Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin

The Heir of Slytherin

It would not come as a surprise to most that Harry Potter had been unable to sleep that night. Indeed, very few people in Gryffindor had been able to get much sleep. Most had stayed up well into the night and only went to bed when their bodies demanded rest. The last to fall asleep that night had been Neville, who spent most of his time after Professor McGonagall's announcement lying on his bed in a complete daze.

Much like his friend, Harry's mind had been in a hazy state since their Head of House dropped the bomb on them. It was not a dissimilar feeling to when someone was only half awake; not quite asleep but not really alert either. He knew he was awake, he could feel it, but his mind felt like it was still asleep, like all this was a dream.

If only that were true. Maybe if it was he wouldn't be feeling this way.

After lying on his bed for several hours, Harry Potter decided to leave. He couldn't stay there, lying in bed and trying to rest with the news that one of his friends was dead. And so, wrapped in his invisibility cloak and with a disillusionment charm thrown over him for good measure, the young, emerald eyed boy left the dorms, and then the Gryffindor common room altogether.

He silently made his way down the many halls and winding corridors that made up Hogwarts. Having spent two years within these halls, Harry had memorized every nook and cranny of the place. At least those places he had been to. Right now, the destination he was traveling towards was one he had visited a number of times last year due to one reason or another.

The walk was not very long. A mere fifteen minutes. He'd managed to cut his time by taking several secret passages he had discovered by accident. It also helped him avoid the many aurors that were now crowding the place. And there were a lot of them. He had only used three halls in total, but had run into six aurors in that time. Despite this, he'd made it to his destination and now he stood in front of the doors to the hospital wing.

Should he go in? The question plagued him. If his friend were to be anywhere within the school, it would be inside the hospital wing. He wanted to see her. He wanted to see her so badly. And yet at the same time, he was afraid. A part of him had yet to accept Hermione's death. So long as he did not see her body, he could pretend that she was still alive.

'But for how long?' His mind asked him. How long would be able to feign ignorance? By tomorrow morning the news of Hermione's death would have spread throughout Hogwarts. Everyone would know, not just the Gryffindors. Would he be able to pretend then? Would he be able to act like she was still alive after that? Probably not.

With a trepidation he had never felt before, Harry slowly opened the door that led into the hospital wing and stepped inside. A quick look around revealed that no one was there. Madame Pomfrey must have been in a staff meeting. He looked over at the beds. Professor Lockhart was lying in one of them, the one closest to the entrance, his face set in a mask of surprise. The one farthest from the entrance had another figure, one whose entire body was covered by a blanket.

Harry felt his knees weaken. He didn't want to see anymore. His mind screamed at him to leave. It told him that if he left now, he wouldn't have to be confronted by the reality of what happened, that he didn't have to do this.

And yet, in spite of his mind telling him to go back, his body moved forward. He walked towards the bed, his steps sounding loudly in his ears despite the silencing charm that had been cast over him. His heart was beating erratically in his chest, causing his breathing to come out in harsh pants that sounded more like a dying man than the perfectly healthy young man that he was.

He stopped by the bed. From where he stood he could see the lump much more clearly now. The contours revealed that the body hidden underneath the blanket was a budding female. His experienced eyes could pick out very specific details, familiar details about the shape. And each time they did something in his chest cracked. Despite not wanting to, his hand slowly grabbed the covers near the head of the bed and pulled them back.