Heirs of Slytherin
So, I don't own Harry Potter...Damn.
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Note: This chapter will feature a flashback.
Previously...
"Shocking, isn't it?"
The Hat laughs again at the boy's sharp tongue. "Slytherin you are, but Slytherin you are not. Secrets you carry close, but not out for any negative purposes. You fear for your family. Fiercely determined to protect your family, you are, but you seek out peace more than you do war. You only raise your fists when you're forced to. A rarity indeed, young Slytherin, you are."
The Steward's and Dumbledore watched as Peter silently spoke with the Sorting Hat until the hat spoke out loud.
"Yes, I hope you find your answers in..."
August, 1995
Albus Dumbledore watched as the Steward boy, Peter, was sorted into Ravenclaw. It was shocking to a slight degree, but the old man knew better than to be. The boy was apart of the Steward family after all, and not all of them were in Horned Serpent or Pukwudgie. He shouldn't expect for them all to end up in Slytherin.
He examined Peter Matthew Steward as he took the Sorting Hat off. The boy looked very similar to both of his namesakes, his two deceased uncles. He had their brown hair and eyes, though his hair was as curly as his mother's. He was thin, much like his Uncle Peter, but had a lean, athletic build, like his Uncle Matt. All three Steward boy's looked like Arvin, Stephen's brother, though with their differences of course. Arvin had wary, hesitant eyes, while Matt had wary and firery eyes. The late Peter Steward, his eyes were hesitant but very kind. This Peter, the one standing in Dumbledore's office, had similar eyes to all three deceased Steward's, and that was troubling. Not because he believed that the boy would follow in his uncles and great-uncle's footsteps, but because he saw traces of Stephen Steward in the boy's eyes.
Dumbledore watched as Peter Steward was hugged by his parents, who no doubt looked proud of their eldest child. He was at least an inch taller than what his grandfather had been at 15. Of course, Stephen Steward would later go on to grow taller than most, by the time he was in his 20's, he was at least two inches taller than Dumbledore, not to mention the exact height of his son's, Matt and Jim.
Dumbledore glanced at Jim and he couldn't help but remember when he first met the dark blond haired man.
August, 1979
He was the only non-Steward inside the room. He saw Elizabeth Steward, standing with an emotionless, but emotional look on her face. Despite her being well past 150, the woman was not only standing but showed no signs of discomfort or weakness due to her age, only grief and anger. After losing her parents, her 17-year-old sister, her thirteen children, most of whom did not even make it completely to the cradle, all eighteen grandchildren, all nine great-grandchildren, her husband, and four of her seven great-great-grandchildren, she's seen more death within her family than Dumbledore could ever.
Next to her was the three remaining Steward children, the last of Elizabeth's direct bloodline. They were standing at the two coffins that were placed next to one another. The two brown-haired young men in the coffins looked dead. There was no sugar coating it, they didn't look like they were sleeping, but were dead. As such a morbid thing to say, it was no lie. More Steward children were dead, more children for Elizabeth to bury.
James, Joy, and Dean Steward, were their names if Dumbledore wasn't mistaken. They all had dark blond hair, unlike their brown-haired brother's. He couldn't see their faces, so he couldn't see their eye colors. He knew that Stephen had blue eyes, very dark at moments, full of stories and horrors. His blue eyes were rather peculiar, due to his father, Richard, having brown eyes, and his mother, Dinah, having green eyes. They were Elizabeth Steward's blue eyes, there was no doubting that. He also knew that his wife, Valeria, had brown eyes. He only met her a few fair times before her own death the previous year. Unlike the funeral now, no one had really shed many tears over the death of Valeria Steward. Young Dean had cried, but his elder siblings had kept their emotions in check. Very Steward-like, Dumbledore mused. While out in public, the Steward's wore invisible masks that hid any and all emotions. He could only guess at why they never expressed any emotions, both positive and negative, while out and about. He would never answer it though, nor would he ever question the Steward's. Even at her advanced age, Elizabeth Steward was one woman no one could successfully slip past. This was made perfectly clear when she murdered her own son without a second thought at the advanced age of 133.
He walked towards the Steward's. The three elder Steward's had their emotions well hidden, Dumbledore noticed as he got closer. 21-year-old James, his blue eyes looked dark and haunted, and 19-year-old Joy had brown eyes that were full of anger. Only 9-year-old Dean had tears in his blue eyes. He kept whipping his watery eyes with his black jacket.
Dumbledore stood next to Elizabeth, who didn't even glance at him, but her three great-great-grandchildren did.
"What do you want, Albus?"
Dumbledore noted the cold tone in the witch's voice. He was the last person she wanted to see, and she was the last person he personally wanted to speak to.
"I'm here to offer my condolences, Elizabeth."
"You've offered them, now leave."
"Eliz-
"Unless you have something of importance to tell me, Albus," the cold-toned woman spoke.
Albus sighed, briefly glancing at the Steward children, who were all staring at him. He leaned in towards the elderly woman's ear. "I've discovered who currently holds Ignotus Peverell's cloak."
A deep scowl appeared on the Steward matriarch. Dumbledore watched as Elizabeth briskly whispered to James, who only nodded. Elizabeth then turned to him and motioned for him to follow her out of the room.
"Your Minister is not here?" Elizabeth questioned as they walked into the hallway.
"No, Minister Minchum is in his final months of office," Dumbledore spoke. "He's busy working on keeping his laws in place, so Milicent Bagnold won't change them when she comes into office."
Elizabeth scoffed. "The world could care less about the number of Dementors your island prison employs. He should have focused more on the damn fool that's currently terrorizing your country. You might as well sick the Dementors on the Death Eaters. Merlin knows that it'll be more effective due to the number of Death Eaters who can actually defend themselves from a Dementor."
"And how many is that?" Dumbledore politely questioned. He knew that the likelihood of the Patronus charm working for dark wizards was very slim, but he always knew better than to not question the Steward woman.
"Zero," the woman bluntly spoke. "If there is one then that bastard must be one vile person."
Dumbledore said nothing as they entered a room that appeared to be an office. Photographs were hung up on the wall, as well as a few framed documents and childish drawings. There also was a solid oak desk, stacks of parchment were seen, as well as vials of ink, quills, and what appeared to be the severed head of a bobblehead that had red X's over the eyes, and crude staples over the mouth. How lovely.
"Lorna must have been in here earlier," Elizabeth mentioned as she looked at the bobblehead. "For a ghost, she's rather malevolent."
"Is it possible that the ghost of your great-great-granddaughter is somehow a poltergeist?" Dumbledore questioned as he stared at the severed head.
A smirk danced on Elizabeth's face. "It would explain a lot, actually." Her smirk then fell, replaced by a stern scowl. "My son murdered her and her twin brother for foolish reasons. He sewed Danny's mouth shut, while he gave Lorna a Glasgow smile. She as holding my daughter, Theodora's, doll when he killed her. She, and in the process, he is never too far from that little old thing. I had to hide it in our basement, so the Chandler twins didn't follow Joy around whenever she had the rag doll." Sighing heavily, Elizabeth looked at the Headmaster of Hogwarts. "Tell me about Peverell's cloak. I don't have all day, after all, I've got two boys to grieve for."
August, 1995
Dumbledore didn't return with the Stewards, to Harry's irritation. He was surprised to hear about the Slytherin boy's house, Ravenclaw. A descendant of Slytherin himself, a bloody Ravenclaw?
"Let me see your class list, Pete," Harry heard Jim Steward say. He already had his list for the year?
Harry watched as the 15-year-old American wizard passed over a folded up letter before looking at the bowl of food Mrs. Weasley was sitting on the table. He nearly flew out of his chair when he saw the head of a little girl with raven colored hair, mesmerizing green eyes, and what appeared to be a wide Glasgow smile, popped out of the bowl.
"Hello, what's for supper?"
Mrs. Weasley screamed while everyone else shot out of their seats. The Steward's, on the other hand, all remained in their seats. Diana looked shocked, as did the Steward twins, while Jim looked annoyed, and Peter amused.
"Where's the doll, Riley?" Jim questioned his daughter, his eyes boring into his daughter with frustration.
The girl frowned, a guilty look crossing her features. "I thought I could fix it for Lorna. She always looks so sad."
Jim scowled, Harry could see that the man was trying not to lose his patience. "It was hidden for a reason." He pointed at the ghost in the food bowl. "That is the very reason, young lady!"
The ghost, Lorna, stuck her tongue out at the American wizard. "You used to be fun, Jimmy. What happened?"
"You tried to kill me," Jim retorted dryly as he glared at the dead girl.
"We were playing."
"No, you were playing," Jim argued. "I was running for my life."
"From what?"
"From you!"
"Bullshit," Lorna proclaimed. "You were having fun on that swing!"
"Swings aren't supposed to be wrapped around people's necks, Lorna!"
Harry watched as Lorna glided through the table, and angerly leave the kitchen. "Danny!"
Harry jumped as another ghost, this one transparent and greyish-silver, passed through the table and followed Lorna out of the room. He had untamed hair, and...was his mouth sewn shut?
No one said anything until Peter spoke rather nonchalantly.
"Well then, can someone pass the mashed potatoes?"
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