A/N: Warning…this chapter has a bit of…strong language. Tried to avoid it, but the person it was directed to could hardly be deprived of that honor… :) I'm not too pleased with this chapter...I sort of ran out of ideas. Oh, and now since school's started, updates might come a little slower…please be patient with me!

Michael stood rooted to the spot. Whispers filled his ears like the angry buzzing of bees. Somewhere, somehow…Ron and Hermione pushed their way through and seized one of his arms each. Ron was unceremoniously shoving people out of the way and cursing under his breath.

Finally, Ron slammed the transfiguration classroom shut and rounded on Michael. Hermione was looking worriedly at the pair of them.

"Harry! Why didn't you tell us?"

"Tell…you…what?"

"Harry, you're a Parselmouth!" Ron was breathing hard through his nostrils. Michael widened his eyes and took a small step back.

"I…I'm a what?"

"You can talk to snakes, Harry. That's why you scared everyone half out of their lives. It sounded as though you were egging the snake on…to kill."

"I…I…really…"

"The mark of Slytherin is a snake, Harry," Hermione said seriously. "Do you know why?"

"Because…well…"

"Salazar Slytherin was known as a natural Parselmouth. He prized himself for his rare ability. He sought to seek out his heir…"

"But…I'm not even related to him…my family…" my parents are Albus and Minerva. You can't get more Gryffindor than that. Michael finished in his head.

"You never know, Harry," Hermione replied quietly. "For all we know…"

"You may be." Ron finished, gazing at Michael with slightly suspicious eyes.

/-/-/-/-/

The next week passed like a nightmare for Michael. His classmates avoided his gaze, as though they might be petrified by his glittering green eyes. Malfoy was exultant: he never lost a chance to hiss snake-boy in Michael's ear. His fellow Quidditch peers never spoke to him; when they had to refer to him, they called him the Seeker. Even worse, Ron seemed to be ignoring Michael. If it weren't for Hermione, who alone seemed to empathize with Michael, Michael would have felt extremely depressed.

Snape was worse than everyone combined. Prior to Michael's snake encounter, Snape was unpleasant, bitingly sarcastic at most, but now, Snape had another edge to his loathing for Michael. His gaze was sharper, shrewder, and often Michael could see a flash of…was it fear?...cross Snape's black eyes.

Monday morning Potions was torture for Michael. He worked alone, surrounded by foul-smelling potion. Ron was avoiding Michael's eye and scooting closer to Dean and Seamus. Malfoy smirked from across the room and threw Michael a slit-eye sneer. Michael knew it was no use to retaliate; Professor Snape would have Michael kicked out and in detention quicker than ever.

"Stop. I want a 2 foot essay on how to recognize poisons by Thursday, to be collected and graded…carefully."

"But, sir," Hermione spoke, "Sir we have not covered poisons yet, we're just due to begin…"

"Well, Miss Granger, I expect you to hurry and read up. For those of you… (at that, Snape glided over to Michael's cauldron and smirked nastily) who deliberately fouled up the assignment today, I would like…four feet. Now get out of my sight all of you."

Michael dropped his eyes and packed up his books. As he turned to clear out his potion, he heard his bag split its seams. He could hear the Slytherins cackling behind his back. Finally, the dam of rage broke its confines within him and he whirled around, wand at Malfoy's throat.

"You…effing…arse, Malfoy." Michael gritted his teeth and shoved the tip of his wand deeper into Malfoy's pale skin. Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's cronies, cracked their knuckles menacingly and looked toward Snape's closed dungeon door. Malfoy snarled and drew his own wand.

A gust of wind blew back the heavy dungeon door and Snape stood, looking livid.

"Potter!" he snarled. "Fifty points from Gryffindor! You're coming with me to the Headmaster's office. And don't hope that Professor Dumbledore will spare you the detention time today."

Snape seized Michael by the neck of his robes and shoved him off in the direction of the Headmaster's office.

Michael gulped quietly and tried not to meet Hermione's anxious eyes.

Bang!

"Headmaster, Potter here has been a deliberate insolent brat. I'm here to propose revoking his Quidditch rights. After all… (Snape curled his lip unpleasantly at Michael) he can hardly be any good in Quidditch if he takes after his father."

Albus was quiet and surveyed Michael over the tops of his spectacles. Michael could not meet his father's piercing stare and dropped his eyes again.

"Thank you, Severus," Albus said quietly. "Might I ask you to return to your classes? I do believe I can take it from here…after all, it is Professor McGonagall who is Harry's Head of House. She can deliver adequate punishment."

"Tell Minerva to come here now, Headmaster. Potter…"

"Certainly, if you wish it," Albus replied coldly. He strode to his fireplace and threw in a handful of glittering floo powder.

"Minerva, a word please!"

Albus stood back and waited for Minerva's slim frame to come spinning into view. She did come…promptly two seconds later. When she saw Michael, her eyes widened in consternation.

"You wished to see me, Dumbledore?" Her voice betrayed no indication of her emotions. She flicked her keen eyes in Snape's direction and gave him a curt nod.

"Indeed. It's seems as though Harry…"

"Challenged my student and caused deliberate havoc!" Snape bellowed suddenly. Minerva turned to him, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"Did he?" Minerva quirked an inquisitive eye toward Michael, who nodded mutely and bit his lip. Snape was quivering with rage.

"I want his Quidditch privileges revoked."

Minerva snapped her eyes back to Snape, who was looking strangely triumphant as he stared at Minerva. Albus cleared his throat.

"No," she hissed. "Severus, really, it's not as though…your student…was challenged by a Bludger or broomstick. I see no reason to deprive Potter of what he loves best."

Snape curled his lip and advanced upon Minerva, who did not back down.

"Minerva…you're particular proclivity towards Quidditch has manifested itself and reflected upon your apparent favoritism towards Potter."

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus. I will see to it that Potter is properly punished. So thank you for coming," Minerva replied evenly. She met his ire with calm, determined eyes.

"Severus, I think your duty here is done. Please attend to your students and classes." Albus spoke with a finality that bordered on indifference.

"Of…course, Headmaster. Gladly." Snape snarled and released Michael's collar as though it was something disgusting. On his way out, Snape brushed past Michael none too gently.

As the door slammed, Minerva and Albus turned to Michael again.

/-/-/-/-/

"What on earth did you do, Mike?"

Michael took a deep breath and forced himself to look directly into Albus' eyes.

"Nothing," he lied quietly. He did not feel like spilling his emotions in front of both of them.

Minerva crossed the room and gently raised his head to meet her worried green eyes.

"No secrets, Mikes, remember? Tell us."

Michael shrugged and turned away. "I…I…am just…so tired of this all. Everyone…dislikes being with me. Dormitory…mates…classes…they're afraid that I'm going to…kill them in their sleep. The Sorting Hat did not first want to put me into Gryffindor…I begged him to do so. It said that Slytherin would be more in my favor. Now I see what it meant. I'm no good for the house of the brave. I'm…no good, at all."

Albus rose from his seat and kneeled so he was level to Michael's face. His face was gentle, kind, and so loving. Michael could not bear to see such love when he did not deserve it.

"Michael, you are our son. True to Gryffindor, named after the patron of courage. Look deep within you…you will find that your true loyalties…reside in your good heart."

"Besides," Minerva joined in, "these feelings that your classmates have will die down over time. Give them a second chance…hold your head high. And Michael…"

"Yes…Mum?"

"Just between the three of us…do try and beat Slytherin on next Tuesday's match, won't you? It would really…show Professor Snape what you're made of. And…you just might luck out of a detention with the Headmaster. If I can arrange that."

Minerva smiled devilishly and rumpled Michael's hair. She turned to Albus, who watched her with a mixture of exasperation and unconditional love.

"Now I really must be going…I have to finish grading my second-year essays."

Michael looked at her and returned her smile uncertainly. "You wouldn't tell me what I got, would you, Mum?"

"You'll just have to find out, love." Minerva sent him a small smile and leaned back to place a light kiss on his cheek.

Albus chuckled as Minerva spun out of view. He got to his feet and opened the door, excusing Michael.

"You're mother was a very competitive Quidditch player when she was in school. She would dearly love to see Slytherin squashed."

"I'll try," Michael returned, smiling briefly.

/-/-/-/-/

Next Tuesday dawned bright yet cold. Michael entered the Great Hall and peered up at the ceiling to see a bright, cerulean blue sky and wispy clouds. He grinned slightly and piled up sausages and scrambled eggs.

"Good luck, Harry," Hermione whispered, casting an anxious gaze at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was jeering and muttering to his friends what sounded suspiciously like a death-threat to Michael.

Michael smiled wanly and accepted a glass of pumpkin juice from Hermione.

"Thanks, Hermione," he said. "Are you coming to watch the match?"

Michael noticed that she reddened slightly when she mentioned that she might look in on the match. Michael did not deign to comment. Hermione was watching Professor Lockhart smooth his golden hair back and flirt with Professor McGonagall, who looked distinctly disgruntled.

"Alright, team, let's go, and good luck to you all." Oliver Wood stood up and beckoned to the team. Michael got up and almost wanted to speak to Ron, but changed his mind at the last minute. Hermione squeezed his hand and flashed a quick smile of encouragement.

Michael took a deep breath when he entered the Quidditch pitch. Across the field, he could see the Slytherin team already changed into their emerald and silver Quidditch robes. Michael quickly shrugged into his scarlet ones and shouldered his Nimbus 2000.

Slytherins in the crowd hissed as Michael approached with his team. As Oliver Wood neared the Slytherin team, the latter parted to reveal…their new seeker. Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy?" Michael breathed out, disbelievingly.

"That's right." Draco sneered, pale eyes meeting Michael's green ones insolently. "Bit surprised to see me, Potter?"

Wood spoke up. "Flint! Why didn't you tell us that you got a new Seeker?"

"We all have our covert intricacies, Wood," Flint jeered. "And that's not all. Look at this." Flint casually flicked off a speck of dust on the handle of his broom.

Ron and Hermione had come forward, having watched the spectacle from the stands.

"Harry, what is he doing here?" Ron eyed Malfoy with greatest loathing.

"I've been appointed the new Seeker of the Slytherin team, Weasel," Malfoy said smugly.

"What!"

Hermione gasped. "Nimbus 2001's! How…"

"A very generous gift from Draco's father," Flint replied smoothly.

"You see, Mudblood…unlike some, my family can afford the best."

Ron snarled and reached in his robes for his wand. Hermione pushed him away and lifted her chin to meet Malfoy's arrogant gaze.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on their own pure talent," Hermione countered acerbically.

Madame Hooch bustled over and shooed Ron and Hermione away. She was carrying the heavy box that contained the Quidditch equipment. As she released the Golden Snitch, her hawk-like yellow eyes met both Malfoy's and Michael's eyes.

"Now I want a nice fair game. From all of you."

Fourteen brooms shot up into the air and the game began.

Michael was seething from anger and hardly heard Lee Jordan's enthusiastic commentary. As Michael scanned the pitch for the Snitch, his eyes found his mother clenching a tartan handkerchief in her trembling hands. Snape was leering and eyeing Gilderoy Golden-Boy nastily.

Quite suddenly, a Bludger came whooshing around him and narrowly missed his head. Michael swerved away and was forced to do a stupid sort of pirouette to avoid colliding with it. As he accelerated across the pitch, he could hear the whooshing of the deadly Bludger very near behind him.

He swooped and came to a temporary halt when he saw Malfoy jeering at him. "Training for the ballet, Potter?" He snickered nastily.

Malfoy sped off, obviously showing off the new speed of his broom.

Michael glared at Malfoy with a searing hate. Then, miraculously, Michael spotted the shimmery golden wings of the Golden Snitch hovered tantalizingly above Malfoy's ear. Malfoy was too occupied with taunting Michael to notice. Michael gritted his teeth and leant forward on his broom.

Steel-gray eyes widened in shock as bright green narrowed in concentration. Michael swerved around Malfoy and bolted off after the Snitch. Malfoy whipped his head around and snarled. His Nimbus 2001 quickly caught up to Michael's broom. Neck in neck, both Seekers hurtled to the pale cerulean sky and stretched out their arms. Michael was in the lead, but…

WHAM! The deadly Bludger had at last found its mark. Michael could hear a loud, sickening crack as the bones in his arm broke. Michael's eyes were watering from the pain as he urged his broom suddenly downward, 100 feet, and took his remaining arm off his broom. The crowd gasped and shrieked. Michael did not hear them; his entire focus was on the tiny Snitch that was mere feet from him now. Malfoy still was flying very close to him.

Michael shoved Malfoy to the side and finally reached out, groping, for the struggling Snitch. His slender fingers closed around the golden orb as Malfoy's nails scrabbled uselessly at the back of his hand.

"GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Madame Hooch's shrill whistle pierced the air. The last thing Michael saw before his vision blacked out was his entire team speeding toward him with huge grins on their faces.

/-/-/-/-/

"Careful now, lift him gently."

"Where are his glasses?"

"Oh, here…"

Michael blinked blearily and the sea of faces swam hazily in front of him. He lugubriously turned his head and smiled when he saw the wings of the Snitch beating feebly against his fist.

"Harry Potter!" Michael heard Minerva's voice, cracked and anxious, approach him. He blinked twice and found bright green eyes looking worriedly down at him.

"We won, Professor," he said quietly, smiling elatedly.

The thundering cheers of his fellow teammates and Gryffindors were muted in Michael's ears as his eyes feasted upon the pride and love that was emanating from Minerva's eyes.

"As I knew you would, my little lion cub," Minerva whispered, very, very quietly.

A/N: Um...so, please...review? Constructive criticism is appreciated too!