Summary: Harry thought Voldemort was the last heir of Slytherin. He was wrong. He thought Voldemort was the last of his bloodline. He was wrong. He thought the gift of Parseltongue was from the failed curse. He was wrong.

Rating: M

Warnings: Past mpreg, child abuse

Disclaimer: Er … JKR owns all. Except the plot.

Author's Notes: This idea spurred from a thought how I could have done ABW differently. Really, only two elements are similar, the rest is original. Ish. I liked the ideas so much I wanted to use them again – but differently. And this is it.
Anyway, now the nasty warnings are out the way, enjoy!
Oh, PS: Once I've finished the "Kiss" one-shot trilogy, it will make up the back-story for this particular one. I didn't mention in the first one-shot that I was planning to do a longer fic afterwards, because I was debating whether or not I was going to go through with this. In the end I decided to (obviously). The other two one-shots will be posted when I can.

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Last Heirs of Slytherin

By Alexannah

Prologue: The Lost Heir

Hogwarts

There was a room in Hogwarts that was empty.

It was not empty physically – there was baby furniture painted soft blue with yellow stars, a toybox full to bursting, a couple of blankets and a stuffed teddy or two on the floor. The cot was white with a Quidditch mobile hanging above it. On the wall was a row of nursery pictures – unicorns and mermaids and dragons – and on the top of the toybox lay a blue book with gold lettering on. Out of everything in the room, it was the only item not covered in a thin layer of dust.

The room was empty of an occupant and had been for some time.

Ministry of Magic, Some Time Previously

"This way, Mr and Mrs Potter."

James eagerly followed the Ministry worker. Lily lagged behind slightly. Was it too early? They had been talking about this for months but she still wasn't sure whether she was ready to be a mother. In the end she'd agreed to stop James banging on about it. He was the exited one. She was terrified.

The Ministry worker directed them through a door to an office. Lily sat nervously down, feeling as if she was about to be interrogated about a crime. Lily only listened as James answered questions like what age a child were they looking for, and were they intending to adopt or have their own children later on. It seemed to take forever. Finally the worker stood and showed them through to a new room.

There were several of what looked like Healers, only with a different uniform, tending to at least six infants from newborns to two-year-olds. Lily's eyes suddenly teared up. All of these children had either lost their parents, been taken away from them for some reason, or abandoned.

She and James were left alone to look. It didn't take long. Lily, who until then had been reluctant to go through with the adoption, changed her mind the moment she laid eyes on the second-youngest. Although his birth date wasn't known, he was estimated to be about four months old. The little hair he had was jet-black and stuck up in a funny tuft, and his eyes were a beautiful bright blue, the same colour as his baby grow and the blanket tucked round him. Both had his name, Harry, stitched on carefully. His parents must have died, because there was no way the same parent who had lovingly embroidered them could have abandoned him.

Lily's heart instantly went out to the child, and she knew they had been right to come after all.

Same Place, Some Time Before That

"How? How can a baby have got from the Auror Office to the Adoption Office?" the Minister bellowed. "Find it! Deaken, get that – child – back here. Now!"

Deaken hurried down to the Adoption Office as fast as he could. He didn't know why the child had to be destroyed, only that if he didn't do his job he would lose it. He had to find a four-month (approximately) old baby with a blue personalised blanket. It shouldn't be too hard. Once he found and delivered the poor wretch he could go home and forget it ever happened over a nice bottle of Firewhisky.

He found two boys, both with blue blankets. One had a name stitched on. The other had initials. He looked back and forth between them. The one with the name had black hair and the one with the initials red. He hesitated. If he delivered the wrong child he would be fired for sure. But he couldn't go all the way back up four floors to ask what colour hair it had, and if he took both up he would have to bring one back down. Deaken wasn't in great health and wanted to continue earning for as long as possible before his retirement – most of his earnings had gone on gambling. He looked back and forth between the boys, torn. In the end he decided it was like a casino and decided which was the best bet.

"Sorry," he whispered to the redhead. "But if I don't I'll lose my job."

With that, he turned his back on the rows of cots and carried the baby out of the room.

TBC …

AN: The identity of the redhead isn't important, before you all start guessing away. He's just an innocent victim. Even I don't know who he is. Poor thing.