Disclaimer: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work. I own nothing except Salazar's wife, son, and various other original characters. This story is an AU of sixth year, but it will contain a few spoilers from Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows. However, it will still seriously diverge from canon.
"blah": dialogue
'blah': thoughts
"blah" : Parseltongue
"blah": Legilimency/Telepathy
Italics: excerpt from a book /newspaper or any other written form
Bold: a word or phrase that is emphasized
Italics, Underlined, and Bold: location/date of a scene in the story
Chapter Sixteen: From the Ashes
Number Four, Privet Drive: August 7th, 1996
He was leaving… leaving Privet Drive to hopefully never return. To some, leaving their childhood home and their family behind would be a sad event. Nevertheless, he wasn't like most people. First, this was not his home, childhood or otherwise. No, his home was a castle that was half an island away. Second, his so-called family wasn't really much of a family at all; they didn't even like him. No, he wasn't sad to be leaving. He wasn't sad at all. In fact, Harry Potter, once known as Salazar Slytherin, couldn't possibly have been happier.
Harry merrily whistled an ancient Celtic tune to himself as he directed the last of his things into his magically enlarged trunk. With a flick of his wand, his books separated into piles and fit neatly next to his clothes, his new and magically improved clothes. Another flick brought his most prized possessions to his trunk: his photo album, Invisibility Cloak, and the repaired two-way mirror, and he packed them along the edges.
'This is so much easier by wand,' the teenager mused to himself as he gently closed the lid. 'I'm so glad I removed the Ministry tracers.' He smirked to himself then, imagining the difficultly he would have encountered had he been unable to use his wand. 'Well… first, I wouldn't have been able to fit everything, especially considering all of my books and the entire new wardrobe the Order insisted on giving me for my birthday. Second, I would never have been able to make it fit neatly. Third… well, I wouldn't have been able to make it now do this,' he finished, casting one final spell.
A brilliant, yellow light shot out of his wand and hit the trunk. With his wandless left hand, Harry concentrated on the silent enchantment. He flicked his fingers, causing his trunk to shrink to roughly the size of a stack of cards. With a self-satisfied smirk, he tucked it neatly into his pocket.
The young man cast a cursory glance around the room, making sure that he had everything. He patted his shirt, ensuring that the Gate was still around his neck and receiving a reassuring rush of warmth in response. He checked beneath the floorboards one last time before turning and heading downstairs. He sauntered down the short hallway to the kitchen, pressing his ears against the door.
'Good,' he thought happily, 'the Dursleys are just sitting down to breakfast.' Harry smirked again, not even really caring about the fact that they were eating without him. 'I would hate to spoil it for them, but it looks like I have to,' he added sweetly, his expression beguiling the innocence.
Harry quickly sobered his face and entered the kitchen, fighting the grin that was desperately trying to cross his lips. He strode boldly over to the empty seat at the table and began helping himself to a plate, pretending that he didn't detect the surreptitious and anxious glances he received in return. His very presence was making the Dursleys incredibly nervous, but for the life of him, the teenager just couldn't bring himself to really care. In fact, he took a wicked sort of pleasure in it.
After several moments of uncomfortable silence, at least on the Dursleys part, Vernon finally found the nerve to speak. "So, boy… Harry," he corrected himself quickly, not wanting to incur the young man's ire, "what are your plans today? Going to stick around the house? You're not going out, are you?" the man questioned, clearly hoping that Harry would stay in so that the neighbors wouldn't see him.
Both Petunia and Dudley paused in their eating, also quite curious. They gazed at the wizard briefly before quickly averting their eyes. The horsy woman grimaced noticeably, unable to control her face. On the other hand, her son trembled, trying to inch away.
Harry glanced at Vernon, his fork half way to his mouth, and he set it down gently before answering. "Oh, I'll be leaving the house later," he replied, knowing that they would misinterpret what he had said. It was true that he would be leaving, but unlike the Dursleys thought, he didn't plan on returning. Ever.
Petunia and Dudley both sagged in relief, glad to get rid of Harry for any length of time. Vernon, however, simply nodded before disappearing behind his newspaper. The meal continued in relative silence. Harry used his wand, which was hidden in his transfigured wrist-holster, to cast a discreet Warming charm on his bangers.
Vernon finished his paper, reappearing from behind it with nervous eyes. He cleared his throat and asked, "And when are those ruddy freaks… er… your friends going to let you leave? Will it be any day now? You know, you're usually gone… visiting them by now," the man went on, hoping that his own wizarding freak would be gone shortly.
"Soon," the young wizard supplied, taking a sip of juice. "Very soon," he continued, green eyes sparkling. "I suspect any time now."
Inside, he was silently laughing. He hadn't informed the Dursleys that he was departing today. As such, they didn't know that the Weasleys were coming to get him sometime within the next hour or so.
Distantly, Petunia heard a strange whooshing sound, but she chose to ignore it. She instead gazed at her estranged nephew, eyes narrowing due to his comment. She was about to form a reply, but her words fumbled when she noticed the large smile that blossomed on the teenager's face. The little freak had his head turned and was staring fixedly at the kitchen door, the same one that led into the parlor.
Harry's grin suddenly widened. At the very edge of his senses, he felt three magical presences. Three very familiar presences. He cast a quick glance at his watch before turning and winking at a confused Dudley. Apparently, his escort was already here.
The young wizard smoothly left his seat at the table and deposited his dishes in the sink before turning back to his relatives. He merely offered them a short bow, adding a bit of flourish to it for good measure.
In the background, Petunia could swear that she heard voices in her parlor.
Harry walked to the kitchen door and opened it. Just before he stepped out, he stated flippantly, "It seems as though they already here." With that, he went through the door and into the other room, leaving three stunned Dursleys in his wake.
"Well, hello, Harry dear," Molly Weasley said cheerfully as he entered the room. She bounced up to him and enveloped him in a fierce hug, one that he returned fully.
After a moment, he stepped back and greeted the other two occupants of the room. "Hello, Mr. Weasley… Professor McGonagall," he addressed respectfully, moving to shake hands with Arthur and hug Minerva. If either was surprised by the gestures, they didn't show it.
"So how have you been, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked as she was released from the surprising embrace. She studied her student carefully, noting the strange sparkle in his eyes. Normally, she only saw such a thing with Albus. It was vaguely unnerving.
Harry was about to reply to the question, but Vernon's sudden roar of rage interrupted him. The man came barreling out of the kitchen followed by his wife and son. Both of whom seemed to be very confused, though Petunia hid hers well.
"Boy," he bellowed, coming up to Harry. "What is the meaning of this?" He violently gestured to the three magical people standing in his parlor. The look in his eyes clearly said that he would like to do nothing more than trounce the bloody freak that very instant.
"Oh, this is my escort," the young man stated with another smile, deftly sidestepping and completely ignoring Vernon's wrathful glare. "I believe that you have already met Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," he added, gesturing to the two. "This is my Transfiguration professor and the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Professor Minerva McGonagall," he finished, introducing the witch with a flourish.
"A pleasure," Professor McGonagall stated dryly, making no move to interact with the Dursleys.
"Likewise," Molly added, knowing without a doubt that Vernon Dursley was close to violence. She subtly moved for her wand, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that her husband, the professor, and Harry had all done the same.
Arthur eyed the three Dursleys warily and attempted to diffuse the situation. Yet, at the same time there were certain things he truly wanted to discuss with them… in private.
"Minerva," he said turning to the Transfiguration teacher, "why don't you take Harry to fetch his belongings. Molly and I have a few things which we wish to confer about with the Dursleys."
The usually stern Minerva nodded and fought the smile that threatened to bloom on her lips. Without a doubt, she knew what Arthur wished to discuss, and by the looks of it, so did Harry. However, the deputy headmistress chose not to comment. She instead simply indicated that the young man should lead the way to his bedroom. The two quickly hurried upstairs and into his barren room. Minerva took one look inside, eyes narrowing dramatically and lips pressing into a thin line. Warning bells went off in the back of her mind.
"Where is your trunk, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall questioned, eyeing his desolate room suspiciously. In her opinion, it was far too small for him and didn't have nearly enough furniture or other decorations. By Morgana, there wasn't even a single poster or picture on his walls.
"Harry," he put in smoothly, ignoring her question entirely.
The teacher looked at him in confusion. "Pardon?"
"You said Mr. Potter, but I prefer to go by Harry. We aren't in school, so you can call me Harry," he responded pleasantly, wondering if she would rise to the bait.
She raised an eyebrow and actually smiled, an action that was unusual in itself, at least to her students. "Fine… Harry," she corrected, considering what he had said. After a moment, she spoke again. "Since you are correct, we are not in school, you can call me Minerva," she said with a slight smirk, hoping to surprise him. The woman was vaguely disappointed when he only grinned, and she eyed him for a moment before continuing. "Fine, Harry," she tried again, "where is your trunk?"
Harry smirked and patted his pocket. "Right here, Minerva," he answered, trying out her name. "I already had it before we came upstairs, but it seemed like a good idea to leave the Weasleys to their… discussion." At Professor McGonagall's perturbed expression, he carried on, "It's enchanted to shrink." He made a gesture, indicating that he was ready to leave.
"Really?" Minerva commented as she turned to follow him, one of her eyebrows rising considerably. "Such an addition is usually quite costly. Unless one spells the trunk themselves," she responded, gazing at him with a speculative look on her face. "However, such a spell would also be well above the level of most sixth-years as it involves bending and condensing molecules without destroying them. In fact, that spell is post-NEWT level. Quite an accomplishment, Mr. P… Harry," she finished, looking at him intently.
Harry merely shrugged, an innocent expression on his face. "Interesting, but who said that I was the one who enchanted it," he evaded deftly and motioned for her to lead the way.
Minerva cast one last look at him before she walked through the doorway. "Humph." She snorted but let the subject drop, strolling down the hallway to the stairs. They headed downstairs, bypassing the parlor, and into the backyard.
At the young wizard's questioning look, Minerva explained, "We are leaving by Portkey. One Dumbledore made himself," she assured quickly, leading him further from the house. "However, I don't believe the Dursleys will be pleased if we do so inside. We'll Portkey out here. I just have to cast a few spells so that the neighbors won't notice," she finished, flicking her wand. She walked around, casting spells.
Harry nodded and moved to stare at the house, allowing her to work uninterrupted. A strange feeling rose up within him as he stared at the plain brick building and heard the shouts coming from within. It was an odd sensation, like something was squeezing on his chest and making it hard to breathe. And it took the teenager several seconds to figure at what the feeling was.
He was sad.
Not sad that he was leaving. No, he would never be sad about that. He was sad because he wasn't sad. If that even made any sense at all. He was leaving what should be his home, what should be his family, to possibly never see any of them again. And he didn't really feel badly about it either. He was glad to leave, and that happiness made him actually feel wretched.
The reborn Slytherin finally glanced away, eyes settling on Minerva. She was looking at him strangely, having completed her spellcasting. It seemed as though she knew what he felt or at least suspected and wanted to comfort him, but there was nothing she could possibly say that could make this better.
From beneath his shirt, he felt the Gate suddenly heat up, warming his skin. It understood what he was going through; it knew that he regretted the truly awful time he'd had here. Harry looked back to the house, green eyes glittering strangely, regret filling him even more. This should be his home… his family, but they weren't. They had never let him be anything more than an inconvenience.
His eyes suddenly burned, and he fought the urge to cry. A faint breeze stirred in the air, drying his tears almost as swiftly as they appeared, but the professor still saw them. A hand, Minerva's, settled onto his shoulder and rubbed soothing circles. It was comforting, but it wasn't enough.
One thought kept echoing through his head. 'This should be my home…'
Finally, Harry knew what he had to do. His voice came out as a whisper but with an odd Celtic accent.
"They are my kin, but they have caused naught but alarm.
Pain, tears, and violence… they have done me great harm.
Send their deeds back to them, three times three.
As I will it, so mote it be."
Everything seemed to freeze for a moment. The breeze stopped completely, the air now heavy. A dog, that only a few seconds ago barked heartily in the distance, was now silent. It was as if the very Earth were holding her breath.
From the side, Minerva dazedly looked around her hand still on his shoulder. "Mr. Potter… Harry… what was that?"
Harry, however, did not answer immediately. He just nodded and walked toward the shed that was situated near the back fence.
After a few minutes, he finally glanced at her. "That, Professor… Minerva," he murmured, watching as the Weasleys exited the house and approached them. "That was justice."
The brunette eyed him warily, clearly confused. She opened her mouth to speak, but Molly beat her to it.
"Let's go," the Weasley matriarch ordered firmly, a strange cast to her normally warm face.
Arthur glanced at her. "Yes, let's go." He turned to the young wizard. "Don't worry about the Dursleys, Harry," he said easily and removed a phoenix feather, the Portkey, from his pocket. "They'll not bother you again."
Harry smiled thinly, but it was Minerva who spoke.
"No, they won't, will they?" she murmured to him softly, studying him again.
The teenager just continued smiling and moved to touch the Portkey. Yet, just as it was about to whisk them away, his attention flickered once more to the house that should have been his home. To the people who should have been his family; they were watching him leave from the safety of their kitchen. They seemed eager to see him gone, and the young man reached out with his mind and connected with their emotions. Only to recoil as he felt the prideful anger of Vernon, the gluttonous envy of Dudley, and seething hatred of Petunia.
He let out a sigh that was quickly followed by a self-satisfying shake of his head as he withdrew his sense and stared back at them unrepentantly. 'No,' he thought calmly and without any trace of sadness, anger, or vengeance. 'No,' he continued, 'they won't be bothering me or anyone else ever again.'
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Third Floor Study: August 8th, 1996
"So Dumbledore isn't trying to keep us all in the dark--"
"--and he isn't purposely acting all strange and barmy?" the twins asked in their usual disjointed manner.
"No," Harry stated firmly, "he's just overworked. The stress of holding the wizarding world together for so long coupled with the weight of having to fight against both the Ministry and the Death Eaters… well, it's just getting to him."
"So I guess this means that our comeuppance plan for him mistreating you is now in the rubbish bin?" Charlie questioned.
"I would hope so," Remus put in, looking far healthier than the last time Harry had seen him. "It wasn't a very good plan to begin with, and I can't honestly say that he deserves it. At least, he tried." The werewolf inhaled slowly. "That's more than anyone else did."
"Yes," Harry said with a slight nod, agreeing completely. "He said that he didn't really have many options to work with, and I believe him. He seemed sincere. Plus, Fawkes vouched for him. If you can't trust a phoenix, a beacon of goodness and hope… well, there's not really anyone else you can trust then."
The others nodded in understanding. They sat in silence for a minute as they digested the information Harry had provided. He had basically recapped his entire conversation with the headmaster, leaving out nothing save the mention of the Phoenix Gate. Further, he had given his own opinions on the validity of what the old professor had said. All told, the young wizard had explained that the man was not intentionally neglectful or malicious; he was simply doing the best he could with limit resources and very little assistance.
After a moment, Hermione turned to him and broke the silence. "So you've forgiven him for… for…" she fumbled for the words, trying to find a way to make her accusations not sound so accusing.
Bill took pity on his girlfriend. "For basically messing up your entire life?"
Harry uncomfortably shifted in his seated. "Yes, but it isn't like that. Like I told you earlier, he didn't intentionally 'mess up my entire life.' He just was between a rock and a hard place--"
"What?" Charlie asked with confusion. He exchanged a look with his siblings.
"Muggle metaphor," Remus answered, stretching his shoulders. "It means that he had two choices to make, and both of them weren't really good options to begin with."
"Oh," Charlie commented, shrugging carelessly. He looked at Harry. "Sorry for interrupting. Please, continue."
The younger man inclined his head. "Well, Professor Dumbledore had to do the best for the wizarding world, as well as the best for me. Both are sort of mutually exclusive choices, but he still tried. He may not have succeeded very well with me, but at least, he tried. That really is more than most. Or anyone else really."
"What about Voldemort then?" Ginny questioned without even flinching at the Dark Lord's name.
"Well," Harry conceded, smirking somewhat. His emerald eyes were twinkling mysteriously. "Tom and I are in a bit of a family tiff. He wants me to die a horrible, excruciatingly painful, and – most likely – an exceptionally violent death. And I just won't oblige him."
They others were all shocked by Harry's firm yet capricious pronouncement.
Suddenly, however, Hermione's eyes widened. "Wait," she said in a very faint voice, "did you say a family tiff?" The bushy-haired Prefect held her breath, waiting for his answer.
"Well, yes," Harry replied with an ironic smile, "didn't you know?"
The brunette shook her head weakly and opened her mouth to speak, but no words were forthcoming.
"How?" Remus asked suddenly, his wolfish eyes very wide. "Er… how are you related?" he clarified after a minute.
Harry smirked. "On the Slytherin side."
If it were possible… and apparently it was, the others looked even more dumbstruck than before.
"So you're telling us," Bill broke in abruptly, running a shaking hand over his shoulder-length red hair, "that you are related to both Voldemort and Slytherin?"
Harry nodded with a slight smile. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but the twins beat her to it.
"So all that nonsense--" George spoke quickly.
"--in our fourth year--" Fred went on.
"--about you being--"
"--the Heir of Slytherin--"
"--was true!?" they finished together.
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Harry replied simply, as though he was commenting on nothing more vital than flobberworms.
The twins groaned and sank down in their seats.
"But how do you know?" Ginny queried with only a hint of exasperation. Out of all those gathered, she actually seemed to be taking this the best, a surprising fact considering her last encounter with an heir of Slytherin.
Harry deftly dodged the question. "Let's just say that a little birdie told me." His face and lips twitched with unexpected mirth.
Hidden from prying eyes, tucked beneath the teenager's shirt, the Phoenix Gate ebbed from aqua to sapphire. Apparently, it was amused at being called "a little birdie."
Charlie actually laughed outright, tension easing. "You're not going to give us a straight answer about this, are you?"
"Oh, but I have given you several straight answers. I've told you only the truth so far," Harry dodged with a wicked smirk.
"You're just being coy, Harry Potter!" Hermione all but shouted, the frustration of the entire incident getting to her. Regardless, she went on in a far gentler tone, "I think that you're actually enjoying this. How very Slytherin of you," she accused with a lift of her eyebrows, her tone diffusing the situation.
Harry shrugged without a hint of remorse. "Alright then, I'll try to be more direct," he inserted easily. "Yes, I am related to Tom, distantly though. Yes, I am a descendent of Slytherin as well as an heir of Slytherin. That's where the Parseltongue really comes from. Yes, someone told me this, and I didn't just discover it on my own. No, I can't tell you who told me just quite. You'll just have to wait." His words brooked no argument, and his eyes looked at each of them in turn.
They shifted but didn't look away.
"Also – before you ask Hermione – yes, the person who told me is trustworthy, and I obviously believe them." Harry glanced at his female friend again. "Finally… no, Professor Dumbledore doesn't know," he added, forestalling the question he knew was coming. "He has no idea that there are decedents other than Tom. Voldemort himself doesn't even know, though he might suspect."
Remus looked confused. "Wait, if Albus doesn't know then who told you?"
"I'm sorry, but I just can't tell you yet." Harry actually looked saddened by the pronouncement. He glanced beseechingly at Remus, desperate for him to understand.
Thankfully, the werewolf nodded and gifted him a soft but reassuring smile.
"Are you going to tell him?" Hermione asked after a few heartbeats, referring to the headmaster.
Harry gave a sheepish and sad shaken of his head. "Not yet. We're still learning to re-trust one another. Besides," he added very quietly, "Professor Dumbledore has enough on his plate right now without having to worry about this.
Grimmauld Place, Harry's Room: August 15th, 1996
The week had passed quickly at Grimmauld place. If Harry wasn't researching with Hermione and Bill, looking into the Killing Curse, he was with Remus in the third floor study, learning about his parents and Sirius. Sometimes, he was also locked in with the twins, studying their experiments. Nights the teenager spent in secret and in his very own private room, courtesy of Molly Weasley. The Weasley matriarch had felt he could use the space, something he was thankfully for since she secretly thought that Harry and Ron shouldn't share a room.
There, he worked on polishing his remembered Occlumency skills, which were once again quite formidable. Or on the repertoire of spells he had acquired during his two lifetimes. Additionally, he spent time conversing with and learning from the Gate, which not only knew a great deal about magic and such but also helped him plan for the return of the other Founders.
The only breaks in the sixth-year's schedule were, of course, mealtimes and the almost daily visits he had with Professor Dumbledore. The headmaster had just wanted to talk with Harry, to improve their relationship and allow them to get to know one another in a setting other than school. The two touched on many topics, covering their interests and their childhoods, Harry being more honest about his than he ever thought possible. The two had also gone over Sirius' will and estate, both of which had been heatedly debated by the Ministry.
All in all, Harry's week had been incredibly busy and oddly fulfilling. Yet, the entire seven days could not compare to what today was going to be like. For today wasn't like the rest of the week. No, today was different. There would be no researching, no reminiscing, and no strange inventions. Though there might still be a meeting with Professor Dumbledore… or Albus, as he had asked Harry to call him.
Today was a special day, and Harry Potter was nervous, dreadfully nervous. For today was the day. Today was the day that he finally got to see her, Luna. His Siobhan. She would be here any moment. Well, both she and Neville would be here at any moment.
However, here in laid the problem.
He, Harry Potter, had no idea what to do. He was going to see her and actually get to speak to her. He was actually going to see Luna and talk with her, something he hadn't done since his memories resurfaced.
Still, there was a slight problem because for the life of him Harry had no idea what to say.
AN: I just wanted to say that I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I loved the Minerva McGonagall who appeared in the fifth book. She was feisty, fun, and willing to defend her cubs, not to mention actually listen to them (cough Philosopher's Stone cough).
Here are a few more things I want you guys/girls to think about: La Muerte was the founder of Siobhan's clan, meaning that all of them descend from her and her husband, and they get all of their abilities from her also. Also, La Muerte is an alias, not her real name. No one knows what she was originally called.
Solaris was older than Salazar and was married at the time of his death, but it is unknown if he ever had children. Siobhan was blocked from contacting Sal after he died, just as she was blocked from contacting her relatives. Further, no one knows who killed Sal's parents, Solaris, or Siobhan's clan. The Order of the Phoenix existed during the time of the Founders and was lead by one of them, obviously not Godric.
To everyone who reviewed: Thanks!
Special thanks to Hobbit-Tabby for the beta.
Chapter Seventeen: The Lovely, Lovely Luna
Ever Hopeful,
Azar
Updated and Edited:
06/07/08
