The new year arrived at Hogwarts with a cold that seemed to freeze the very stones. January was always the hardest month—the holidays over, the end of term still months away, the castle wrapped in grey light and silent snow. Edmund returned from the Prince manor with a new purpose burning beneath his usual calm exterior.
He had not told anyone about the Chamber. He had not told anyone about Parseltongue. The secret was his alone, and he intended to keep it that way until he understood what it meant. But he could not stop thinking about it. The voice. The serpents carved into the stone. The way the wall had opened for him, as if it had been waiting for him specifically.
He needed answers. But he could not ask for them directly. He would have to find another way.
---
The library became his sanctuary. Not the main library, where Madam Pince watched him with sharp eyes, but the hidden alcove at the top of the spiral stairs—the place where he had first found *The Hidden Ways*. The books there were older, stranger, filled with knowledge that the rest of the castle had forgotten.
He read about bloodlines. About inheritance. About the old families who had intermarried for centuries, their magical signatures blending and diverging like rivers. He read about the Gaunts—the last known descendants of Salazar Slytherin—and their slow decline into poverty and madness. He read about Parseltongue, its rarity, its origins, its connection to the dark arts.
And he read about bloodline verification rituals.
*The ritual requires a sample of the claimant's blood and a sample of a known artifact from the bloodline in question. The magic will compare the magical signatures and determine if the claimant is a descendant. The ritual is irreversible. Once performed, the results are final.*
Edmund closed the book and sat back in his chair. He had no artifact from Slytherin. But he had the Prince family ring—an heirloom that had been in his family for centuries. And he had the marriage document he had found years ago, the one linking a Prince to a Slytherin in the twelfth century. If he could prove that the ring carried the magical signature of the Slytherin bloodline, or that the marriage document was authentic, he might have a path.
He needed to talk to someone who understood the law. Someone who could advise him without requiring him to reveal the Chamber or the Parseltongue.
He wrote to Mr. Thornbury.
---
*Dear Mr. Thornbury,*
*I have a matter of inheritance that I wish to discuss with you. It is sensitive and requires discretion. I would like to arrange a meeting at Hogwarts at your earliest convenience.*
*Please let me know when you are available.*
*Yours,*
*Edmund Prince*
He sealed the letter and gave it to Perseus. The barn owl took it without complaint, winging out into the grey January sky.
---
The response came three days later.
*Lord Prince,*
*I will be at Hogwarts on the fifteenth of February. We can meet in the Headmaster's office, which has been made available for such consultations. Please bring any documents or artifacts you believe are relevant to your inquiry.*
*Yours,*
*Elias Thornbury*
Edmund tucked the letter into his journal. He had a month to prepare.
---
The weeks between the letter and the meeting were some of the busiest of Edmund's academic life. He continued his N.E.W.T. studies—fifteen subjects, individual tutorials, core classes with his friends—but he also spent every spare moment in the hidden alcove, researching bloodlines, inheritance laws, and the history of the Slytherin line.
He found the marriage document again—the fragile parchment he had discovered years ago, recording a union between a Prince and a Slytherin in the twelfth century. He had kept it in his journal, pressed between the pages of his notes. It was old, the ink faded, the wax seal cracked but intact. He had never had it authenticated.
He also had the Prince family ring. It had been in his family for generations, passed down from healer to healer. Its origins were lost to time, but its magical signature was strong. He could feel it pulsing on his finger, warm and steady.
These were not artifacts of Slytherin. But they were evidence of a connection—a thread that might lead to something more.
---
The fifteenth of February arrived clear and cold. Edmund stood in the entrance hall, waiting for Mr. Thornbury. The solicitor appeared in the fireplace at precisely ten o'clock, stepping out of the green flames with a briefcase in one hand and an umbrella in the other.
"Lord Prince," he said, nodding. "Shall we?"
They climbed the stairs to the Headmaster's office. The gargoyle stepped aside at the password—*sherbet lemon*, which Edmund found absurd—and they entered a circular room lined with portraits of former headmasters. The current Headmaster, Phineas Nigellus Black, was not present.
Mr. Thornbury settled into a chair and opened his briefcase. "You mentioned in your letter that you wished to discuss a matter of inheritance. May I ask the nature of the claim?"
Edmund sat across from him. "I have reason to believe that the Prince family may be descended from a branch of the Slytherin bloodline. I have found documentation of a marriage between a Prince and a Slytherin in the twelfth century. I also have the Prince family ring, which may carry a magical signature consistent with that bloodline."
Mr. Thornbury's eyebrows rose. "That is a significant claim. Descendants of Salazar Slytherin are rare. The Gaunt family is the only known line in Britain."
"The Gaunts are also reclusive and in decline," Edmund said. "It is possible that other branches exist."
Mr. Thornbury nodded slowly. "What evidence do you have?"
Edmund reached into his robes and pulled out the marriage document—the fragile parchment that had been hidden in the Prince library for centuries. He handed it to the solicitor.
"This document records a marriage between a Prince and a Slytherin in the twelfth century. The union is recognized by both families. I found it in the Prince family archives."
Mr. Thornbury examined the parchment carefully, holding it up to the light, studying the wax seals and the handwriting. His eyes widened.
"This is genuine," he said. "The seals are consistent with twelfth-century magical documentation. The language is period-appropriate. I would need to have it formally authenticated by the Ministry, but... this is compelling evidence."
He set the parchment down and looked at Edmund. "You also mentioned a ring."
Edmund removed the Prince family ring from his finger and handed it over. The solicitor examined it with equal care, turning it over in his fingers, holding it up to the light.
"The spiral," he said. "I have seen this symbol before. It is ancient—older than Hogwarts, older than the Founders. It appears in texts on bloodline magic, on the rituals used to verify hereditary claims." He set the ring down beside the document. "This is not proof on its own, but it is supporting evidence. To establish a formal claim, you would need to undergo a bloodline verification ritual."
Edmund leaned forward. "Tell me about it."
---
Mr. Thornbury opened a file from his briefcase and spread the documents across the table. "The verification of a bloodline claim is a complex legal and magical process. It is governed by the Wizengamot's Committee on Hereditary Rights, a body that has not convened in over fifty years. The last time a founder's bloodline was successfully verified was in the seventeenth century, when the Gaunt family established their descent from Salazar Slytherin."
"The Gaunts are still around," Edmund said. "Not in good shape, but they exist. The Ministry might contact them for comparison."
"That is possible. But the standard method is a bloodline verification ritual, administered by the Ministry's Department of Mysteries. The ritual requires a sample of your blood and a sample of a known artifact from the bloodline you claim. The magic will compare the magical signatures and determine if you are a descendant."
Edmund thought about the ring, about the marriage document. "The ring is a family heirloom. Would that suffice?"
"It would need to be authenticated by the Department's Curators. They would examine its magical signature and determine if it carries the mark of the Slytherin bloodline. The marriage document would serve as supporting evidence." Mr. Thornbury paused. "The ritual is irreversible. Once performed, the results are final. There is no appeal. If the magic confirms your descent, you will receive a certificate of heritage. If it does not, the claim is dismissed."
Edmund was silent for a long moment. The risk was real. But the reward—the certainty, the knowledge—was beyond measure.
"I want to proceed," he said.
Mr. Thornbury nodded slowly. "I will arrange a meeting with the Department of Mysteries. They will want to authenticate the ring and the document before scheduling the ritual. It may take months."
Edmund had expected as much. "I understand."
---
Mr. Thornbury left that afternoon, his briefcase full of notes and copies. Edmund walked back to the Slytherin common room, his mind racing. He had taken the first step. The ring and the document were in the solicitor's hands. Now he waited.
The system pulsed.
**System Notification: New Long-term Objective**
**The Heir of Slytherin**
*You have initiated a formal bloodline verification process. The Prince family ring and the marriage document have been submitted to the Department of Mysteries for authentication. The ritual, if scheduled, will determine your descent from Salazar Slytherin.*
*Current status: Authentication pending. Awaiting Ministry response.*
*Estimated timeline: 2-4 months.*
Edmund dismissed the interface and sat by the fire. His friends were in the common room, studying, arguing, laughing. They did not know about the Chamber. They did not know about Parseltongue. They did not know about the bloodline claim. They only knew that Edmund was quieter than usual, more distant.
"You're thinking about something," Astrid said, sitting beside him.
"I'm always thinking."
"About what?"
Edmund hesitated. "About the future."
Astrid studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded. "The future can wait. We're still here."
Edmund smiled. "That's what Cassius said."
"Cassius is sometimes right."
"Don't tell him that."
Astrid laughed and went back to her rune stones. Edmund stared into the fire, the weight of his secret pressing on his chest. He had taken the first step. Now he waited.
---
The weeks passed. February became March, and the cold began to loosen its grip on the castle. Edmund continued his N.E.W.T. studies, his independent research, his prefect duties. He did not tell anyone about the bloodline claim. He did not tell anyone about Parseltongue. The secret was his alone.
But the whispers continued. Every night, when the castle was quiet, he heard them. The voice from the Chamber, calling to him, waiting for him. He resisted the urge to return. He was not ready. Not yet.
---