Author’s Note: For those who have read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, this story is set in an alternate universe and some of the key events in that novel do not occur in my universe.
I am not making money off of this; it’s purely for my own enjoyment and hopefully yours. Harry Potter and any recognizable characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. I do lay claim to the following: Kristabella Myers, Fyril Snape, Isabene Dumbledore, Mackenzie Riddle-Snape and any others you might not recognize.
The young man found himself walking down a familiarly dim-lit corridor, lined with statues of snakes. He knows he has been here before, but he can’t remember when. He can’t even remember where he is.
Cautiously, he walks down the corridor. There is someone. . .something waiting for him at the end. He can hear a voice calling to him.
“Come to me,” the deep, raspy voice says. “Come and claim your destiny.”
The young man reaches the end of the corridor, sees a large high-backed chair sitting in a column of light. The chair begins to slowly turn; he catches a quick glimpse of red eyes.
He stumbles back, frightened. The figure’s hands--thin, with long fingers--reach out to him. Nearer…nearer…almost touching him. He stares at the fingers, horror etched on his face. Nearer still, the fingers come, mere inches from touching his skin.
And then he awakens.
Eric Myers sat up straight in his bed, his chest heaving. Sweat poured from his face, down his back and chest as he glanced wildly around him, searching for the figure from his dream.
Finding nothing, he closed his eyes, trying to still his erratically beating heart. “It was just a dream,” he muttered to himself.
“Eric?” he heard a soft voice call from beside him on the bed.
“Shh, Krista, go back to sleep,” he said, lying down and snuggling up to his wife’s back.
“You have a bad dream?” Kristabella Myers asked sleepily.
“It was nothing,” Eric whispered, kissing her temple. “Go back to sleep.”
She mumbled something, turned over and snuggled closer to him, burrowing her face against his chest. He sighed, stroking her hair.
This wasn’t the first time he’d had this dream. Those horrible red eyes had been haunting him for almost two weeks now. He had no idea who they belonged to; he just knew they frightened him.
And something that frightened Eric, a former Marine, was something terrible indeed.
“I’ve got very bad news,” Hermione Granger said grimly as she slid into a booth beside her best friend, Ron Weasley.
“Nothing too serious, I hope,” Ron said, motioning for the bartender to bring them another round of butterbeer.
Harry Potter shot Ron a look. “Go on, Hermione! What’s wrong?” he asked in his quiet voice. His dark black hair was still as unruly as ever, no matter what he tried. It simply refused to be tamed by comb or brush but other than that annoying feature he had matured into a very handsome young man.
The same could be said about Ron Weasley. His hair was still as red as ever, but he’d grown into his body.
And lately, he’d been noticing that Hermione had blossomed into a beautiful young lady. If only he had the courage to ask her on a date.
“I’ve been looking into rumors about new factions of Death Eaters,” she said.
“And?” Harry said, frowning thoughtfully.
Hermione shook her head. “Nothing confirmed yet.”
“Harry, have you had any more dreams?” Ron asked, sipping at his butterbeer.
Harry hesitated. “There’s one,” he said slowly. “Voldemort is talking to his Death Eaters.”
“About?” Hermione prompted.
Harry licked his lips. “Something new he found out.” He paused for a moment. “He has an heir.”
Ron choked on his butterbeer and Hermione shot him a worried look. “Ron?! Are you all right?!”
“Yeah,” Ron wheezed, beating his chest. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”
Hermione shot Harry a worried look. “Are you absolutely sure he said an heir?”
Harry nodded grimly.
“Gross,” Ron said, making a face. “Who’d want to have sex with him?”
“Oh come on, Ron,” Hermione said. “Surely Voldemort wasn’t always ugly.”
“Do you have to say his name?!” Ron hissed.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “So we should probably start looking for someone who could be Voldemort’s heir.”
“This is going to take a while,” Ron said dryly.
“Unless Harry can give us specifics,” Hermione said hopefully.
Harry shook his head sadly. “Sorry. All I heard in the dream was that he had an heir. No mention of age or gender.”
“Hmm,” Hermione said, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
“Uh oh, she’s got that look on her face again,” Ron whispered.
“What look?!” Hermione demanded, scowling at Ron.
“The look you always got back at Hogwarts when you were going to do something that got us into trouble!” Ron said.
“When did I ever get us in trouble?” Hermione asked, sniffing.
Harry smiled, watching the two bicker. “Guys, c’mon,” he said. “We need to start looking for information on this heir.”
“Well, the Ministry might have records of his children’s birth,” Ron suggested.
Hermione looked startled. “Ron, I dare say that’s a brilliant idea.”
The tips of Ron’s ears turned red and Harry had to stifle a giggle in his mug of butterbeer.
“Come on, let’s go,” Hermione said eagerly.
“But you haven’t even drunk your butterbeer!” Ron protested, gesturing to the untouched glass the waiter had set in front of her.
Hermione rolled her eyes and took a sip from the mug. “Happy?”
“No,” Ron said. “That’s good butterbeer. It shouldn’t go to waste.”
“Fine,” Hermione said, pushing the mug toward him. “You drink it. Harry and I are going to find Voldemort’s heir.”
Harry smiled as he slid out of the booth and then rose to his feet. Hermione had already gotten up and was heading for the door. “C’mon, Ron,” he said. “She might just leave you behind.”
“All right, all right,” Ron said, quickly draining the mug. “I’m coming!”
Eric sighed, rubbing his temple. He sat behind his desk at the Silver Guardians complex, going over reports. He heard a knock on his door and called out, “Come in” without taking his eyes off the report he was skimming over.
“Hey baby,” he heard his wife’s voice say. He glanced up, a smile breaking out on his face.
“C’mere,” he said, pushing away from his desk and motioning to her. She walked over to him and he pulled her down into his lap, kissing her.
“Mmm, thank you,” he mumbled between kisses. “I needed that.”
“You okay?” Krista asked, placing small kisses along his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” he said softly, running his hands over her curves.
“Liar,” she whispered, kissing her way down his face.
He sighed. “Okay, I’ve been having a bad dream lately and I’m just tired.”
“What kind of dream?” she asked, softly stroking his cheek.
Eric sighed, not sure how much he wanted to tell her. He didn’t want to frighten her and cause her sleep to be troubled.
“I don’t know if I should tell you,” he whispered. “I don’t want it to disturb you.”
“Hey,” she said, catching his chin in her hand and tilting his face up. “You’re my husband. Your worries and fears are my worries and fears. Don’t shut me out.”
“Kris,” he protested.
“Eric,” she said, matching his tone. “I’m serious. I’m a big girl, I can handle a nightmare.”
He sighed, knowing she wouldn’t give up until he’d told her. “Okay, but if you have nightmares, it’s not my fault,” he warned.
She rolled her eyes. “Just tell me.”
Running a hand through his hair, he told her.
She frowned. “Claim your destiny? What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Eric admitted. “But those eyes. . .Kris. . .they were awful.”
She hugged him, rubbing his back. “Hey baby, it was just a dream.”
“I’m not so sure,” he muttered, pressing his face against her chest. It had felt too real for his tastes.
Ron sighed in frustration, drumming his fingers against the surface of the heavy oaken desk. He, Harry and Hermione were in the record room of the Ministry of Magic.
“This is a waste of time,” he whined, watching Harry and Hermione sift through the records.
They’d been at it for nearly two hours and had been running into dead ends. The enchanted records repeatedly informed them there was no such record of Tom Riddle or his possible offspring.
“No, the record has to be here,” Hermione insisted. “In Harry’s dream, Voldemort very clearly said he has an heir.”
“How do you know, were you there?” Ron snapped. “Maybe Harry’s dream is wrong.” He cringed as Hermione fixed him with a stare.
“No, Harry’s dreams are never wrong,” she said. “If Voldemort said he has an heir in Harry’s dream, then he has an heir.”
“Would you please stopping saying his name?!” Ron said, looking positively frightened.
Hermione groaned, shaking her head.
Harry sighed, staring thoughtfully at the enchanted letters floating in the air. They spelled out ‘No matching record found’ in a purplish script-like font.
“Someone’s messed with the records,” he muttered. “There should at least be a birth certificate for Tom Riddle.”
“But who would have access to the Ministry records and want to keep You-Know-Who’s heir a secret?” Ron asked.
Hermione and Harry exchanged glances and then said simultaneously, “Lucius Malfoy.”
“It makes sense,” Harry said thoughtfully. “We know that Malfoy was one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters.”
“He supposedly defected not too long after Voldemort was defeated the first time by you, Harry,” Hermione said. “But he’s just so evil and menacing; I wouldn’t be surprised if he was still a Death Eater.”
“Not to mention the fact he’s got the Ministry eating out of his hand,” Ron pointed out.
“Exactly,” Hermione said, nodding.
Ron scowled. “I always knew I didn’t like that man.”
“Or his son,” Hermione added.
“Especially his son,” Ron corrected.
Harry’s face flushed at the mention of Draco Malfoy and he cleared his throat. “We need to find someone who either went to school with or knew Tom Riddle. Maybe they can tell us who his girlfriend was.”
“Good idea, Harry,” Hermione said.
“But who?” Ron asked.
“Harry,” Hermione said slowly. “Didn’t Hagrid attend Hogwarts at the same time as Riddle?”
Harry nodded. “Riddle is the one who blamed Hagrid for the opening of the Chamber of Secrets the first time.”
“Let’s go then,” Hermione said, rising to her feet.
“Um. . .where are we going?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.
“To Hogwarts,” Hermione answered. “To pay a certain groundskeeper a visit.”
“Eric!”
Krista’s terrified scream brought Eric running into the kitchen, ready to defend her from whatever was attacking.
“What is it, baby?” he asked, his body tense.
“S-s-snake!” she stammered, pointing to the middle of the kitchen floor, where a long, black snake was coiled up.
“Shit,” Eric hissed under his breath. Of all the things. . .it had to be the one thing he feared the most. Judging from Krista’s reaction, she was frightened of them too.
“Get it out of here, please!” she cried, hiding behind him.
“Riiiiiiiight,” Eric said skeptically, staring at the snake. He licked his lips, trying to will away his paralysis caused by fear.
“How the hell did a snake get in here anyway?” he muttered under his breath.
The snake raised his head. “The door wassssss open,” it said in a hissy voice.
Eric blinked his eyes, not quite sure if he’d actually heard the snake speak. “Um. . .what?”
The snake nodded his head toward the side door, which was open a crack. “It issssss hot outsssssside. I came in to find a cool sssssspot.”
“Excuse me, but how the hell can you talk?” he asked, completely forgetting about Krista behind him.
The snake seemed to stare at Eric quizzically. “You mean you do not know?”
“Um. . .no,” Eric said, feeling he was missing something. “Snakes don’t usually talk where I come from.”
Krista stared at Eric, frowning. “Eric? Honey, are you okay?”
She’d swallowed nervously as the snake had raised its head, looking straight at Eric. Then Eric had begun to speak, but it was unlike anything she’d ever heard come out of his mouth. It was almost like the hissing of the snake, but deeper somehow.
Eric snapped out of his shocked state as he felt Krista’s hand on his shoulder. He glanced behind him at her worried face. “What?”
“Honey, are you okay?” Krista asked an odd expression on her face.
“Uh. . .” Eric glanced back at the snake, which seemed to be staring amusingly at him.
“Perhapsssss I sssssshould be on my way,” the snake said, starting to slither toward the side door. Krista screamed as the snake slithered close to hers and Eric’s feet.
“Relax, Kris,” Eric said, nevertheless jumping a little himself. “He’s leaving.” He was still very confused by what had just happened.
“Ssssssee you around!” the snake called out before slipping through the door and heading out into the backyard.
“Okay, what the hell was that all about?” Krista demanded.
“Um. . .I have no idea,” Eric answered, frowning.
“That was weird,” she said. “It sounded like, like . . . you were talking to that thing!”
“I was,” Eric said quietly. “I . . . it was very weird, Kris.”
“Ya think?” Kris snapped. “If our house is gonna be overrun with snakes. . .” She shuddered.
Eric smiled, hugging her as he kissed her temple. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
“Riiiiight,” Krista said skeptically. “You’re just as afraid of snakes as I am.”
Eric smiled, watching her as she shuffled over to the refrigerator, muttering under her breath about snakes and doors being left cracked.
He crossed over to the door and pushed it shut, wondering why he’d been able to hear that snake and apparently speak to it. Of course, he didn’t think he’d be discussing it with too many people. He didn’t need them thinking he was crazy.
“Harry!” Rubeus Hagrid cried out joyfully. “And Hermione and Ron too!”
“Hello Hagrid,” Harry said, smiling up at the half-giant. They stood outside his cottage on the grounds of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
“Hi Hagrid,” Ron said.
“‘Lo, Hagrid,” Hermione said, smiling.
“Well, don’t just stand there!” Hagrid said, stepping out of the doorway. “Come on in!”
They filed into the cozy little cottage and Hagrid closed the door.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “A bite to eat?”
“No, Hagrid, we’re fine,” Harry said, remembering how awful Hagrid’s cakes had been.
“But thank you for offering,” Hermione said quickly, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
“So,” Hagrid said, sitting down. “What brings you here?”
“Well,” Harry said, exchanging glances with his two friends. “We wanted to ask you some questions.”
“Oh?” Hagrid responded.
“About Tom Riddle,” Hermione added.
“Oh,” Hagrid said, clasping his hands over his lap. “What do you want to know?”
“Did he have any children?” Ron asked quickly.
Hagrid shifted nervously. “Children?” he repeated.
“Please, Hagrid, you have to tell us what you know,” Hermione begged.
“I don’t know nothing,” Hagrid insisted.
“Hagrid,” Harry said quietly. “I had a dream. Voldemort was talking to his Death Eaters. He has an heir.”
“Honestly, Harry, I don’t know nothing,” Hagrid said, looking everywhere but at the three.
“But you know someone who does,” Hermione guessed.
Hagrid shifted in his seat again. “Harry, what did Voldemort say in your dream?”
“That he’d found out he has an heir,” Harry said, watching his friend.
“Oh, this is bad,” Hagrid said, rising to his feet. “This is very bad.”
“Hagrid, please,” Hermione said, watching him pace. “Tell us what you know.”
Hagrid sighed. “Voldemort--Tom Riddle--had a child, a daughter.”
“Why couldn’t we find a birth certificate for her at the Ministry Records Office?” Ron asked.
“I don’t know,” Hagrid said.
“We have to find this daughter,” Harry said. “She could be in danger.”
Hagrid shook his head. “Voldemort won’t hurt Mackenzie. He may be evil but he still loves his daughter,” he said.
Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged startled glances. It was hard to imagine someone like Voldemort being capable of love.
“Hagrid,” Hermione said slowly. “Did Mackenzie have a child?”
Hagrid fumbled with an iron poker, using it to stir the embers of his slowly dying fire. “Yes,” he answered finally. “But don’t ask me to tell you anything about the child. I don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl.”
“Why not?” Ron asked.
“To keep the baby safe from her father, Mackenzie hid the child,” Hagrid explained. “I don’t know where. I never saw the child.”
“Who might?” Hermione asked.
“Dumbledore was Mackenzie’s confidante,” Hagrid said. “I think he might have made most of the arrangements.”
“So I guess we pay Dumbledore a visit,” Ron said.
“Your godfather might know something too, Harry,” Hagrid said. “He, Lupin and your father were friends of Mackenzie’s.”
“Thank you, Hagrid,” Harry said.
“No problem,” Hagrid said. “Just. . .be careful.”
“Wormtail,” said a raspy voice.
“Y-yes, milord?” the thin, quivering man said. He had been a faithful servant to his master for many years, and had yet to get used to his frightful appearance.
“Very soon now,” Lord Voldemort said. “Very soon and we shall be able to perform the spell.”
“Yes milord,” Wormtail said, watching uneasily as Voldemort’s hand delicately stroked the head of the snake curled up in his lap.
“Have the Death Eaters found my heir yet?”
Wormtail cringed. “No, not yet, milord.”
Red eyes turned to glare at Wormtail. “What do you mean. . .not yet?!”
“He is proving more difficult to track down than we’d anticipated,” Wormtail said. “But do not fret, milord. Your grandson will be kneeling at your feet soon.”
“He’d better,” Voldemort snapped. “My patience is wearing thin, Wormtail. I will not tolerate any more mistakes from you.”
“O-of course, milord,” Wormtail stammered.
Voldemort flashed an evil grin, turning his chair to face the roaring fire barely contained in the fireplace. “Soon,” he said, stroking the head of his snake. “Very soon.”