"My lungs gave out as I faced the crowd" ~ Therapy, All Time Low
I lay in my four poster bed, not able to find sleep. The events that happened today have shaken me to my core.
Could Harry and I be descendants of Salazar Slytherin?
We don't know anything about our dad's family, so we very well could be.
Why else would we know how to speak Parseltongue?
But then again, why could the Sorting Hat place us in Gryffindor if we have Slytherin blood?
"But the Sorting Hat wanted to place you in Slytherin," a sickening voice in the back of my head says.
The Sorting Hat's words replay in my head repeatively, making my stomach churn anxiously.
'You have a darkness about you.'
'You would do remarkably well in Slytherin.'
I push back the covers of my bed and slowly walk from the dormitory out into the cold, dark, empty common room.
I sit on the lounge and bring my knee up against my chest.
"Maybe I do belong in Slytherin after all." I whisper to myself, looking around the scarlet and gold common room, decorated with numerous lions, imagining how different my life could be if the banners were green.
The sound of bare feet against the floor appears, and I turn to see Hermione walking towards me, wrapped up in a dressing gown.
"Haylee, what's wrong?" She asks groggily, siting beside me.
"I just couldn't sleep." I murmur.
"Haylee, listen to me," she says, "I'm sure that you and Harry aren't descendants of Salazar Slytherin. I'm sorry for even mentioning it in the first place."
"It's fine."
"Think about it, Hayles, why would the Sorting Hat place you in Gryffindor if you were related to Salazar Slytherin?" She persists.
"But I was almost placed in Slytherin, Hermione, that's the thing." I admit to her. "And maybe I should have been."
"Haylee, you don't belong in Slytherin, okay? You're too brave and kind and friendly to ever be placed in Slytherin." She reassures me.
"I attacked Pansy Parkinson today, did you know? I literally tackled her to the ground. That's not brave or kind...it was a horrible thing to do..." I trail off, giving Hermione a sad look. "No wonder the Sorting Hat told me that I have a 'darkness about me'."
"Haylee-"
"I can talk to snakes, Hermione! What more proof is there!" I cry, running my hands through my thick hair.
"Haylee, you can believe what you want to believe, but you're a Gryffindor at heart, everyone knows it. Tomorrow you and Harry can find Justin and explain to him that you were helping him...you can sort all this out." Hermione whispers.
"We're best friends, Haylee, and I promise you that you are in now way a Slytherin."
"I think we're more like sisters, Mione." I whisper gratefully.
*~*
I've looked all around for Justin today, and neither Harry or I can find him.
To make matters worse, many of the students are now convinced that Harry and I are both Heirs of Slytherin.
"I'll see you back in the common room." I tell Harry, Ron, Tay and Hermione, before setting off to find Justin.
I need to make this right.
"I want blood."
The voice returns, my stomach drop.
"They all must die."
Harry suddenly appears behind me, and the look on his face is proof enough that he can hear the voice.
"I think it's coming from the walls." I tell him, placing my hands against the brick wall beside us.
"Kill. Kill. Kill."
The voice continues as Harry and I slowly follow the wall towards the source of the noise.
"Time to kill."
The voice stops completely, and we decide to return to the Common Room.
We turn a corner, and my heart stops.
Before us is Nearly Headless Nick; floating in midair, completely unmoving. His head his hanging off to the side of his body.
But it's what's behind Nick that truly makes me nauseous.
Justin is laying on the ground, his arms outstretched in front of him.
"Oh my god, Harry." I whisper, kneeling beside Justin's Petrified body.
"Caught in the act." A voice appears, making me jump.
We turn to see Filch standing before us.
"I'll have you out this time, Potters. Mark my words."
"No! Mr. Filch! You don't understand!" I shout as he takes off to tell the professors.
Harry walks to the side slightly, seeming intrigued with something, while I simply stand, my hands shaking.
Filch returns with McGonagall, who frantically runs to us, looking between Justin, Harry and I rapidly.
"Professor...I swear we didn't." Harry stammers.
"This is out of my hands, Potters." McGonagall says firmly.
She leads us through countless corridors, and then finally we stop a gargoyle of a griffin.
"Professor Dumbledore will be waiting for you both." She says, motioning at the Griffin.
We step into the Griffins wings as she instructed and she speaks.
"Sherbet Lemon."
The griffin begins to turn, slowly revealing a staircase up to Dumbledore's office.
We step into his office to see it filled with various paintings and strange objects.
"Professor Dumbledore?"
We walk further into the room and my eyes catch sight of an old, tattered hat.
The Sorting Hat.
I walk silently to the hat, leaving Harry.
I lift the hat up and slowly lower it onto my head.
"Bee in your bonnet, Haylee Potter?" A small voice appears in my head.
"Er - yes," I whisper, "sorry to brother you...i was just wondering-"
"You've been wondering whether I put you in the right house," the hat says knowingly. "Yes...you were particularly hard to place, even more so than your brother. But, I stand by what I said before -"
My heart leaps in joy and I smile.
"-you would have done remarkably well in Slytherin."
My stomach plummets, and I shove the hat back into the shelf, backing away quickly.
I return to Harry, who is staring curiously at the sickly looking bird beside Dumbledore's desk.
Feathers are falling from the bird and his eyes are dull.
Trying to lighten the mood, I turn to Harry;
"All we need now is for the bird to die while we're alone with-"
The bird suddenly bursts into flames, making us both shout and jump backwards.
The bird turns into a pile of ash, leaving me shocked. The office door then opens and Dumbledore enters, looking very sombre.
"Professor," I gasp, "your bird - we couldn't do anything - he just caught fire -"
Dumbledore smiles, leaving me utterly confused.
"About time too," he says. "He's been looking dreadful for days, I've been telling him to get a move on."
Dumbledore gives another chuckle and continues;
"Fawkes is a Pheonix, Harry, Haylee. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him..."
I look down to see a tiny, wrinkled head poke out of the ashes. It looks as ugly as the old one, to be honest.
"It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," Dumbledore says, seating himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of the time: wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers and they make highly faithful pets."
I forget why Harry and I are even here for a spilt second, but it all comes back to me when I meet Dumbledore's piercing blue stare.
Before any of us can speak another word, Hagrid bursts into the room with a wild look in his eyes.
"It wasn' Harry and Haylee, Professor Dumbledore!" Hagrid says urgently.
Dumbledore tries to speak, but Hagrid cuts him off.
"...It can't've bin them, I'll swear it in front 'o the Ministry of Magic if I have to..."
"Hagrid, I -"
"...Yeh've got the wrong kids, sir, I know Harry and Haylee never -"
"Hagrid!" Dumbledore says loudly. "I do not think that Haylee and Harry attacked those people."
"Oh," Hagrid says, "right, I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."
He then stomps out looking embarrassed.
"You don't think it was us, Professor?" I say hopefully.
"No, Haylee, I don't," Dumbledore says, although his face his sombre again. "But I still want to talk to you."
I take a deep breath, waiting for Dumbledore to begin;
"I must ask you, Harry and Haylee, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me," he says gently. "Anything at all."
I look at Harry, and he shakes his head ever so slightly.
We can't tell him; not about Malfoy's snide comments about Muggleborns, not about the Polyjuice Potion and especially not of the strange voices that only we seem to hear.
And I'm definitely not telling him about my doubts concerning my Sorting.
"No," Harry says, "there isn't anything, Professor."
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