Harry Potter and all associated charaters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.
CHAPTER 23: The Sentinel
Harry found a relieved Theo waiting for him just ten feet down the corridor. After reassuring his friend that, yes, Jim Potter was still very much alive, the two returned to the Slytherin dungeons. There, Harry and Theo stayed up talking until well after the sun came up before crashing and sleeping until noon. At lunch, Harry briefly made eye contact with his brother – non-threateningly, Harry thought, though Jim still quailed at the sight of him – and it seemed clear that the Boy-Who-Lived had taken his words to heart. Ron glanced at Harry without interest and took no notice of Theo at all, so Harry assumed for the time being that Jim would not be gossiping to anyone about the previous night's scene.
The remainder of the Christmas holidays fell back into a normal routine save for a notable reversal of circumstances. Theo, who had previously suffered from fits of insomnia for years, now slept more soundly, presumably due to the catharsis of finally talking about his mother's death with someone he trusted. He was more relaxed during the days when talking to other students and he even helped the Twins prank Percy. He'd also gotten tired of listening to Ron's bragging and challenged the Gryffindor to a chess match. He lost, of course – the Weasel was a genuine prodigy at chess, surprising for such an otherwise mediocre student – but he'd lasted longer than anyone below Fifth Year who'd played Ron since the year began. Ron had even looked worried at several points, and after the game was over, he actually shook Theo's hand and asked if they could play again sometime.
Conversely, it was now Harry who'd developed difficulty sleeping. He was no more prone to nightmares than before, but now, those nightmares were broken up by strange dreams where he and the Potters lived together in familial bliss, including a few where he was somehow a Gryffindor with awful hair of which he was inexplicably proud! Eventually, he was forced to acknowledge the truth – that there was some small, deeply buried part of him that, despite everything he'd been through, still wanted to be part of the Potter family. It was a ridiculous notion to be sure, particularly since the Git's "heart's desire" was that he'd never even been born. Harry had to admit that the Mirror would make a fiendish trap. If it could make him feel a longing for the love of the Potters, surely it could trap Voldemort in some equally absurd fantasy.
Having now added insomnia to his already lengthy list of personality quirks, Harry had taken to wandering the Slytherin dorms on those nights when sleep became impossible. He was searching mainly for snakes hidden in the artwork and architecture that he hadn't talked to yet, but he seemed to have found them all. The operative phrase being "seemed to," as there were six rooms he had not yet entered – the six prefect bedrooms. Harry didn't know how the other houses worked, but in Slytherin, all six prefects resided in private bedrooms that doubled as offices, all of which could be found in a side corridor called Prefect's Row that branched off from the common room. Harry assumed that all of these rooms would be warded against intrusion, but unless there were concealed areas (which, admittedly, there probably were), the prefects' rooms were the only rooms in the whole dungeon he hadn't entered. And so it was, just past midnight on the last Saturday morning before the holidays ended, that Harry found himself nervously entering Prefect's Row, a place no First Year Slytherin ever wanted to be without permission.
Ahead of him was a dimly lit corridor about forty feet long. There were three equidistant doors on each side, with the male prefects on the left and the females on the right. He started with the closest on his left, Fifth Year Prefect Titus Mitchell, on the entirely baseless theory that Titus (as the youngest of the three males) might be less paranoid about security than any of the other prefects. Harry crept up to Mitchell's door, looked around nervously, and cast the Alohamora. The irony that he was using the "illegal lock-picking charm" for the same illicit purpose for which he had chided Hermione months before was not lost on him. In any case, the door did not open, which meant the youngest and least pragmatic of the six Slytherin prefects had more sense than whoever put Fluffy in his room on the Third Floor. On the bright side, there was no loud alarm nor any other sign that he'd been identified as a possible intruder. Privately, Harry decided that if he ever became a prefect, he'd Charm his room so that anyone who even tried to break in would end up with purple skin for a year.
With some trepidation, he tried the Alohamora on each of the other five doors, all to no effect. Annoyed and dejected, Harry turned back down towards the common room. In retrospect, it should have been obvious that a First Year, no matter how skilled, wouldn't be able to simply break into any prefect's private rooms. They wouldn't be prefects if they weren't, at a minimum, powerful enough to defend their own property. Then, suddenly, Harry stopped.
"Powerful," he thought. "Prefects are powerful, relative to other students at least, and selected primarily for their power. Not just for academic achievement (which is, itself, one type of power, in a school at least), but for raw magical power and skill, for family reputation and financial backing, for popularity in the House and the charisma to build social alliances, and even for physical prowess. I mean, seriously, Marcus Flint is in danger of flunking half his classes but he's still the Sixth Year prefect due to family connections and Quidditch skills."
Harry turned to look back down Prefect's Row as he recalled Egbert's cryptic words from weeks before. "But the Prince of Slytherin, whoever or whatever he is, is presumably more powerful within Slytherin than a mere prefect. So in comparison, the six prefects are 'lesser powers,' and Prefect's Row would be 'the nests where the lesser powers dwelt.'"
Carefully, Harry walked all the way back down the dark corridor, past all six bedrooms, until his path was blocked by a blank wall. Except it wasn't really a blank wall at all. It looked more like an archway that had been sealed over years or even centuries before with grey bricks. At some point, a large crack must have developed in the wall which had been patched over with a chalky white mortar, leaving the impression of a jagged scar several inches thick in places that ran all of the way from the top right corner to the bottom left. Harry paused.
"Why would they repair a crack in a Hogwart's wall with mortar when they have magic?"
He gingerly reached out to feel the crack and realized that it was not mortar at all. The "crack" had been carefully painted onto the stonework. Examining it more closely, he noticed a faint scale-like texture to the paint and realized the jagged crack was actually a very crudely drawn snake. But then, he saw that even its very crudeness was deliberate, as no casual viewer would have ever recognized it as a snake unless specifically looking for one. Harry cleared his throat.
"Ahem. Am I addressing the Sentinel?"
Instantly, the crack shifted on the wall, with the thicker piece at the bottom rising up to a point a foot above Harry's head and the rest dropping down towards a horizontal coil a few feet above the ground. It was now definitely a snake, white with grey eyes, and a large cobra from the way its hood fanned out menacingly as it regarded the boy. It was, without a doubt, the most intimidating snake Harry had encountered since arriving at Hogwarts.
"The Sentinel am I, charged by the Founder to guard the Prince's Lair. Who art thou, Speaker, to address me thus in the Founder's own sacred tongue?"
Harry's eyebrows shot up. He'd met many very old snakes in the castle, but none so old that the actually sounded archaic.
"My name is Harry Potter, Sentinel. I seek knowledge about the one called the Prince of Slytherin. I was told that you might be able to help me."
The Sentinel hissed angrily. "Thou art a child, ignorant and weak. Thou hast done nothing to earn passage save bleat entreaties in the Founder's tongue after prizing ill-gotten secrets from loose-tongued serpents. Thy humility marks thee as unworthy, and so, thy ... request is denied. Begone!"
Harry was shocked. He had never been spoken to rudely by any snake he'd encountered, and way the Sentinel said "request" felt like sheer contempt. Harry took a step back and then stopped himself, thinking deeply about what the Sentinel said ... and what exactly the Sentinel's views on the topic of "worthiness" might be. Then, after taking a deep breath, Harry boldly stepped forward again.
"You are gravely mistaken, Sentinel, especially in your assumption that I was making any sort of ... request. And what you call humility was meant to be simple diplomacy which I now see was wasted, and so I will be more direct. I am Harry Potter, Heir Presumptive of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. I am a Speaker of the Founder's Sacred Tongue. I have quested throughout this castle in search of you and earned the trust and respect of the wisest of Hogwarts' serpents. Though I am young, I am no child, for my childhood was burned away by cruel neglect and brutality as soon as I could walk. I am not ignorant, for I was cunning enough to lay low a mountain troll despite my youth. I am not weak, for I have already crossed wands with my greatest rival within the House of Slytherin and humbled him, instilling in all my peers a fear of my power. Like a shadow, I pass unnoticed beneath the gaze of the most dangerous dark lord of our time even as I proudly aid those who seek his ruin. I have seen my heart's desire reflected in the darkest of cursed objects, and my will was strong enough turn aside from it. So, Sentinel, if these are not enough to earn my passage, then you will tell me what more I must do to satisfy you. Otherwise, serpent, you will obey my command and reveal to me the secrets of the Prince of Slytherin!"
The Sentinel's angry hissing grew louder and more incoherent as Harry spoke, until finally, after Harry issued his final command, it grew silent and still. Then, without any further response, the Sentinel twisted itself back into its original shape and resumed the apparent form of a simple crack in the wall. Harry deflated, disappointed that his attempt at bluster had been unsuccessful, when he heard a very soft grinding sound coming from the wall. Suddenly, the bricks that made up the wall split along the crack, not collapsing so much as peeling away in a manner similar to the wall that marked the entrance to Diagon Alley. With seconds, where the brick wall had been, there was now an entryway into ... darkness.
Casting a Lumos with his wand, Harry stepped forward. He need not have bothered – a soon as he crossed the threshold, the darkness of the entryway gave way to a room brilliantly illuminated by glass chandeliers, each crystal reflecting the light of dozens of enchanted candles. And what a room the Prince's Lair was! The secret chamber looked to be twenty yards wide and twice as long with a twenty-foot vaulted ceiling. All of the walls were covered in oak paneling, with polished marble floors covered in elegant rugs. The wall to Harry's right was marked with a massive stone fireplace easily big enough for a man to walk through without ducking, and there appeared to be a fresh bucket of Floo powder next to it. On either side of the fireplace were several massive bookshelves full of tomes so old and mysterious-looking that Harry resolved never to tell Hermione Granger about this room, lest she tear the Slytherin dungeon apart stone by stone to get at them. The wall on the left bore what looked like forty to fifty small silver nameplates meticulously arranged with room still for dozens more. The far wall was completely dominated by a massive tapestry. Most of the writing was too small to read from across the room, but the words "HERE BE THE HEIRS OF SALAZAR SLYTHERIN" clearly indicated that it was the Founder's family tree.
In the middle of the Lair was a long mahogany table, with three chairs on each side, each also mahogany with emerald green upholstery. Rising up from the back of each chair were two matching brass finials elegantly cast into the shapes of adder heads. But it was the seventh chair that dominated Harry's attention, for even calling it a chair seemed so grossly inadequate as to be an insult. It was, without a doubt, the single most magnificent piece of furniture that Harry had ever seen. Shaking off his amazement, Harry stood tall and spoke out with confidence.
"Good evening to you all. My name is Harry Potter. I am honored to stand before you." The veritable chorus of hisses that welcomed him to the room made him grin from ear to ear.
A few hours later, it was Harry's turn to rouse Theo from slumber and drag him off to a secret room containing an ancient and somewhat sinister magical artifact. Once he had the boy inside the Lair, Harry explained where they were, why they were there, what it all meant, and, oh by the way, he could talk to snakes. Understandably, Theodore Nott immediately fainted dead away.
The next update will be uploaded on June 22, 2015 between 4 and 6 pm CST.
AUTHOR NOTE & POLL QUESTIONS! I am presently working on the post-Quirrellmort epilogue to year one, which raises some issues. First of all, I'm a little behind on setting up year two, so unless I get on the stick, there may be a two to four week gap before Harry's second year begins. I have thus far maintained a 10-chapter cushion so that I have plenty of time to edit before publishing, but that may not be sustainable. We'll see how it goes.
Anyway, that leads me to my next question - Do you the readers think it would be better to continue this story as one long fic under the heading of "Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin"? Or would it be better to end this fic at the end of the year and start up a separate story for Year Two (and later years) called "Harry Potter and the Something of Something"? I'm agnostic, but was curious if the regular readers had any preferences.