Harry Potter: The Slytherin Heiress

The Half-Blood Praeris: Ah, this?

Daphne recounted what had just happened in detail, the Potter trio turning up at that spot, mysterious writing on the wall, Argus Filch's Mrs. Norris attacked.

"Why Filch?" Millicent asked. "Did he make an enemy of the Heir?"

Praeris rolled the shed fur into a ball. "Far too many people hate Filch."

Just counting the people right around her, she could tally up two handfuls. That wasn't even touching the ones she remembered from further afield.

Daphne chimed in. "Why would the Heir only kill a cat? If I were the Heir, I'd follow Slytherin's wishes and drive all those people out."

"Perhaps the Heir has only just grasped their mysterious power and is using a cat to practice first."

Pansy's tone made it sound as if the Heir had merely swatted a mosquito, though there was, in fairness, no essential difference between a mosquito and a cat.

Millicent finally snapped. "You people! Can you please not talk about this in front of Nina? She's still just a little kitten!"

Praeris held her cat, eyes lowered, and began unconsciously analyzing her own situation.

She wasn't Muggle-born, but she was still a half-blood. In this incident, only pure-bloods could rest easy.

Fortunately, aside from herself, absolutely no one knew she was a half-blood.

If there truly was an Heir, how did they determine whether someone was pure-blood? If both parents were wizards but the ancestors included Muggles, did that count as half-blood? Or was having two wizard parents enough?

By the former standard, Harry Potter would also qualify as a half-blood. By the latter, someone like Praeris was the real half-blood.

Then there was the question of why the Heir had targeted Filch's cat. Because Filch was a half-blood or Muggle-born? Was this a warning? Intimidation?

Praeris searched through her memories and had never once seen Filch use magic, nor heard him mention his family.

Could it be that Filch was a Squib? That would explain why he never used magic.

Praeris decided to keep observing before drawing any further conclusions.

The next morning, she returned to the corridor.

First: Mrs. Norris had been rigid at the time, but she wasn't dead. Millicent had found that out.

Clearly, either the Heir hadn't yet fully mastered their ability, as Pansy had suggested, or the ability had its limits.

Last night she'd noticed reflections on both the wall and the floor. Now she could see the wall bore writing, and the floor held a small puddle that hadn't been cleaned up.

The writing on the wall had been enchanted, stubbornly fixed in place. No ordinary student could manage that. There were scorch marks on the floor, a few spiders on the wall, and the nearest location was a girls' lavatory.

Those were all the unusual details.

"What are you doing here!" Filch's furious voice rang out behind her.

Praeris didn't show a trace of being caught off guard. She turned slowly. "Mr. Filch, you know how it is — Millicent also keeps a little cat. Yesterday she saw Mrs. Norris and was terribly worried. She's been crying. I wanted to find a way to remove the writing from the wall."

Filch's expression immediately softened, and he rambled on. "I don't know. Oh, I can understand how she feels. When I saw Mrs. Norris, my heart shattered. I truly don't know what to do!"

Having barely managed to shake Filch off, Praeris began sorting through the information she had gathered.

The Potter trio hadn't attended the feast. They were said to have gone to the ghosts' Deathday Party. After it ended, Potter didn't return to the feast, instead, he went to this corridor, which wasn't even on the way. His two friends had come with him.

What had they discovered? What had caught their attention so completely that they changed their route and made such an unreasonable choice?

Praeris didn't believe Potter was the culprit. The girl he was closest to, Granger, was a Muggle-born witch. If Potter had really done something like this, Granger's sense of justice wouldn't allow her to stay on such peaceful terms with him. She would have confronted him. The fact that she hadn't said everything.

Granger had been with Potter the whole time, so Potter acting behind her back was out. And before the feast, people were moving about everywhere. After the feast, everyone came out at once. Only the time during the feast itself could have been used. But during that window, Granger and Weasley had stayed at his side the entire time. Potter had no opportunity to write anything on that wall.

A joint crime by the three could also be ruled out. That idea was too foolish. Once again: Granger was a Muggle-born witch.

So it was obvious. Someone had staged this incident. Unlucky Potter had discovered something that drew him over. He'd always had rather bad luck, hadn't he?

Praeris looked down at the puddle beside her. Where had this water come from?

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

It had been overcast the past two days, but it hadn't rained. Yet a puddle had appeared here all the same.

The nearest place was a girls' lavatory. Some girls had mentioned there was a ghost there, one called Myrtle.

Perhaps she had witnessed the scene of the crime.

And that puddle pointed straight toward the nearby lavatory.

WOO-WOO-WOO, WOO-WOO-WOO,

"Hello, Myrtle?" Praeris said cautiously.

A ghost, a girl in glasses. She looked very young. Praeris thought she was about the same age as herself.

She had her back to Praeris and was crying.

"No, I'm not well!" Myrtle wailed. "Everyone looks down on Myrtle, even though Myrtle is dead!"

Praeris was at a bit of a loss. Myrtle's combat power far exceeded Millicent's.

Praeris sighed, then suddenly covered her own face and began to sob.

Well. Sobbing, but faking it. That was why she needed to cover her face.

She kept up the act. After a moment, Myrtle's crying stopped.

Praeris wiped at her face a few times, performing. "No — don't look at me. I don't want anyone to see me cry."

Now it was Myrtle's turn to grow uneasy. She tried every way she could think of to comfort Praeris.

"What are you sad about? Can you possibly be as pitiful as me? No one likes Myrtle. Even after I died, Peeves still comes to bully me!"

Seeing that Myrtle was about to sink back into her own sad story, Praeris spoke quickly. "Oh, you don't know. I'm a Slytherin. No one likes Slytherins, but it wasn't my choice. And now, Slytherin doesn't even like me. My friend Millicent thinks I'm arrogant. I'm just afraid of losing friends. Daphne is Pansy's friend, and Pansy likes Malfoy. Everyone has their own things to do. Only I am completely alone."

Praeris kept spinning fabrications. "Professor Snape gives me more homework than everyone else and makes me help him with tasks on top of it. Merlin knows, I'm really not clever. I'm terrified every single time. Do you know what it feels like to spend an entire day working in front of a teacher?"

"I truly don't know what to do anymore!"

Myrtle froze. "I don't know. I don't know. I've heard of you, Prince. I've heard people say the Slytherin prefect likes you. I thought you had..."

Marcus? What cursed pairing was this?

Praeris cut her off, weeping as she spoke. "See! Now people are even spreading rumors about me. I just wanted a friend! And someone's gossiping that I fancy the prefect! I can't go on living!"

"No!" Myrtle reached out to stop her, and Praeris passed straight through her.

Praeris felt a wave of cold. The atmosphere was even more fitting now. "Let me just die! I've been at Hogwarts for two years and I still don't have a single friend!"

"I can be your friend!" Myrtle blurted out. "If you don't mind me, you know, I'm always here, in the lavatory. Peeves hates me for my acne, students mock me for crying too much..."

Praeris said, deeply moved, "Aren't I a crybaby too? We're the same."

"I'm so happy. I've never been this happy since I died. I've made a friend." Myrtle spun a circle in the air. "What were you originally here for? I know, because I'm here, no one wants to come near this place anymore."

"I angered Millicent." Praeris lowered her head. "You know, she doesn't like me right now. Now that Mrs. Norris has been attacked, she's very worried about her Nina. I thought if I found out why it happened, maybe she'd forgive me."

She lifted her head and looked at Myrtle. "It doesn't matter now. I already have a friend. It's you, Myrtle."

Praeris's conscience twinged.

She was deceiving a lonely schoolgirl.

She had originally planned to ask directly, but Myrtle kept crying and couldn't answer questions. Now that Myrtle could speak properly, Praeris no longer wanted to ask. She would rather find the answers herself than hurt this poor girl any further.

She promised herself she would come visit Myrtle more often. For Myrtle's loneliness.

But Myrtle said something unexpected. "No, Prince, may I call you Praeris? Ghost friends and real friends aren't the same. I can be your ghost friend, but you should have your own human friends."

"Of course. You can call me Prae," Praeris said.

Myrtle sobbed. "Prae, go ahead and ask. If a useless crybaby like me can give you even the tiniest bit of help."

Praeris's conscience hurt even more.

"Did you see anyone come near here last night? Mrs. Norris was attacked right outside the door," Praeris said.

Myrtle burst into tears at once. "I don't know! I didn't see anything! Peeves was mocking me and I couldn't take it anymore. I ran back here wanting to end myself, but I — but I —"

But she was already long dead.

Praeris said quietly, "Perhaps you'd like me to teach Peeves a lesson. You know, I'm a Slytherin. I know a few less-than-savory spells."

"No, I wouldn't dare. Don't." Myrtle started crying again and turned to flee back into her toilet.

Praeris stopped her. "Myrtle, my friend — I still have a few questions."

She chose her words as carefully as she could. Made them as gentle as possible.

"Myrtle, were you born into a wizarding family? I'm not a pure-blood supremacist, it's nothing like that. It's just, you know, I'm worried about you. Everyone outside is talking about the Heir of Slytherin. I'd be afraid if something happened to you."

Myrtle wailed. "Why is it only after I died that someone cares about me? Prae, why did you only come find me so late? Myrtle is a Muggle's child. So many people looked down on me, was it because I'm a Muggle's child!"

She didn't finish. With a whoosh, she dove into the toilet. The water overflowed wildly, Myrtle's sorrowful tears spilling across the floor.

Praeris called out. "I'll come find you next time, Myrtle!"

She ran fast enough. The water didn't reach her.

Praeris stepped out of the lavatory, shook the soles of her shoes, and walked while thinking.

Myrtle was a Muggle-born witch. This was absolutely no coincidence.

But Myrtle had died over 40 years ago. If the previous Heir had been causing trouble at school back then, that Heir would now be fifty or sixty years old.

It couldn't be ruled out that the current Heir was the previous Heir's grandchild. But why hadn't the previous Heir's children acted? Or for that matter, why hadn't anyone acted last year?

Unless the descendants of Slytherin had always existed, but becoming the Heir required certain conditions. Not every descendant could become the Heir.

And that puddle of water. It was far too strange.

Praeris's shoes crossed the corridor, leaving damp footprints behind.

The water wasn't enough to have overflowed from the lavatory, but it was too much to be what someone might carry out on their shoes from walking inside.

Also, if the Heir had killed Myrtle, why target a cat now instead of Muggle-born and half-blood wizards?

Praeris spun around and ran.

A red-haired girl fled like the wind. Praeris couldn't keep up with her at all.

She panted. Red hair. A Weasley. Ginny Weasley?

Why was she here? Worried about her brother?

Everyone knew criminals liked returning to the scene of the crime. Some wanted to savor their work. Some wanted to erase any traces they'd left behind. Some wanted to know whether anyone had figured out it was them.

But Ginny Weasley was a Gryffindor. Just think about it, how absurd. The Heir of Slytherin, a little Gryffindor girl?

Then again, it couldn't be ruled out either. Being young, she might not dare to strike a lethal blow. Hence Mrs. Norris hadn't died.

But that made it even stranger. If the Heir was Ginny, then what about all those older brothers of hers? Slytherin's legacy chose a little girl over her mature older brothers?

In Praeris's estimation, Percy Weasley would certainly be willing. He loved having power and he wasn't stupid.

But the Weasley couple was at most in their forties. When Myrtle died, they probably hadn't even been born yet.

Praeris steadied her heartbeat and turned back toward the dormitory.

This investigation hadn't brought her answers, only more mysteries. More importantly, she still couldn't determine whether the Heir was targeting only Squibs and Muggle-born wizards, or half-bloods as well.

As things stood now, those three Dark Arts books of hers suddenly seemed rather useful.

She needed to strengthen her ability to resist.

➤ Next: Eavesdropping and the Library Slip