4,424A/N: I have to thank my wonderful beta Gwendolyn for making sure that both story and I get through this chapter alive.
II.
Harry was having an awful birthday all around. First he'd had to withstand Dudley's taunting for receiving no presents, then he'd worked in the garden without getting any food, and now he had to pretend not to exist because the Masons were coming over.
"Remember, boy—one sound from upstairs and you'll regret you'd ever been born," Vernon Dursley snarled as Harry trudged up to his room.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he said dully.
It was so like his uncle to come up with these little inspirational statements that made you feel all warm and fuzzy on your special day. With a sigh, Harry slipped into his room and was fully prepared to collapse on the bed after working hard all afternoon, but to his astonishment, there was already someone sitting there.
Huge tennis-ball eyes, floppy ears, pillowcase for clothing.
Harry had become familiar enough with the wizarding world over the last year to know that this was a house-elf, but what was a house-elf doing in his bedroom? The Dursleys certainly had none, with the exception of Harry whom they used for the same purpose.
The elf bounced from the bed and lowered his back in a deep bow.
"Harry Potter! Dobby is so honoured to meet Harry Potter sir—"
The creature would have gone on, but Harry shushed him forcefully:
"Quiet! What are you doing here?"
The house-elf's ears drooped a little at the admonishment, but the enthusiasm in its eyes did not diminish.
"Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter sir! Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!"
Harry stared at the house-elf. Did he just say?..
"Who sent you?" he asked, frowning.
House-elves acted on the bidding of their masters; Dobby had to be there on an errand.
The question plunged Dobby into unexpected frenzy.
"No-no-nobody sent Dobby! Dobby disobeyed his family! Dobby is a bad elf!" With that, the creature jumped a foot in the air, grabbed Harry's bedside lamp and started hitting himself on the head.
Harry thought he heard the conversation quieten downstairs. He remembered his uncle's threats well; suddenly afraid, he lunged at the elf and took his weapon away.
"Stop right now!" he hissed. "If you make that much noise again, I will find out the name of your master and tell them that you'd come to see me."
Dobby's eyes widened, and he clamped a bony hand over his mouth. The next time he spoke, it was in a stage whisper that was still not as quiet as Harry would have liked, but better than the incessant squealing from before.
"Harry Potter must not come back to Hogwarts," the creature repeated. "There is a plot—a plot to make terrible things happen in the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year. Harry Potter will be in great danger. Harry Potter is too important for us to—"
"I see," Harry interrupted. This had to be a ploy by one of his Slytherin classmates. They were certainly rich enough to own house-elves and eager enough to keep him from returning to Hogwarts; it sounded like something Malfoy would do just for kicks. "So you've come here to tell me that I shouldn't go back to Hogwarts. Is that all?"
The elf nodded with so much enthusiasm that his ears flopped madly against his head.
"Yes! Harry Potter must promise Dobby that he will not go back to Hogwarts!"
"And then you will leave," Harry ascertained.
"Yes, then Dobby will leave. Dobby will know Harry Potter is safe!"
Harry scrutinized the creature for a moment.
"Okay," he said.
Dobby blinked. Harry raised his eyebrows.
"Okay, I will not go back to Hogwarts. You can leave now."
Dobby continued looking amazed, as if he had expected the mission to be much more difficult. He eyed Harry with a certain amount of suspicion.
"Harry Potter promises he will not go back to Hogwarts?"
"Yes, I promise," Harry confirmed, crossing fingers in his pocket.
The elf shuffled from foot to foot and finally gave a tentative smile.
"Thank you, Harry Potter sir. Harry Potter will see that it is for the best. Dobby will go now. And… Dobby is sorry, but here is Harry Potter's post."
The elf produced a small pack of envelopes and parcels from somewhere inside his ragged pillowcase. Harry felt his breath catch. Was this why nobody had written to him all summer? Was this creature the reason why Harry had sometimes wondered if the entire wizarding world was just something he'd dreamt up?
Harry must've looked murderous, because the elf took a fearful step back.
"D-Dobby thought that if Harry Potter had no mail he would think that his friends had abandoned him…" he started, wide-eyed, but quickly realized that Harry didn't need to hear this right now. "Harry Potter now has his letters, so Dobby will be going!"
With a ringing pop, the wretched creature was gone from Harry's bedroom.
Harry stood glued to the spot, clenching his fists. Whose commands was the elf following? Which one of Harry's classmates was dumb enough to think that Harry would fall for their scheme? Grave danger, his foot! Whoever had sent Dobby clearly had no idea about Harry's home life, because as things stood right now, he'd rather face grave danger at Hogwarts than spend a whole year at Privet Drive.
Idiots. Bloody—wankers.
Harry marched towards the bed and took the top letter with shaking fingers. He'd thought he hadn't made friends good enough to write him over the summer. Certainly none of the Slytherins were close with him. Harry had half-hoped that Neville would not forget him, but he hadn't been overly surprised when Neville had stayed silent, too. Now it seemed that people had not forgotten his birthday. There were letters and parcels on his bed, right here…
Harry took a deep breath and dug in. Neville had written once during the summer, apparently, but received no reply from Harry and decided not to bother him again. However, the timid boy did send Harry a box of Chocolate Frogs for his birthday. Zabini and Granger sent birthday cards, and Hagrid managed to owl him a whole photo album. Harry was smiling widely by the time he was done opening his cards and presents.
He was so happy he almost forgot to resent the elf. Almost.
xXxXx
A month later, Harry stared at the barrier before Platform 9 in disbelief. He'd just tried to get through, like last year—and the bloody wall had stayed solid! Or turned solid, whichever, point was—Harry couldn't pass. And the Hogwarts Express was about to leave, and—Harry glanced at the station clock desperately. It was one minute to eleven. He tried again, more discreetly, aware that a boy with a hooting owl in a cage attracted unwanted attention. The wall wouldn't budge. The barrier stayed closed.
Harry watched, heart sinking, as the clock hands turned to signify that it was officially eleven o'clock now and the train was gone. What on earth was he going to do? He had to get to Hogwarts; there was no way he was going back to the Dursleys.
He needed a plan. He retreated towards a bench, parked the trolley next to it and sat down, the owl cage in his lap. How could the barrier have refused him entry? It was like someone was trying to stop him from going…
Wait. He knew that someone wanted to prevent him from returning to school this year; was it the insane elf meddling again? Harry snapped his gaze up, looking around the station in the wild hope of catching the culprit, but no wide-eyed creature was in evidence.
Then again, right now the biggest question was not who had done this, but what to do about it. He had no idea where Hogwarts was and could definitely not get there on his own. Therefore, he needed help. Harry wrinkled his nose. He didn't like needing help.
In order to ask for assistance, he had to contact someone; the only way to contact someone was by owl; the wizards he knew were at the school. There, once he'd calmed down, the solution wasn't too difficult: he needed to send an owl to Hogwarts, and hopefully someone would come and pick him up.
"Dear Professor Dumbledore…"
Harry felt the safest writing to the Headmaster. He'd spoken to the old man once and he hadn't seemed too bad; besides, Harry didn't properly know any teachers except Professor Snape. And if anybody believed Harry would ever write to Snape, they had to think again.
Glancing around surreptitiously, just in case anyone was watching, Harry unlatched the lock on Hedwig's cage and tied the letter to her leg.
"There you go, girl. Could you take it to Headmaster Dumbledore at Hogwarts? Maybe it'll make up for all that time you had to spend locked up in the summer?"
Hedwig hooted reproachfully, as if rejecting the claim that anything so meagre as a flight to Hogwarts could possibly compensate for her miserable summer. Harry shrugged, smiled wryly and let her go. A few people noticed that there was an owl flying above their heads, and a couple of young kids squealed, but thankfully nobody realized that it was Harry's doing. He tried to hide behind his luggage trolley and seem inconspicuous. After all, it was likely that he'd be here for a while.
And his life since elf's visit had been going so swimmingly, too! Harry's school list for this year had thankfully been delivered when he'd been alone in his room and he'd started planning for his trip to Diagon Alley at once. It had taken a lot of sneakiness, diplomatic skill and subtle threats to convince his relatives to take him to London and drop him off at the Leaky Cauldron. The Dursleys had been dead set against going, of course.
("We'd promised to stamp this unnatural nonsense out of you! I'm not helping a—freak—to become even more—freakish!")
However, since Harry had managed to behave himself during the Masons' visit and Uncle Vernon had got his very important deal signed, the Dursleys had been in a better mood than normal in the ensuing weeks. Aunt Petunia had taken to leafing through property magazines in search of that perfect house in Majorca, Dudley had been happy to get a new VCR, and Uncle Vernon had been bursting with pride at his own ingenuity. In such a setting, the family had found itself more prepared to tolerate Harry and his abnormality, especially since Harry had taken extra care to be polite and not rise to any of Dudley's baits. The final argument to convince the Dursleys to take him to the Leaky Cauldron and then to King's Cross had been that, surely, they wanted to get Harry out of their hair for another school year.
A while into Harry's wait at the station, a matronly lady stopped by to inquire why he was sitting there all alone. Harry managed to convince her that he was just waiting for someone, and dearly hoped that someone would actually turn up soon. He'd be shipped to an orphanage at this rate, otherwise.
"Potter!"
Harry jumped. There was no mistaking that voice or those malevolent tones.
"Professor Snape," Harry acknowledged, resigned, and stood up.
His Head of House was looking at him in a way that communicated supreme displeasure.
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry offered without any hope that it would mollify the Professor.
"Not as sorry as you will be," the man said and marched off towards a shadowy alcove.
Sighing, Harry followed the Professor's billowing robes. Without further ado, the Professor shrunk Harry's luggage and put it in his pocket; then he grabbed Harry's arm, and the world dissolved in a whirl of colour and sound.
Trailing after the Potions Master through the quaint town of Hogsmeade, Harry couldn't help but grin widely at the realization that he was back in the world of magic once again.
xXxXx
Not that the school year got off to an easy start, Harry had to admit ruefully. Professor Snape had still not forgiven him for the detour to Kings Cross, Professor Lockhart had made Harry believe that it was possible to die of embarrassment, and giving Quidditch a shot didn't go as painlessly as Harry had dreamt.
"So you want to try out for the team," Marcus Flint said, cracking his knuckles.
Harry looked at him impassively.
"Yes."
"For Seeker."
"Yes."
Flint's mouth spread in a malicious grin.
"Well, then you'll be glad to know that Draco Malfoy's trying out for the same spot, won't you?"
A heavy weight dropped into Harry's gut, but he tried to not let it show.
"I'm not surprised," he said, and he really shouldn't have been.
Well, too late to back out now; if he folded, Malfoy would see it as a sign of submission. Damn Slytherin politics, anyway. Now he could only hope to get out of this situation without losing face.
Malfoy sneered at him. Harry raised his eyebrows, feigning indifference.
xXxXx
Harry's prestige in Slytherin rose slightly once he'd become the new Seeker. People knew that both he and the Malfoy scion had tried out for the position; the amount of raw talent he had to possess in order to beat Draco and his father's influence commanded respect. Malfoy did not, of course, go down without a fight: he was now one of Slytherin's Chasers.
Malfoy's father happened to donate a generous amount of money for buying the Slytherin team a set of Nimbus 2001 brooms. Everyone knew that the donation had had something to do with Marcus Flint's decision to kick another Chaser off the team in Malfoy's favour, but nobody was saying anything. After all, it had been only prudent on Flint's part.
Harry wasn't sure what he felt about flying on a broom Mr Malfoy had purchased, but he just shrugged and let it go. Some things were just not worth fighting over.
Others, however, were, and Harry had wasted no time in telling one Colin Creevey that, should he try to accost him for autographs again, Harry would tell the Slytherin Quidditch team that Colin was trying to sabotage him. He'd like to see Colin walk away alive and breathing from that. The mousy Gryffindor had stared, wide-eyed, gulped audibly and sped off, shouting that he was sorry all the way. He'd almost made Harry feel bad about being so blunt, but the idea of walking around the school with an adoring shadow for everyone to laugh at was more than Harry could bear. Malfoy would not have let Harry live it down.
Gilderoy Lockhart, in the meanwhile, was a problem on a whole different level.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," the Professor would say and throw an arm about Harry's shoulders as if they were the best of chums. "Do not start giving out signed photos too early in your career: it might make you appear too eager for spotlight."
Or:
"When you get to the level of nationwide popularity I'm at, Harry, you'll learn that fame is a burden you have to bear with dignity."
Harry felt he bore his current burden with dignity, but he was reaching the end of his tether. He'd started wearing his Invisibility Cloak whenever in Lockhart's immediate vicinity outside of lessons; in class, Lockhart was harder to escape. If he called on Harry to do another impersonation of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf, Harry would not be responsible for his actions.
xXxXx
"Lockhart has no clue what he's talking about," Nott uttered with confidence. "He's even worse than Quirrell."
"And that's saying something," Harry agreed.
They were leaving the Great Hall after the Halloween Feast. It had been rather fantastic: delicious food, huge carved pumpkins, and scarily real decorations. It just made Harry happy he was a wizard, all over again.
"This school is going to the dogs," Malfoy scoffed. "Dumbledore keeps hiring idiots."
"Urgh," Crabbe grunted in what Harry assumed was agreement.
Parkinson giggled as if Malfoy had said something witty. Harry kept quiet. He, too, felt that Defence teachers were seriously lacking—last year, Quirrell had been too timid to properly teach and used to eye Harry oddly before he'd disappeared entirely—but Harry wouldn't go as far as to badmouth Dumbledore who'd only been nice to him.
"Mind you, Potter, Lockhart does bring out the dramatic actor in you," Malfoy said. "Pity that he's stopped calling on you to act out scenes from his books. I think the role of the Banshee suited you most."
Crabbe and Goyle bellowed with laughter.
Ignore Malfoy. He had to ignore Malfoy.
"The Yeti was good too," Nott added. "Must be the beastly Muggle nature in you shining through, Potter."
"You know full well my mother was a witch, Nott—" Harry started, throwing caution to the wind, but suddenly second year Slytherins ran into the backs of other students who'd come to an abrupt halt.
"What's happening?" Parkinson demanded in a shrill voice.
Through a gap between two people in front of him, Harry could discern the corridor, flooded for some reason. There was a message on one of the walls, written in something that resembled blood:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Harry blinked, re-read the message and didn't like it upon the second reading any more than on the first. Then he spotted something hanging from a torch bracket under the crimson words. He couldn't make out what it was, but his concentration soon broke anyway, because Malfoy said loudly from next to him:
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
What followed was complete pandemonium: Argus Filch burst onto the scene and accused the student body as a whole of murdering his precious cat, and everyone burst out talking and shouting. Amid the chaos, Professor Dumbledore arrived to take control of the situation. He examined the stiff cat, conferred with the teachers and sent the students on their way.
Malfoy, Harry noted with disgust, seemed to have a bounce in his step as they were walking towards the Slytherin dungeons.
"Have you seen it?" he was asking gleefully. "Have you seen it? The Chamber of Secrets has been opened!"
"Yes, Draco, we've seen it," Nott said, rolling his eyes in exasperation.
"But have you seen it? It said, right there, that the Chamber has been opened! The Slytherin's Heir has come to the school!"
"Anytime you feel like pointing out the obvious, Malfoy, please feel free," Harry said pleasantly.
Malfoy flushed and glared at Harry.
"Bet you're scared, aren't you, Potter? With your blood tainted as it is?"
"I'm terrified, Malfoy," Harry deadpanned. "Trembling already. Oh woe is me."
Even Nott couldn't restrain a snicker. Zabini and Bulstrode were smirking. Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis tried to melt into the crowd and pretend they were giggling about something else.
Malfoy fumed and stomped all the way to the Slytherin common room in silence.
xXxXx
A week later, Harry was eating breakfast before his first ever Quidditch match. He tried to maintain a cool façade, but he had to admit he was really nervous. The atmosphere in the school for the past week had not been conducive to a calm frame of mind. Rumours were flying about; speculation about the Heir's identity ran rampant, especially in Slytherin.
Malfoy liked to pretend that he knew more than he was letting on, but he didn't impress anyone except the usual band of sycophants. One useful thing Harry had found out from him was that the Chamber had been opened fifty years ago and a Muggleborn had died then, but that did not at all help to shed light on the legend he'd read about in Hogwarts, A History. If the Chamber had been opened fifty years ago, it followed that the Heir had been at school then and was possibly alive today. Yet, this yielded nothing in the way of what the mysterious beast in the Chamber was.
Harry shook his head and tried to concentrate on the match, but in some ways, it was better not to think about the match, because if he failed to catch the Snitch after Flint had appointed him Seeker over Malfoy… Well, he'd better die trying. His chances of surviving the day were nil anyway.
"Stop looking so green, Potter, you're putting me off food," Millicent Bulstrode said, wrinkling her nose. "Your match will be fine."
"Unless you fall from your broom and die," Blaise Zabini interjected with a pleasant smile. "Which might be somewhat unfortunate."
Zabini and Bulstrode had become Harry's tentative allies ever since Harry's tutoring in Potions had helped them pass the exam at the end of their first year. Harry wasn't sure he could call them friends yet, but he appreciated having someone in his House who didn't sneer when talking to him.
"Good to know you care, Zabini," Harry muttered, staring at his toast in disgust.
"I'd attend your funeral," Blaise said in all seriousness. "And bring, you know, flowers."
"Thanks. So much."
Millicent rolled her eyes.
"Don't pay attention to Zabini, Potter. This sort of a morbid streak comes to you naturally if your mother's husbands keep dying like flies around your house," she said, smirking at Blaise.
He actually went red in the face.
"What are you suggesting, Bulstrode?"
"Nothing," she said. "Why, have I touched a nerve?"
Harry's pre-game jitters were forgotten as he watched the exchange. It was always great to observe power plays, especially if they did not involve you.
xXxXx
The game was on. Harry circled above the pitch on the lookout for the golden ball. The Gryffindor Seeker, a dark-skinned boy called Dean Thomas, tried to tail Harry. Harry figured that Thomas wanted to keep an eye out for Harry and for the Snitch at the same time.
Suddenly, a Bludger came whooshing by Harry's head. He'd barely managed to swerve out of the way in time. Turning around, he saw Beater Derrick speed towards it and hit it in the direction of Gryffindor Chaser Angelina Johnson. Harry thought that was the end of that, but inexplicably, the Bludger changed direction and came back to attack Harry. He dove out of the way, nearly knocking Thomas off his broom in the haste to get away.
"What the hell!" Derrick cried and smacked the odd Bludger with his bat again, this time aiming it towards Katie Bell, another Gryffindor Chaser.
The difference in target didn't seem to impress the Bludger. It had clearly taken a liking to Harry as it veered back to charge at him.
"What's going on?" Harry cried, bewildered, dodging the rogue ball once more.
"I don't know!" Derrick shouted in response. "I've never seen it do this before—ahh!"
He hit the ball again. The Bludger flew a couple of feet towards Alicia Spinnet and curved back towards Harry with resolve worthy of better pursuits.
It was starting to rain. Harry decided to try a different tactic and went into a dive, hoping to shake the Bludger off. The damn thing was persistent: it came after Harry wherever he went. Up, down, speeding across the field—he noticed Derrick gesturing at him to Flint, once, but had to swerve away to avoid being hit by the Bludger, so he didn't know what the captain said back. It didn't matter. The one and only remaining goal of Harry's life became catching that damn Snitch, ending the game and getting rid of the Bludger once and for all. So when he saw the Snitch flutter by the Gryffindor goal posts, not even the appearance of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse would have stopped him mid-flight.
Harry's fingers closed around the Snitch.
And then the Bludger rammed into his left shoulder.
Half-blinded with pain, Harry didn't even hear the cheers following the announcement of Slytherin's victory. He careened towards the ground, dizziness assaulting his head. He was about to faint, he really was, and he didn't fancy doing it from forty feet in the air. The ground was coming up fast. With a splash, Harry hit the mud on the pitch and got off his broom, trying to jolt his injured shoulder as little as possible. Black spots were dancing in front of his eyes and his glasses were all muddy, so he couldn't really see anything anyway.
"Well done, Potter," said a gruff voice from beside him and Harry recognized it vaguely as belonging to Marcus Flint.
He found himself unable to formulate an answer. Someone's hands helped him stand up and held him upright.
"Just let me come through and I'll fix him in no time!" Lockhart was saying somewhere nearby. "Now, Mr Potter, let me just have a look!"
"No," Harry said weakly.
"I'm taking my Seeker to the hospital wing, Professor," Flint said firmly.
"It is no trouble! I have seen this exact kind of fracture and I have—"
"I'm sure, sir, but I'm taking my Seeker to the hospital wing," Flint repeated with dull stubbornness and led Harry away.
Harry had never thought that he would one day feel grateful to his bullying sod of a Quidditch captain.
"Thanks, Flint," he wheezed out.
"No one tells me what to do with my players," Flint grunted in reply. "Now, don't you dare fucking faint on me, Potter, you hear?"
"Uhm," Harry answered intelligently.
Only the mortification he would feel if Flint was forced to carry him into the infirmary kept Harry on his feet.
xXxXx
Harry had received a sleeping potion so that he'd be unconscious for most of the time while his bones were mending. Apparently, having a Bludger slam into his shoulder at full speed was a bad idea and Madam Pomfrey would prefer he shatter some more easily fixed part of his body next time. Harry had to agree, except he was glad it wasn't worse. Without Flint, it might well have been.
Harry rubbed his eyes, wondering what woke him up. It was still quite dark, after all; maybe the sleeping potion had stopped working? He squinted at his surroundings.
"Dobby!"
The house-elf's eyes were huge with fright. Harry sat up abruptly, wincing at the pain in his shoulder.
"Oh, Dobby did not want to wake Harry Potter sir! Dobby is so sorry!"
"Dobby, just—"
"Why has Harry Potter sir come back to Hogwarts?" the elf cried in sudden agitation. "Dobby tried to warn him but Harry Potter didn't listen! Dobby closed the barrier so that Harry Potter would miss the train, but—"
"So that was you, after all."
"Yes, but Harry Potter must not be angry! Dobby only tried for the best, for Harry Potter must not remain at Hogwarts! Dobby thought that his Bludger would—"
"Dobby, if you value your life, don't tell me that it was you who'd charmed that Bludger."
"Dobby is used to death threats, sir! He gets them every day from his family."
And that was very sad but didn't excuse the elf's abominable behaviour towards Harry. He felt suddenly tired.
"Look, Dobby. I get it that you want to help—" Unless it's your master trying to kill me. "—but you're really going about it the wrong way. I could have died today. So far, I have been in more danger because of you than because of whatever terrible things are meant to be happening."
"Oh, but they are happening, Harry Potter sir! The Chamber of Secrets has been opened once more!"
"And you knew all along that it would be?" Harry asked incredulously. "Why warn me? Why not Dumbledore?"
"Harry Potter doesn't understand, he—"
And then Dobby went quiet. Footsteps were nearing the hospital wing. With one last forlorn look at Harry, the elf disappeared.
In came the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall, carrying the Petrified form of Colin Creevey.
xXxXx
"Three—two—one—go!" Lockhart commanded.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry fired, hoping it would strike Malfoy.
However, the other boy managed to jump out of the way just as he was sending his own hex. In the meanwhile, the results of Malfoy's Serpensortia had materialized: a long black snake lay on the floor, turned towards Harry and poised to strike.
Shit. Harry thought furiously, trying to come up with something.
"Don't move, Potter," Snape said airily, probably enjoying the scene. "I'll get rid of it."
"Allow me!" Lockhart butted in and, before anyone could stop him, brandished his wand in an aimless fashion.
The snake, instead of disappearing whence it came, flew up in the air, did a somersault and dropped back on the ground, now even angrier than it had been before. It slithered towards a student Harry vaguely knew by sight and raised its fangs…
"Stop!" Harry cried in the vain hope that it would work. He fully expected the snake to disregard him, but to his amazement it backed off from its target and turned towards Harry. "Leave the students alone."
The snake, miraculously, continued to obey. It folded down on the floor and projected what to Harry seemed an image of utmost docility. Harry raised his eyes, suddenly aware of the silence around him, and realized that everyone was staring. Harry's heart plummeted. What had he done now?
He glanced at Malfoy—his face was white—and then at his Head of House. Professor Snape was also looking at him with an expression Harry hadn't ever seen aimed at him before: intense and calculating. Harry did his best to appear calm.
Professor Snape banished the snake with a wave of his wand and said something to Malfoy. The other boy nodded and headed towards Harry; Harry had a feeling he really wouldn't like what was coming. As Malfoy approached, Harry realized that other second year Slytherins had closed ranks around him. Blaise and Millicent appeared unusually stern.
"Come on," Malfoy muttered. "Let's go to the dorms."
And he looked at Harry differently too, as if something had changed about him greatly between now and the beginning of their duel.
"What—" he tried to ask, but found himself herded by Crabbe and Goyle towards the exit.
"Later, Potter," Nott said tersely. "Merlin, you just had to reveal this now, didn't you?"
"Reveal what?"
"Nott, wait till the dorms," Malfoy ordered with a frown.
Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Malfoy frown seriously before.
They talked no more until they arrived in the dungeons. The boys propelled Harry towards their dormitory and closed the door. They all sat down on different beds, while Harry remained standing, unsure of what was going on.
"Potter," Malfoy said, and it seemed like he was trying and failing to regain his usual equilibrium, "why on earth did you pick tonight to announce that you're a Parselmouth?"
"I don't know what you mean," Harry answered with perfect honesty. He was a what?
"Why, Potter? Why in front of the entire school? And why didn't you tell us first?"
Harry drew his eyebrows. Notably, they all appeared to know what Malfoy was on about, even Blaise Zabini. The dark haired boy was watching him carefully.
"Malfoy. Let's go over what happened. You conjured a snake. I told it to retreat…"
"Precisely! When were you planning to tell us that you're a Parselmouth?"
"That you can talk to snakes, like Salazar Slytherin," Nott added slyly.
Malfoy flashed him a glare.
"Don't be ridiculous, Theo. Potter's not the Heir of Slytherin. There's no way."
"Isn't there?" Nott asked lightly. "He could talk to snakes the last time I checked. You know the whole school will think he's the Heir."
"The whole school is stupid, then. Have you seen Potter creeping about opening hidden chambers?"
Harry's head was spinning. He leaned against a bedpost and stared unseeingly at the two arguing boys. He'd known he could talk to snakes since a long time ago, but he'd never thought it was something bad. He tried to think of his readings—surely, at some point he would've come across something that indicated that speaking to snakes was a special ability! However, all he could remember was a passage in Hogwarts, A History about Salazar Slytherin's great affinity for snakes. It sounded like he bred them, not talked to them!
His thoughts were dashing in all kinds of directions. Was this why he got Sorted into Slytherin—because he had its founder's special talent? And how deep of a hole had he dug for himself—Nott was right, the whole school would think he was the Heir, he fit the bill so well: a Slytherin and a Parselmouth to boot. What other proof would people need? And was he actually the Heir of Slytherin? Was he related to the Hogwarts founder? Could he be opening the Chamber and Petrifying people without knowing it?
"Potter!"
Harry shook his head slightly, filing his thoughts away for later consideration.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Were you ever planning to tell us you were a Parselmouth?" Nott inquired.
"No," Harry said truthfully.
"Then why," Malfoy hissed, "did you go and pull that stunt tonight?"
"I didn't mean for it to happen," Harry replied. "The snake was about to strike. I had to stop it. I didn't want a corpse on my conscience."
There, he'd almost managed to make it sound as if he'd actually known he was a Parselmouth. Damn it! He should've spent more time on wizarding culture than on Potions last year, and more time on research than on Quidditch this year, and maybe he wouldn't have been in this situation right now.
The boys were gazing at him calculatingly. Harry didn't know what they were looking for.
"Are you the Heir of Slytherin?" Vincent Crabbe asked.
"Crabbe, don't be dumb. He's not," Malfoy snapped.
"Why are you so sure?" Harry asked in curiosity.
After all, he wasn't sure; how could Malfoy be?
The blond rolled his eyes.
"The Potters didn't have a drop of Slytherin blood in them."
"But he's a Parselmouth," Gregory Goyle poined out.
This was probably the first instance when Harry had seen Malfoy's two minions disagree with their leader.
"Yes," Malfoy acknowledged reluctantly. "He is. That doesn't prove anything."
"The ability to speak to snakes was hereditary in the Slytherin line," Blaise Zabini said, as if reciting from somewhere. "You don't just… learn it."
"But look at him!" Malfoy exploded. "Does Potter look like someone who goes around setting beasts on Mudbloods? He's a half-blood himself!"
"Okay," Blaise allowed. "Maybe he's not the Heir of Slytherin, but an heir…"
"He is standing right here," Harry said firmly.
The other boys jumped at the interruption and stared at him again.
"This isn't going to be easy," Nott remarked, eyeing him with resignation. "The entire school is going to think you're the Heir, even if you're not. Which you still have to prove, by the way, because appearances can be deceiving and I don't think you're friends with a single Mudblood."
"They're going to blame it all on you, Potter," Malfoy said with gusto. "They'll say you Petrified the stupid cat and attacked that Mudblood. It won't matter that you're the Boy-Who-Lived, now."
"It'll probably make things worse," Nott observed clinically. "They'll think you're superpowerful or something. Which, if you are, please note I'm not disputing."
"Nott, don't be stupid," Malfoy hissed. "Potter isn't the Heir."
"But he might be an heir and Nott's not alienating him," Zabini said shrewdly.
Harry was beginning to find this fascinating. A few Parseltongue phrases seemed to transform the power relations in his dorm. He wondered about the rest of Slytherin. Yes, the school probably hated him, but at least in his House it would be hypocritical to despise him for the ability to talk to snakes. Did Neville fear him now? Were the Potters really related to Salazar Slytherin? And would the rule of Slytherins staying united in public once again work in his favour?