Voldemort’s Heir
“C’mon Eric, take a break,” Wes Collins insisted, leaning against the doorframe of his friend and partner’s office at the Silver Guardians’ headquarters. “It’s way past time for lunch.”
Eric barely spared Wes a glance up from his desk. “Wes, I have to finish filling out this report.”
“It can wait,” Wes protested. “Krista’ll kill me if she finds out I let you skip lunch.”
At that, a small smile tugged at the corners of Eric’s mouth. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Wes’ grin turned to one of triumph as he heard the rumbling of Eric’s stomach. “C’mon. I’ll even buy.”
Ten minutes later, they were pulling up in front of Jackie’s Grill, a greasy little dive that specialized in burgers. They had just ordered their meals and the waitress had stepped away from the table when Eric suddenly froze.
Wes had been in mid-sentence when he’d seen the expression on his friend’s face change and his gaze seem to fixate on something behind Wes. Glancing over his shoulder and seeing nothing interesting, Wes turned back to Eric. “What?”
“Those kids,” Eric said in a distracted voice.
Wes frowned, following the line of Eric’s gaze. His frown deepened as he saw two young men and a young woman sitting at a booth not too far away from them. The redheaded boy was busy consuming a cheeseburger and a plate of fries as the other boy and the girl were involved in a conversation.
“What about ‘em?” he asked, turning back to Eric.
“I’ve seen them before.”
Wes looked confused. “Okay. . .what’s your point?”
Eric shook his head. “In my dreams, Wes.” At Wes’ bewildered expression, he shrugged. “I’ve been having weird dreams of late.”
“You need to stop going to bed on a full stomach,” Wes said.
Eric grinned. “I could make a comment, but I don’t think Krista would appreciate me kissing and telling.”
Wes cleared his throat. “Okay, so you say you saw these kids in a dream? So what?”
Eric sighed. “They asked me to go with them, Wes,” he said. “To a, a place called Hogwarts.”
Wes raised an eyebrow. “Hogwarts?”
“For some reason, that name means something to me,” Eric mused. “But I can’t remember what.”
“So, what? You wanna go up to the kids and say ‘Hi, you were in my dream and I was wondering if you could tell me what exactly a Hogwarts is’?”
Eric snorted. “They’d probably think I’m nuts.”
Wes nodded. “Good point. I’m your best friend and I think you’re nuts.”
Eric smirked. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Wes,” he said dryly.
In the booth, Harry and Hermione had been discussing their course of action as Ron happily munched on his food when Harry had suddenly frozen.
Hermione frowned. “Harry?” she said. “What is it?”
Harry glanced over his shoulder at a table where two men sat, conversing. “Those two men,” he said, looking back at Hermione. “I’m almost certain I just heard one of them say ‘Hogwarts.’”
THAT got his friends’ attentions. Hermione’s eyes widened and Ron suddenly choked on his burger.
After Hermione had performed a variation of the Heimlich maneuver on Ron, he muttered his thanks to her and gaped at Harry.
“Are you sure?” he said.
Harry nodded.
“You don’t think one of them is Fyril, do you?” Hermione whispered.
“It’s possible,” Harry muttered. “The dark-haired one has Mackenzie’s eyes. And Snape’s hair color.”
“Thank God that’s all he inherited from that greasy git,” Ron murmured. “If he really is Fyril.”
“Any suggestions on how we should go about finding out?” Hermione asked.
“I could walk over to him and ask him what he knows about Hogwarts,” Harry said.
Hermione looked at him as if he were crazy. “You must be joking! He’d think we were nuts.”
“Probably,” Harry agreed. “But do you have another suggestion?”
“Not really,” Hermione admitted. “But you can’t just casually throw ‘Hogwarts’ into the conversation. What if his friend is a Muggle?”
“So what are we going to do?” Ron asked, his eyes on the other table. “And I think we’d better think of something quick.”
Hermione and Harry glanced at him, Harry raising an eyebrow. “Why?” he asked.
“Because I think Maybe-Fyril is staring at us,” Ron said simply.
Hermione groaned. “Now what?”
“Well, I guess we introduce ourselves,” Harry said.
“No need,” Ron said, casually shoving another fry in his mouth. “Maybe-Fyril is headed this way.”
“Would you stop calling him that?” Hermione hissed.
Ron shrugged. “Well, we’re not sure if he really is Fyril. . .so he’s Maybe-Fyril.”
“Well, you both can calm down,” Harry muttered, glancing back over his shoulder. “He just went to the register to pay their bill. Now he and the other man are leaving.”
“Oh drat!” Hermione said. “What if he is Fyril? We have to follow him!”
“Hermione!” Harry hissed as she leapt up from the table and started toward the door. He sighed in exasperation, exchanging glances with Ron. “Go after your girlfriend. I’ll pay the bill.”
Ron blushed as red as his hair. “She’s not my girlfriend!” he insisted. After a pause, he added, “Yet.”
Harry grinned, getting up from the table and walking over to the counter.
After he’d paid the bill, he made his way outside, where Hermione was impatiently waiting, Ron beside her.
“Would you hurry up?” she insisted. “We’re going to lose them!”
“I had to pay the bill, Hermione,” Harry replied. “Muggles don’t take very kindly to unpaid checks.”
“Well hurry!” Hermione said as she led the boys to their rental car. “They’re in a black SUV. They turned to the left.”
“Good job, Hermione,” Harry said as the three piled into the car. Inserting the key into the ignition, Harry cranked the engine, then slammed the car into reverse, backing out of the parking space.
“Hey, I think those kids followed us,” Wes said as he and Eric got out of Eric’s SUV.
Eric frowned, glancing through the entrance of the Silver Guardians parking lot at the ugliest car he’d ever seen. He cast a glance at Wes. “How do you know that’s the kids?” he asked.
“They’ve been following us since the restaurant,” Wes answered. “Not to mention the fact that the young woman practically broke her neck following us out of the restaurant.”
Eric furrowed his brow. “Well, maybe they just need the assistance of the Silver Guardians,” he said, his words sounding lame even to his own ears.
Wes looked at him skeptically. “Right,” he said. “And I’m the Duchess of Wales.”
Eric smirked. “You said it, not me.”
Wes made a face at Eric, then headed toward the building that housed the Silver Guardians’ headquarters. Pulling open the door, he ushered Eric inside, casually glancing over his shoulder.
Out in the parking lot, Ron grimaced. “I think we’ve been spotted,” he muttered, watching Wes glance over his shoulder at them.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all,” Hermione said, looking nervous. “I mean, what if he doesn’t believe us?”
“Of course he isn’t going to believe us,” Harry pointed out as they made their way across the parking lot. “The worst he can do is kick us out.”
Ron nodded. “Right. So let’s get this over with.”
They headed into the building Eric and Wes had disappeared into, pausing in the lobby. A young woman sat behind a marble counter, chewing gum, a bored expression on her face.
“Um, hello,” Harry said, approaching her.
She glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a Mr. Myers,” Harry said.
Her eyes flicked from him to Ron, then to Hermione. “Who should I tell him wants to see him?” she asked, the skin at the corners of her eyes wrinkling with suspicion.
“Um. . .” Harry cast glances at Ron and Hermione, both of whom just shrugged helplessly.
“Tell him we’re from Hogwarts,” Harry said suddenly, turning his gaze back to the secretary.
She frowned. “Hogwazzit?”
“Hogwarts,” Harry corrected.
“Hogwarts,” the secretary repeated, looking skeptically at the three. “Right.” Shaking her head, she picked up the receiver of the phone on her desk and dialed Eric’s extension.
Eric answered on the second ring. “Yeah?”
“Hey boss,” the secretary said. “I’ve got three people out here who want to see you. They say they’re from some place called Hogwarts.”
Eric’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, sure, Sam, let ‘em in.”
“Boss?” she said, sounding surprised.
“Just do it, Sam,” he growled.
“Okay, okay.”
A few minutes later, Harry, Ron and Hermione entered Eric’s office. He sat behind his desk, tapping his fingers against the surface as they filed in. Ron shut the door quietly behind him.
“Okay, what the hell is a Hogwarts and who the hell are you?” Eric barked, causing Ron and Hermione to flinch.
“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said. “This is Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Hogwarts is a school. Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
Eric raised an eyebrow. “Witchcraft and Wizardry?”
“Yes,” Harry said, nodding. “See, we’re wizards.”
“You are too, if you’re who we think you are,” Ron said.
Eric snorted. “Right,” he said skeptically. “Wizards only exist in stories. Why don’t you take your cockamamie story to the Psychic Friends Hotline or the loony bin? I don’t care which, ‘cause I’m not interested.”
“Wait, please, hear us out,” Hermione insisted.
“No,” Eric said. “I’m only going to ask you nicely once. Get out.”
“You call that nice?” Ron protested. He winced as Harry elbowed him.
“Mr. Myers, please, you have to listen,” Harry said. “There is a very powerful dark wizard after you.”
Eric snorted again. “Save it. I’m not buying any of your bull.”
“Please, you have to listen,” Hermione begged.
“No,” Eric snapped. “Get out. I’ve got work to do.”
“Blasted, stubborn male,” Hermione hissed.
“Hermione,” Harry cautioned.
Eric growled, glaring at Hermione. “All right. I told you I was only going to ask nicely once.”
He stood up from his desk and walked around to the other side. Grabbing Hermione by her upper arm, he steered her over to the door, which he opened and promptly pushed her out.
“Hey!” she cried in indignation as he stalked over to Harry and Ron and proceeded to throw both of them out of the room.
“Well, that was very rude,” Ron observed as Eric shut the door.
Harry sighed. “Now what?”
“Come on,” Hermione said, leading the two back down the hall.
“Where are we going?” Ron asked as he followed Hermione past the secretary and out of the building.
“Hermione,” Harry said.
“We’re going to follow him home,” Hermione said as she paused beside a black SUV.
“How?” Harry asked, frowning.
“Simple,” Hermione said, pulling her wand from her coat. “I’ll just cast a tracking spell on his car.”
“Brilliant idea, Hermione!” Ron said, his face lighting up.
Hermione blushed, then completed the spell. “All right, let’s go.”
“Eric, go home,” Wes said, poking his head into his partner’s office. “It’s after five.”
“Yeah, sure,” Eric muttered distractedly as he typed up a report on his computer. He was using the hunt-and-peck method, which irritated the hell out of Wes, who had learned to type correctly.
“Eric, don’t make me have to make it an order,” Wes said. “I’m sure Krista’s already got supper on the table.”
Eric glanced up at him, a strange look on his face. “Krista. . .”
Wes frowned. “Yeah. . .your wife?”
Eric’s expression turned to one of irritation as he quickly saved the report he’d been working on, and shut the computer down. “I know that,” he said, standing up from his chair. “Maybe you’re right. I should go home.”
He couldn’t explain it, but he suddenly had the feeling that something was wrong. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was exactly, but he knew it had to do with Krista.
Eric rushed out of his office, mumbling a goodbye to Wes before continuing down the hall. Wes stared after his friend, puzzling over his sudden strange behavior.
Eric hurried across the parking lot, fumbling in his pocket for his keys, feeling the dread within him swelling. He could have sworn he heard his wife scream, but chalked it up to fatigue and an overactive imagination. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed him.
Getting into his SUV and cranking the engine, he peeled out of the parking lot. In his hurry to get home, he never noticed the ugly car pulling out after him and following.
Eric screeched to a stop in his driveway, staring up at the little one-story house he and Krista shared. Even from his vantage point, he could tell that something was wrong. He couldn’t explain it, but he had always been able to tell when his wife was home. The house just seemed to have a sort of glow about it. That glow was missing, leaving behind an empty shell.
Practically falling out of his vehicle, he scrambled up to the door. Hastily, he moved the key to the door knob, only to lean against it and have it swing open. This immediately raised his suspicions and he drew his sidearm from its holster.
Brandishing the small laser, he pushed the door open further and cautiously stepped into the house. “Krista?” he called.
His heart leapt into his throat as he moved from the front foyer into the living room, which was in shambles. Furniture had been overturned, and there was torn paper scattered everywhere. The bookcase that held his knick knacks looked as if somebody had been thrown into it, and most of the fragile figurines were broken.
“Oh my God,” he muttered, surveying the damage.
He still clung to the hope that he was wrong, that his wife was still somewhere in the house, huddling in the safety of a hiding place or something. Leaving the disaster area that had formerly been his living room, he moved into the kitchen.
He swallowed nervously as he saw the disarray in the living room continued here. He glanced around, examining the shattered dishes lying against one wall, as if someone had thrown them at an assailant.
He swallowed the lump in his throat as he stepped over an overturned barstool. He felt his heart leap to his throat again as he saw the blood splattered across the counter.
“Oh God, Krista,” he moaned. He couldn’t explain how he knew that was his wife’s blood, but he knew it was.
He saw a knife lying on the floor, blood on the tip, and blinked his eyes rapidly against the onslaught of tears.
“Oh gross!” he heard a male voice exclaim behind him and whirled, bringing his blaster up to bear.
“Whoa!” the young red-haired man from the restaurant--whom Eric dimly remembered was named Ron--cried as he raised his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot!”
“How the hell did you get in here?” Eric rasped, narrowing his eyes at the two young men and the young woman.
“We followed you,” the woman--Hermione, if he remembered correctly--said.
“What?” Eric snapped. “How?”
“Hermione cast a tracking spell,” Harry said.
“A what?” Eric growled. “Look, I don’t have time for this. My wife’s been kidnapped.”
“We can help you find her,” the three wizards said in unison.
Eric glared at them. “No thanks. I can do well enough on my own.”
“No offense, but I don’t think you can,” Harry said. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
Eric snorted. “I don’t know how you got in here, but you can damned well find your way back out.”
“Your door was open,” Ron said matter-of-factly.
Eric frowned. “What?”
“Your door,” Ron explained. “It was standing wide open.”
Eric cursed under his breath, realizing he hadn’t closed the front door when he’d entered the house. He’d been too concerned about Krista.
“Don’t worry, I closed it for you,” Ron said.
“Thanks,” Eric muttered.
“Harry, look at this,” Hermione said in a grim tone.
Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was crouched beside the knife. “What is it?”
She pointed to the skull with a serpent protruding tongue-like from its mouth that had been burned into the floor. “Look familiar?”
“The mark of a Death Eater,” Harry said grimly.
“Lovely,” Ron said, a worried look on his face.
“The struggle took place in here,” Harry said thoughtfully.
“Then why all the mess in the other room?” Ron asked, frowning.
“The Death Eaters did it on purpose,” Hermione answered. “To make Eric more reckless.”
Eric frowned. “What the hell is a Death Eater? And why would they want to make me reckless?”
“A minion of a very evil wizard named Voldemort,” Harry explained.
Eric groaned, massaging his forehead. “Okay, let’s say--for the sake of argument--wizards do exist,” he grumbled. “Why would this Voldemort kidnap my wife?”
“To force you to do his bidding,” Hermione said.
Eric snorted. “What would an evil wizard want with me? I’m just Eric Myers.”
Hermione, Harry and Ron exchanged glances. “It’s. . .complicated,” Harry said slowly. “And it won’t be easy for you to hear.”
Eric raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”
Hermione and Ron both glanced at Harry, who sighed, then took a deep breath. “Voldemort is your grandfather,” he said.
Eric laughed. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
Ignoring Eric’s laughter, Harry continued his explanation. “You’re not really Eric Myers. Your name is Fyril Snape, and you’re the son of Severus and Mackenzie Snape, both magically inclined. Mackenzie is Voldemort’s daughter.”
Eric fell silent, his face become stony. “What kind of a joke are you trying to pull?”
“No joke,” Hermione said, digging into a backpack which was hanging from one of her shoulders. “I’ve your birth certificate here.”
Eric looked skeptically at the official-looking piece of paper she handed him. He skimmed over it, then snorted. “The Ministry of Magic? What the hell is that?”
“Just what it sounds like,” Hermione said. “A ministry of magic. They keep track of all magic used by the wizardry community, to make sure that no one breaks the rules. They also keep track of all births and deaths of wizards and witches.”
“Oh,” Eric said, looking over the piece of paper again. “Okay, so this Fyril and I have the same birthday. Big deal. Got any other proof that I’m this Fyril?”
“A family tree potion,” Hermione announced triumphantly.
Eric raised an eyebrow. “A what?”
“A potion,” she explained, pulling a vial and a piece of parchment from her backpack. “I just need a strand of hair from you.”
“A hair?” Eric repeated.
“Mmm hmm. For the genetic material,” she said. “Oh, and I’ll need to borrow your kitchen to brew the potion.”
Harry and Ron exchanged grins. “Now, Hermione, remember to get the HUMAN hair,” Ron said.
Hermione glared at him as he and Harry chuckled.
Eric grumbled something about wasting time and then reluctantly nodded. “Fine, do what you have to.”
Hermione grinned as she watched him pull a strand of hair from his head and hand it to her. “Thank you,” she said. “This won’t take long at all.”
Eric raised an eyebrow as he saw both Harry and Ron roll their eyes.
Fifteen minutes later, he too rolled his eyes as he drummed his fingers against the countertop. “What the hell is taking so long?” he growled. “I thought you said this wouldn’t take long at all.”
Ron smirked. “You should’ve seen the potion she brewed that took her a month.”
Eric raised both of his eyebrows. “A month?”
“It was a complicated potion and I was only a second year,” Hermione argued, adding the strand of Eric’s hair.
Ron smirked. “So would that explain why you grabbed the cat hair instead of Millicent Bullstrode’s?”
Eric raised an eyebrow, sensing a potentially interesting story. “What’s a cat hair got to do with anything?”
“The potion that took a month to brew was a Polyjuice Potion,” Harry explained.
“It allows a person to assume another person’s appearance,” Ron said, grinning as Hermione’s cheeks reddened. She busied herself with the final preparations of the family tree potion.
“Oh, I see,” Eric said.
“The potion was never intended to be used for anything but human transformations,” Ron said, fighting the urge to giggle. “Hermione changed herself into a half cat person.”
Eric grinned, chuckling despite his irritation.
“It wasn’t funny!” Hermione insisted, even though she couldn’t keep a small smile from playing across her lips. There was a loud pop and a puff of smoke, and she announced the potion ready.
“Finally,” Eric grumbled.
Picking up the parchment, she soaked the entire piece in the potion, then spread it out on the counter. Eric watched skeptically, wrinkling his nose as the potion dripped onto his counter. Suddenly, almost like magic, words and lines began to appear on the parchment.
“What?” he said in astonishment as the words and lines continued to appear. He read over some of the names, not recognizing them. Then he frowned as he saw his name. Only it said “Fyril Snape AKA Eric Myers.”
He followed the lines stemming from his name and narrowed his eyes as he saw they led to a man named Tom Marvolo Riddle. In parentheses below his name, it read “Lord Voldemort.”
He scrunched up his face, feeling a sense of dread as he realized that the trio had been telling the truth. Staring at his grandfather’s name, he felt sickened. If Voldemort was as evil as they claimed--and Eric had a feeling he was--he had to get Krista away from him, and soon.
Even if it meant surrendering to him.
Looking disgusted, he set the parchment back onto the counter. “All right,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve convinced me. . .what now?”
Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged startled glances. They hadn’t expected him to change his mind so quickly.
“Now you come with us,” Harry said. “We have to get you to Hogwarts, where you’ll be safe.”
Eric sucked in a breath, flashing back to his dream. The three had asked him to go to Hogwarts then too.
“No,” he said. “I need to be out there, looking for my wife.”
Hermione shook her head. “You’d never survive,” she insisted. “If you’re going to face Voldemort, you have to be prepared.”
Eric frowned. “Prepared how?”
Ron grinned. “You’re about to get a crash course on how to be a wizard.”