsmeade outings."
Expect the Headmaster to find an answer for everything. Which was why probably one of the reason her parents were aggravated by the man. While that would seem out of the way, there was –
"Is there something you also wish to tell me?" he asked.
No, sir. Nothing, was what she wanted to answer. What's the point of lying to him? demanded that voice from her mind. He most likely knows anyway.
"Well, when I overheard that conversation between my parents which resulted in me writing that letter," she began, "father said that any genetic inheritance from You-Know-Who would override anything I might have inherited from my natural mother. That I came from an powerful line of magic. Well, I really don't want to believe it, Headmaster. I mean, I always felt different when I realized I could talk to snakes, but…Why believe that my blood father is You-Know-Who?"
"You can call him by his real name: Voldemort," he answered. Then, she could see the hesitation in him. As if he was pondering how to answer that one. "Sometimes, Miss Malfoy, something that we consider too unconceivable to be true is the unpleasant truth."
Agatha shook her head, not wanting to believe it from the man who have said those words to her. Perhaps what was worse was the honesty in his voice. There was this strong urge to leap from her seat and scream from the top of her lungs.
She squeezes the armrests of the chair and swallows repeatedly. "So, I'm cursed, then?" Agatha lets out an dry chuckle, not helping herself. "I'm even surprised you allowed me to attend the school given that his blood runs in my veins. One might think I would become just like him."
"To the contrary, you have displayed the opposite during the past years you have been here," he says as if he tried to assure her. "In fact, I see no trace of him back when he was in his younger years."
Agatha had let out an strangled snort. So bold of him.
"One example is that you are merely an innocent quest for answers regarding family," he says. "Whereas, he on the other hand, when the faculty knew him as Tom Marvolo Riddle, was led to attack several students and murder another. Ultimately framing another student when the school was going to close."
"In other words, I'm the current Heir of Slytherin?" she asked, horror settling into her stomach. Bloody, the Dark Lord was the one that originally –
"Not the one that is currently threatening the school," he said assuringly. "I never considered you an suspect from the beginning. If it has opened again, as I feared, there's probably another method that we probably don't know the answer to."
However, his words did nothing to assure her. As she left the Headmaster's office to return to the library, she felt as if she was struggling to stay afloat in open sea with no shore to swim to.
"What did Professor Snape want?" asked Cassius when she returned to the library.
"Oh, just to pass an message from father," she answered. "Just wondering if I had kept Draco out of trouble."
While trying not to give an indication that something was bothering her, she still felt like she was drowning in an sea of information no one would have wanted to know. Even as she tried to focus on what was in front of her, her mind kept wandering towards that disturbing new information.
Heir of Slytherin.
Child of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
Two things one wouldn't want to be in this school. Especially the first one with what happened last night on Halloween. When she returned to the Common Room, she went straight to the dormitory to get her copy of The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Paying no mind to Ernessa Macnair holding court in the center of the room to a crowd that was an mixture of eager, excited and uncertain, terrified students.
Agatha takes one look at the parcel. Guilt filling her as she gazes at her name written in her biological uncle's script. With an sigh, she puts it under her bed and retrieves that book she was looking for.
She had always read that large section detailing the activities of Lord Voldemort. However, Agatha was reading this section in an disturbing new light with that brand new piece of information. Well, it wasn't quite new as she overheard part of an conversation that she was never meant to hear. Yet, she never wanted to believe it until today when Professor Dumbledore broke it to her.
Her biological father was the man that had began his reign of terror an couple decades ago. Whose name became so feared that the majority of the wizarding population was terrified to even speak it. An man that was revered by the couple that raised her. The man descended from one of the school's founders and was the first one behind the Chamber's first opening half an century ago.
Her biological father.
That night, she strains her memories. Trying to see if there's anything, though hoping that there wouldn't even be an snap-shot. What she gets, are just that. Snapshots. Another male voice aside from her adoptive father's that she wouldn't have placed beforehand. An couple of an moon-pale face with eyes of crimson and serpentine slits where an nose should be. Maybe that was him, as they said he was often frightening to behold.
Maybe they were already there, but she just didn't give them much thought beforehand.
A self-loathing such as she had never known before was coursing through Agatha like poison. She never existed during majority of the Great Wizarding War and she was four that Halloween night when he fell; she couldn't help but feel like the blood that drenched his wand also drenched hers as well.
She was what she told Dumbledore, she was cursed. The parents that raised her and the boy who was her brother would beg to differ, but what person in their right mind would be proud of such an inheritance?
For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. An attack that seemed to result in students trying to keep an extra eye on their furry companions. One such example was Millicent Bulstrode. Who now seemed to not want to let her cat Matilda out of her sight.
"Come on, it was an freak thing," she was told by Tracy Davis, and Millicent scowled at her even more before turning to continue brush Matilda's grey fur.
As the week began to progress, suspicion filled every corner of the castle. Some theories wilder and more farfetched then the next. People seemed to have varying ideas of who it could be. The majority, however, had an suspect that Agatha was gloomily not surprised.
Despite her explanation to the contrary, someone must have saw her enter or leave Headmaster Dumbledore's office. Therefore, resulting in the rumors flying around her. As no one else but the Headmaster, Uncle Severus, and herself knew what the conversation was about, it seemed that there was only one natural conclusion: that the Headmaster suspected her of writing that threatening message on the wall and attacking Filch's cat.
It didn't help that some from her own Hogwarts House – specifically the ones who met the recent development with the same unease and anxiety as those from the other three Houses – moved out of the way as if she had an bad case of Dragon Pox. Worse, was the eager portion seemed to want to hang around her more. As if to gain clout by being near the potential Heir.
Regarding the other Houses, a example showed itself on Wednesday morning when she and the other Slytherins left the dungeons for breakfast. An throng of second year Gryffindors that happened to include one Harry Potter caught sight of her and hurried to form an tighter group, as though frightened one of them might be her next target.
"What's wrong with them?" Draco retorted, directing an glare at Potter, Granger, and Weasley specially.
In Slytherin, only an handful had doubts about her being Slytherin's Heir. Namely her brother, Cassius, and the Bletchley twins. "There are number of reasons why one might think they saw you near Dumbledore's office," said Abigail. "They are just trying to find someone to blame."
They are technically not wrong, she thinks, looking back at Potter in the present. His green eyes filled more with curiosity which was in stark contrast to the suspicion of his peers. An gaze in which she found herself painfully wincing before turning back. What they weren't wrong was about her being Slytherin's Heir. What they were wrong about was that she wasn't the one responsible.
As the day progressed, it was fortunate that the suspicion didn't extend to the teachers. With Professor Burbage paying no mind to the glances of caution and unease thrown at her lone Slytherin student.
The last class of the day, Uncle Severus was beginning to go over poison antidotes when Ernessa raised her hand. "Anything you'd like to add, Miss Macnair?" he asked.
"Professor, I was wondering if you would tell us about the Chamber of Secrets?" she asked.
"This class is to ensure that I make outstanding potion brewers out of the of you," he retorts, "not engage you with legends and fairytales."
Yet, he took one look at the class before him. Taking in the looks of interest on some of his students. "Well then, I'll enlighten you," he relented. "It was an thousand years ago when four of the greatest witches and wizards of their time enacted on their vision for the education of witches and wizards: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin.
"Of the four, only one had the opinion that Hogwarts should have been exclusive to ancient wizarding families. Which is why it's rare for an Muggle-born to be ever sorted into Slytherin to this day."
"(Of course," said Angelina Johnson an few rows behind her).
"It is according to legend that before departing the school, he created the secret living quarters of an monster. Hoping that one day, his true heir would come to wipe the school clean the very people he deemed undesirable to teach," he continued further. "Of course, searches had yielded no results. I would say that Hogwarts had this scare fifty years ago, but it was revealed that some other creature had gone on the attack. Completely unrelated to the Chamber of Secrets.
"That being said," he finished. "Let's move on with the poison antidotes, shall we?"
Agatha had an nagging feeling that he was withholding certain information. As if to prevent any sort of panic. After all, at this point, she was sure that the teachers hoped that anything never extended to what happened Halloween night.
"Justin thinks that Harry did it for some reason," Cedric Diggory divulged as they worked with Bouncing Bulbs during Herbology the day before the first Quidditch Match of the season.
"Harry Potter?" Agatha asked, digesting the ridiculousness of the accusation. "Come now, that is the most balderdash thing I'd ever heard."
"Harry Potter?" Miles scoffed. "Why, he's the last person to be the Heir."
"Well, he and his friends were by the message on the wall," Abigail tried to insinuate.
"Like the Heir of Slytherin might mingle with those without magical heritage," Agatha scoffed. "He's best friends with Hermione Granger, and she is Muggle-born."
"If anyone, could it possibly be your brother?" asked Heidi Macavoy. "I mean, he did make an threatening comment."
"My brother just likes attention," Agatha pointed out. "He would say anything to have eyes on him."
Every time Agatha found herself around Harry Potter, she couldn't help but feel an immense guilt. She might as well be responsible for him being raised by those awful Muggles. If he thinks that she was the Heir, she'd rather just have that then if he knew who her father actually was.
After all, no one would make the connection.
As unlikely as it seemed, that one accusation against Harry Potter being the Heir was still heavy enough that her already overfull plate seemed to be on the verge of cracking. It was during lunch in which Agatha crumbled one of her notes in frustration.
"Everything alright?" Cassius asked her.
"Spectacular," she said, letting the sarcasm slip from her tone.
Those ocean blue eyes of his fill with concern as he regards her. If he knew that her anxiety wasn't fueled by Quidditch, he didn't say it. "You know, you can tell me what it is when you want to," he offered. "You've been looking peaky for the last few days, and I doubt it's Quidditch nerves."
"Thanks, Cas," she said, feeling a little better. Of her closest friends, Cassius Warrington seemed to understand her the most. Not that Miles and Abigail didn't, but she knew Cassius back before they were in Hogwarts. Though his family was not as close to hers like the Notts, Goyles, Crabbes', and Macnairs' were, they still ran in the same social circle.
At the end of Double Potions, it proved that Cassius was not the only one that sensed her underlying anxiety. Uncle Severus had held her back, offering an vial of Draught of Peace to relieve her anxiety.
"I don't need it," she protested.
"Agatha, your anxiety induced by your self-loathing and the recent events have been too apparent for it not to go beneath my notice," he drawled. "I should remind you that you shouldn't hold yourself responsible for every atrocity that your biological father committed before his fall eleven years ago."
Agatha scoffs. "It's easy for you to say," she retorted. "You don't have blood ties with the foulest wizard that has ever lived. You don't have others either trying to stay away from you or trying to get close to you because of what's been going around."
"The more you the go on this path of self-loathing, it will destroy you," he said.
Destroy her. Maybe he was right, as she seemed to be whittling away an little more everyday ever since that conversation with the Headmaster in his office.
"Considering that tomorrow is also the Quidditch match, I suggest that take this." He offered the vial. As there was no use arguing with him, she takes it and removes the cork from the small vial.
Making sure to down the potion in one gulp in front of him as to prevent him from bothering her whether she took it not. It takes an few moments until she feels all that anxiety that had been bubbling over the past week disappear. For the first time in an few days, her head felt finally clear.
"Thank you, Uncle Severus," she said, handing him the empty vial.
That night, does she finally bring herself to open that parcel that her uncle had given her. Making sure that everyone was asleep before carefully tearing the brown paper. Fingers trembling, she unlatches the wooden box's golden lock and opens it.
Sifting through the contents, one of things that catches her attention is an prefect badge with an silver 'P' over the Ravenclaw emblem, an mulberry colored journal closed shut by an blue ribbon, and an heart shaped locket with the initials E.H.L engraved on it.
The last one being the one that had caught her attention. Agatha inhales as she carefully pries open the locket. Gazing at an picture of an girl bearing her likeness smiling at her.