216Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. I greatly appreciate HonorverseFan taking the time to edit this chapter. Your friendship and suggestions are a constant source of inspiration.
I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
Cheers.
Chapter 2: The Second Serpent
Harry ran. His feet and legs seemed to fly beneath him but his speed still felt sluggishly deficient.
"Come... come to me... Let me rip you... Let me tear you... Let me kill you." The words pulsed in his ear, filling him with dread. What manner of thing could instill such hateful intent with mere murmurs? The malignant voice's whispered words seemed to echo all around, rattling the very stonework of Hogwarts and the marrow of his bones.
His legs pumped faster, trying desperately to find the source of the noise before its dark aims were achieved.
Abruptly, he skidded to a halt. His thumping heart jolting further in its erratic pace for an entirely new reason.
Yellow-green eyes were staring wonderingly at the walls and ceiling in long sweeps. Black hair fell in wild, winding curves down a green-robed back while short legs trudged forward as though in a daze.
It was the baffled amazement on the quiet girl's face that had drawn his attention. Yellow-green eyes that he had only ever seen full of flinty intensity while sitting in class were now opened wide in astonished awe.
The moment was broken just as quickly as it had come. Harry's ear perked with another whisper from the formless, sinister voice.
Daphne Greengrasses head swiveled to the side just as his own did, moving in tandem with the direction of the phantasmal threat.
Realization dawned like tar bubbling from a pit.
"You can hear it too," he accused, blood rushing in his ears.
The girl jumped as though hit with a bolt of lightning, her eyes swinging to meet his own. Her open-mouthed surprise was at once befuddled and odd.
She stared at him.
He stared at her.
His eyebrow quirked up as he repeated his earlier sentence.
A look of abject wonder appeared on the milky-white complexion of Daphne, a sort of amazement so profound he felt like an intruder witnessing it. That radiant expression made him oddly uncomfortable, causing him to question what the cause could be.
Suddenly, as though whatever spell had been cast over her had broken, she snapped to attention. Her back going ramrod straight as her heels clicked together, appearing for all intents and purposes as a parody of a soldier. A curious fumbling occurred, as she pulled out a grey slate board from her bag while drawing her wand.
Harry eyed her actions warily, his fingers tightening on his own phoenix-feather wand in response to the Slytherin's actions. He had never had much luck with members of that house in the past. However, instead of pointing it at him, she began to scratch her wand point against the slate board furtively, eyes stealing glances at him all the while.
Bemusedly, he stared at her. Something about this odd girl ensnared his attention.
After a short moment, the board was turned for his perusal. Emblazoned across the slate was the simple sentence: "I can hear you."
Harry scratched the back of his head, confusion and irritation creeping upwards. "Right, I would hope so."
More wonder effused her face.
Finally, the confusion in his own expression seemed to crack whatever world she'd briefly tumbled into, because she erased the words from her board with a practiced swish from her wand and began writing new ones.
Her neat writing was again turned to face him. "I can't hear. I am deaf."
He studied the new sentences with apprehensive vexation, puzzle pieces falling into place. Daphne had never been called on a single time in any class Slytherin and Gryffindor had shared. In fact, during the two years he'd been at Hogwarts, Harry had never heard her speak or seen anyone speak to her. She was an aberration, an oddity that the entirety of the student and faculty body seemed willing to ignore.
To Harry, that had always made her stand out instead. He remembered, acutely, how it felt to be a rock in the middle of a stream, watching the world flow around and past you.
Harry examined her face for any hint of deceit but found none. "But you said you heard me?"
She had a dreamy expression as she met his gaze. A nod, followed by a smile.
"How?"
She wrote, "I do not know."
"Not really helpful," he muttered to himself. He couldn't stay frustrated for long, however, because his newfound companion's utter delight by the strange turn of events proved infectious.
Harry glared at the green colouring of her robes but shook off his dislike. It didn't feel right to associate her with Malfoy just because of her house, especially considering he'd never even seen them together.
Tentatively, he stuck out his hand. "My name is Harry Potter, don't think we've officially met before."
Daphne looked down at his hand. Looked up at his face. Looked over her shoulder as though he was talking to someone behind her. Then with a nervous fidget and a splotchy blush, reached out to wrap her hand so loosely around his to be effectively useless.
They both held one another's hands limply between them for a while, before Harry decided the awkwardness was never going to end on its own and retracted his arm.
"Uhm, right, well, I best be off," Harry muttered, jabbing a thumb pointedly over his shoulder in the direction they'd last heard the voice.
Daphne nodded her head and bashfully offered him a smile as he turned away.
As he walked down the winding passageways of Hogwarts, Harry couldn't help but ponder if he was the first person who had ever attempted to talk to Daphne in the two years they'd been at school. From what little he knew, Wizarding Britain had not improved their understanding of the deaf, blind, or impaired beyond the Middle Ages.
Had she been treated as inconsequential, as broken all her life?
The memory of a rowboat on a dark lake rose to the surface of his mind. He scratched the back of his head, resolving to extend the hand he should have a year ago, when a young, uncertain girl had sat alone on a boat. A girl who clutched loneliness to her like pearls. A deaf girl who lived in a soundless, friendless world.
Like a young boy in a cupboard under the stairs.
XXXXXXXX
Harry waited with some trepidation in the alcove Daphne had designated to meet at. He'd received a letter delivered by owl early that morning, before breakfast, and had marveled at the stilted language wrapped so elegantly in perfect penmanship.
It had only borne a name and location, with a small entreaty to meet at the current time.
Not for the first time, Harry worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Surely this wasn't some sort of Slytherin trick. He didn't much care for the green-robed students but, as far as he'd observed, Daphne was particularly ostracized by her House.
Was it simply because she was deaf? Or was there something else that he didn't know?
His musings were interrupted by the swirling arrival of the girl in question.
She panted loudly, having obviously run her way here, but the noise was far greater than a person would typically allow in polite company.
Harry wondered if she even knew she was making noise at all.
Daphne had a riot of onyx curls, twisting like snakes from her hurried rush. Those incomprehensible eyes made of chipped jade sought his own, only to widen at his presence, as though she was surprised he'd actually come.
A tentative smile broke out across her cherubic face.
"Hello," Harry said, pushing the word out slowly and moving his mouth wide in the hopes it would make communication easier.
She frowned slightly before breaking into frantic motion, searching her knapsack for the board she carried. A message was jotted down and flicked his way.
"Hello. Thank you for coming."
He nodded.
An awkward silence engulfed the two students, neither quite sure of the other, or of themselves.
Harry watched, in somewhat fascinated amusement, as the girl across from him began to squirm.
First, she picked at imaginary linen on her robe cuff, then she began to shift her weight from one foot to the other, only to catch herself and go stone still. That lasted all of three heartbeats before her fingers began to twist together in a nervous fidget.
She broke into action once more, writing a message with an anxious pace that startled him.
Expecting an urgent message, he was surprised into stupor at the line of text turned his way.
"The Flubberfly has sixteen organs but only three are useful. The other thirteen are decorative and used to impress females during egg-laying season."
He read the sentences. Read them a second time. Looked at her. Looked back down. Scratched his head, and then cleverly replied with, "huh?"
She shifted her weight again, like an anxious little dance. A blush erupted across her cheeks as she hastily wiped away her letters so she could write again.
"I am sorry. I talk when I am nervous."
He grinned in reply, but his mind came to an unsettling conclusion. A deaf girl who hates awkward silences. A student with no friends, who is left alone in classes and during meals. Does she have the urge to communicate? To fill that empty silence that makes her so uncomfortable but has no one to fill it with?
That thought panged hollowly against the walled chambers inside of him.
Trying not to let his face show the sad thoughts percolating inside, he raised his eyes to meet hers, only to take a half-step back.
Her yellow-green irises were unsettlingly vibrant and expressive. They flickered to and fro with a restless introspection and when they landed on him, he felt as though his insides were being scraped out for perusal and review.
Those eyes, bewitching and disconcerting in equal parts, drank deeply of all they surveyed. In that moment, he felt that nothing eluded her gaze.
She stared at the way his mouth formed words, causing him to self-consciously wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.
Her eyes widened.
"I don't mind," he finally stated. "I've no idea what a Flubberfly is, but I imagine having extra organs could be nifty. You know, if you misplace one or two."
A bashful, tentative smile was shot his way before a snorting laugh hiccuped out of her slender throat. It was a crude, raucous sound that did not fit her ladylike appearance whatsoever. It made a grin spread across his own face but Daphne seemed embarrassed and quickly tried to stifle it.
He frowned. Someone had obviously either made fun of her laugh or told her not to use it. Why else would she so quickly stop a sound she could not hear?
Regardless, her face seemed light and happy at the jest he'd offered to defuse her nerves. Although, the surprised lines tightening her eyes cemented the truth he'd guessed. Her trivia was not typically well received, if it was even able to be given in the first place.
"Well," Harry spoke brightly, trying to move away from the dark thoughts clouding his mind, "I borrowed my friend Ron's chessboard. Would you like to play?"
A beaming smile was her silent, joyous reply.
XXXXXXXX
The dueling club had been a disaster.
Harry, apparently, was able to speak Parseltongue. The revelation's only upside was that he now had a clue as to why Daphne could hear him but not others.
When the student body surrounding the stage had turned wide-eyed with fear, only her eyes of honeyed jade had shown a wondering curiosity. The same look of halfway befuddlement and total joy he'd seen in the hallway chasing after the disembodied voice.
Daphne had understood him when no one else did. She could hear the same strange language of snakes that he was unwittingly capable of speaking. Harry wasn't sure exactly how all the puzzle pieces fit together, or whether the mysterious voice was a parseltongue as well, but he knew enough to seek out a more experienced wizard for guidance.
Unfortunately, he also had no idea where the Headmaster's office was.
Thus, he had found himself walking down to Hagrid's for a visit and, hopefully, information.
Harry spent a pleasant evening with his half-giant friend but his efforts to pump for information remained fruitless. However, upon walking back through the castle, he quite unexpectedly tripped over the prone, stone-like body of Justin Finch-Fletchley.
He had barely enough time to stare agog at the boy before being rounded up by Professor McGonagall and hastily sent to the Headmaster's office.
There, he had been sat rather hastily in a chair and left to his own devices for a spell, before Dumbledore swept into the room wrapped in a colorful periwinkle robe.
The interview had been straightforward but nerve-wracking. It was always hard to tell exactly how Dumbledore felt, or what was on the man's mind. Now more than ever, with the troubled clouds darkening his expression and dimming his eyes.
Finally, when it was clear that no more information could be wrung from him, Dumbledore sat back in his chair, looking tired and thoughtful. Harry took the opportunity to broach a different topic.
"Professor… I wondered if you could tell me about Daphne Greengrass?" Harry brushed his robe-covered knees unthinkingly. "I only ask because, well, all the oddities happening this year and…. uhm, did you know she is a Parselmouth?"
Dumbledore's expression cleared briefly, the sun shining through a storm. "Marvelous! Such a rare gift." He peered over his spectacles at Harry. "I suspect she can hear you then?"
"Yes," Harry replied, surprised. "How is that possible, Headmaster?"
"I've no idea," the man said genially, with a large smile and spread hands.
Harry stared at him dumbfounded.
Dumbledore took his spectacles off to shine them with a simple sweep of his wand, before perching them back on his crooked nose. "If I were forced to guess, however…" He trailed off with a twitch of the lips.
"What would your best guess be?"
"Did you know, Harry, that Muggles have deduced that snakes 'hear' using vibrations rather than soundwaves like you and I? Fascinating creatures." A starry smile showed white teeth behind his equally white beard. "Perhaps, Ms Greengrass is unable to hear regular voices formed of these sound waves but Parseltongue, as a magical language, uses something else. Perhaps it forcefully uses magic to vibrate air at a frequency powerful enough that snakes can hear it."
"So could her family be Parselmouths as well?"
"I imagine not. Had such a gift sprouted in their line, the family would have made such a connection to Salazar Slytherin known. More likely, it is a throwback to an ancestor that, through some random quirk of fate, manifested in young Ms Greengrass."
"Is that how I have it?"
Dumbledore's face turned suddenly pensive, the light from the fireplace causing his half-moon spectacles to gleam, obscuring his eyes. "Perhaps," the Headmaster spoke slowly, ponderingly.
"Can anyone learn to speak Parseltongue?" Harry questioned, deciding to switch topics away from the suddenly troubled air hanging over the office.
"A good question. Truthfully, I am unsure. Parseltongue is a language shrouded in mystery. Few have had the ability throughout history, and it had been jealously guarded from attempts at researching it. I would imagine that some people would be able to mimic the sounds but they would never be able to understand it spoken to them. It isn't a racial language like Mermish, for instance. It is magic tied to certain Pureblood lines."
"So if Daphne can hear it, she might be able to speak it?"
A smile partially hidden by a white beard. "A lovely possibility."
"Thank you, sir." Harry moved to get up, assuming his audience was over. But a raised hand stopped him from lurching all the way to his feet.
"Wait, my boy. There is something else you should know if you seek friendship with Ms Greengrass." Dumbledore paused as though considering his next words carefully. "What I am about to tell you should not leave this room. I know only as much as I do because Nicholas Flamel and I were once called upon to see if we could figure out a cure. And I only share this sensitive information because I believe you are uniquely suited to understanding." The Headmaster peered through his half-moon spectacles and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling he was being weighed.
"The Greengrass family is an old one, completely pure of blood. However, what the wizarding world does not know is that the ancient family is under a dark and terrible bloodcurse. Has been for centuries."
"A bloodcurse, sir?"
"It is a type of dark magic, created so that each successive generation suffers just as the first victim of the curse would. It requires not only great power from the caster but potent hate as well. Few would be capable of a rage so vile it could harm not only the original target but each and every successive innocent that would come from their family line."
Harry twisted the fingers in his lap, knowing the next question he had to ask. "Is that why Daphne is deaf?"
"In a way, yes. Ms Greengrass is deaf for the same reason her father does not have the use of his legs and her sister is frail and sickly. You see, this particular bloodcurse takes something from each generation that remains pureblood. What it takes is different for each person."
Harry pondered for a moment before deciding to speak. Unsure if his instincts were correct. "You said 'remains pureblood.' Does that mean the curse could be broken?"
Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "Astute of you to notice, Harry. You are correct. Bloodcurses, while potent, require an intentional cause and effect. It is what powers the curse long after the caster dies. Accordingly, if one can deduce what the intent of the curse originally was, theoretically, it can be broken." The Headmaster paused, his long-fingered hand tugging at his beard absentmindedly.
"Nicholas and I, many years before the birth of young Daphne and her sister, Astoria, were able to glean the curse's anchoring fixation." The Headmaster's blue eyes suddenly turned cold in a way Harry had never seen before. "Upon relaying the revelation to the Greengrasses, we were informed that they had known all along. That the family had always known."
Harry scratched his head. "I'm sorry Headmaster, maybe I'm not understanding. So, the Greengrass family has known how to break the bloodcurse for centuries but never did so?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Dumbledore heaved a sigh that felt as heavy as the castle surrounding them, filled with an ancient weariness that spoke his age far truer than the lines on the man's face or the whiteness of his beard. "Because, Harry, the Greengrass family has always put preserving the purity of their line over the health of their children."
Harry froze in his chair. A loud keening noise seemed to buzz in his ears at the revelation.
He couldn't fathom the sheer brokenness of Daphne's family. Even as a young boy he'd known his home life was different. More painful certainly. But to hear that her family, for generations, had actively chosen an illusory concept of purity over their children's health… it seemed impossible.
He felt sick, rageful, and so, truly sad.
Trying to work his tongue in a suddenly too-dry mouth, Harry swallowed convulsively. "But, sir, that is…" he struggled to find language damning enough but failed. "It is wrong."
Dumbledore's eyes warmed, as a small but bitter smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Indeed," the man agreed. "Indeed."
XXXXXXXX
Daphne waited for him at the alcove they'd claimed as their own early in the year. It was the midway point between the Dungeons and Gryffindor Tower, but secretive enough that they wouldn't be disturbed by many random passersby.
He had stalked his way from Dumbledore's office, his black mood flickering around him like the torchlights illuminating the walls. The stares and fear of the students he passed grated on his nerves. Rumours were already spreading like spilled blood upon the floor. Soon, the whole castle would be covered in the sticky gossip that would cling to him like tainted paint. Marking him as a freak.
Daphne's back was to him as he rounded the corner and Harry paused before taking light steps forward. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to be quieter around his deaf friend, it was, after all, pointless. But the silence that cloaked her seemed built of equal parts tranquility and loneliness, rearing up like a sentient, somber presence that consumed heedless noise. It was a hallowed thing, he mused. The bustle and hectic sounds pervading the castle all parting like a river around Daphne's stone.
Harry wasn't used to such clamour. Nor did he particularly like the teeming crowds and constant attention. He'd spent nearly eleven years of his life being ignored and shut away in his quiet, dark cupboard.
He knew it was wrong, that the abuse and neglect he underwent was anything but normal. Yet even so, the weight of accumulated years rested heavy on his shoulders. A creature named habit. The dark, the lonely, and the quiet were familiar to him. Perhaps that was why he felt such an odd, instant kinship with the girl before him.
Noiselessly, he crept towards Daphne but his attempts at a silent approach were thwarted regardless. As always, whether it be by intuition or some unknowable shift in the air, she turned. Her eyes widened at his presence, mouth agog in shy surprise.
A faint pink spread across her cheeks as it always did when they met, a byproduct of her bashfulness. She was starved for company, he knew. She was unused to being around anyone, least of all a peer.
Hermione had told him that, as far as she could tell, Wizarding Britain simply had no idea how to handle the deaf or the blind. Potions and healing spells seemed to work, occasionally, on those who became impaired during their lifetime, but had no effect on children born with sight or hearing impairments.
She'd seemed stumped by the ambiguity but Harry had thought he'd understood. Magic made things whole, it was able to revert what had been lost to some extent. But those born deaf like Daphne were already whole. There was nothing to be 'fixed' about them.
Daphne was just a normal girl after all.
The object of his consternation smiled shyly up at him, yellow-green eyes gleaming through black lashes. She was still uncertain of him, and bumbling when it came to their budding friendship. He knew it was partly his fault as well. Neither of them were terribly sure of themselves or how to foster relationships.
He'd mainly fallen in with Ron and Hermione through sheer luck.
Daphne tucked a stray curl behind her ear, eyes leaving his demurely. She fiddled with her board and wand in a nervous fidget he was rapidly becoming accustomed to. A jerky moment later found the Slytherin's wand flying across the board, imprinting a message hurriedly shown to him.
"There are thirty-three species of magical chickens. The largest is the Chinese Shuyu. It has six feet, three tails, and four heads."
Her message delivered, Daphne jittered anxiously, eyes searching his face for approval.
His newfound friend had a certain fondness for trivia. Sharing information to cover up her social anxiety. It was rather endearing, all things considered.
"Fascinating. I wonder if the heads all crow at once in the morning or take turns?" Harry replied, smiling.
A whoosh of air escaped from her cheeks, giddiness painting its way across her own expression.
Then, recognizing he had asked a question, her face turned serious as though discerning the merits of his words, not recognizing the jest.
Harry's grin grew as she tapped finger to her chin in ponderment. She wrote a short message without meeting his eyes. "Very good question. I do not know. I will look it up later and share my findings."
He briefly gave his gratitude before growing serious. Daphne seemed calmer, now that her nervous outburst had been given form.
"Dumbledore knows," Harry said without preamble. He tried to keep his sentences short and to the point, making it easier for Daphne to read his lips.
His Parseltongue seemed to react randomly, requiring a way for them to communicate even without it. Luckily, the Slytherin was adept at following along even without sound.
It had taken him an embarrassing amount of time before realizing his attempt at over-enunciating the words only made it harder for her to understand him. Now he spoke normally, trusting her to keep up if he ever failed to slip unconsciously into Parseltongue.
Daphne nodded before sucking her bottom lip in between her teeth, chewing thoughtfully. She scribbled a message on her board before turning it around for his perusal.
"We hear snakes."
He nodded affirmatively.
She peered down at her board. Paused. Erased what was there and wrote again. "You speak Parseltongue. I hear Parseltongue."
"Yes."
Her gaze turned inward, obviously turning over the ramifications in her mind.
Harry watched the unfocused meanderings for a while before touching her shoulder to gain her attention once more. "If you can hear it, you can speak it." At her alarmed response, he smiled gently. "Try," he urged.
Daphne hated speaking, he knew. Refused to do so in class until the teachers had given up on her participation entirely. She was horribly, terribly embarrassed by her voice.
Opening her mouth with an unsure, stricken expression branded across her face, Daphne tried, "Hauirree." His name came out garbled and the syllables were strung together with an unmodulated, unpracticed voice.
Flames licked up her cheeks as she gauged his reaction. He kept his face blank, not wanting to discourage her bravery and trust.
"It was English, not Parseltongue. I think." After the Dueling Club disaster, Harry had finally started to recognize the difference between the magical and mundane tongues. At least, he hoped so.
Daphne looked crestfallen for only a moment before brightening considerably. She rooted around in her knapsack for a while before brandishing a small spellbook. Leafing through the pages quickly, she tapped a particular page for his perusal.
Emblazoned on the parchment was the very spell Draco had used to summon the snake.
Understanding her train of thought he nodded before drawing his wand and following the casting instructions. With a small twist of his wrist, a snake was spat into existence on the stone floor.
It peered balefully up at him before turning its head down the hallway, obviously intending to slither away.
"Stop," Harry commanded, his Parseltongue arising naturally at the reptile's presence.
The snake turned its head at his voice, flicked its tongue out to taste the air, and dutifully remained still.
Turning, Harry gestured for Daphne to continue.
Visibly steeling herself, the girl began again. Speaking different commands in a voice entirely unaccustomed to use, attempting words she knew only by letters and definitions.
Until, finally, it worked.
"Come," she hissed, voice hitching only slightly. Harry started, having become increasingly convinced she perhaps couldn't speak Parseltongue. But a pleased smile broke out across his face as the snake wound its way up Daphne's leg to rest its head amicably across her shoulders.
It was then that he met her gaze. Her eyes at that moment filled his heart with cotton and clouds. It stole his breath and sent his stomach plummeting towards the ground.
Wonder. Beautiful, absolute, wonder.
The sheer exaltation painted across her face floored him. Finding out he was a wizard, holding a wand in his hand at Olivander's, seeing Hogwarts, making friends for the first time in his life… all seemed to pale in comparison.
Her joy was overwhelming and it broke his heart. "I can hear," she said in awe. Tears flowed freely down pink cheeks as her yellow-green eyes met his. "I can speak."
Such a simple thing. A beautiful, wonderful, simple thing. To hear, to speak.
Harry smiled and, for the first time, consciously chose to speak Parseltongue. "Yes," he said, "you can."
Author's Note: My experience with the Deaf community has been a highlight in my life. I began learning Sign Language in high school and am currently working on being an accredited interpreter. My interpretation of Daphne is meant respectfully. To any and all Deaf readers, know that you are loved and strong.