Neville hissed in sympathy as Harry moved forward, students pulling back to make a path for her.
"Good luck!" Ginny whispered as Harry passed her. Fred patted her shoulder, and Harry gave him a grateful grin.
By the time she climbed the stairs onto the platform, Malfoy was already conferring with Snape on the other side, gesturing rather forcefully. Snape shook his head and said something that Malfoy clearly didn't like, because the blonde Slytherin's face contorted into a glower and he crossed his arms and turned his back on his Head of House.
"Harry, Harry, Harry!" Lockhart had, apparently, decided that, since Malfoy was receiving a talk from Snape, that Harry needed one as well.
"Professor?" She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but it didn't work well and he paused uncertainly before continuing.
"I - ah - well, you did simply splendid against young Mr. Longbottom, but I just had some last minute advice, you know, from a master of the subject." Harry raised her eyebrows. "A Shield Charm," Lockhart began, "goes like this." He tried to demonstrate a motion with his wand, but ended up dropping it. "Whoops! My wand gets a little excited sometimes." Harry's eyes flicked towards Fred and Ron, who'd come closer to the stage. Ron looked sick, while Fred's expression had turned slightly predatory.
"What was that incantation again, Professor?" she asked politely.
"Oh - ah - erm - it's just on the tip of my tongue - "
"Protego," Cedric coughed. He and Hermione and Neville had joined Fred and Ron near the stage.
"Yes, Protego, that's the one. Goes like this." He made another demonstration, but Harry was watching Cedric instead, who went through the motions twice - slowly the first time, and faster the second.
'Thanks,' Harry mouthed to him, before saying to Lockhart, "Thanks, I think I've got it now."
Lockhart beamed at her. "Lovely!" He strode towards the middle of the stage. "Now that both of our volunteers are ready, let's have them come to the starting circle!"
Now that she was actually on the platform, Harry could see that, in the middle of the shining expanse, there was a circle of dark wood, cleanly bisected by a line of paler wood.
"Malfoy," she greeted the Slytherin as they stood back-to-back.
"Potter." His voice lacked the vindictiveness it'd held the last time they'd spoken, outside the Hospital Wing, although it still certainly wasn't friendly. For a moment, Harry was surprised at his civility, but then he added in a whisper, "How's Creevey?" just before they started to count their strides away from each other.
Harry's hand clenched tightly about her wand, and when she spun on her heel, a glare was already on her face. Excited murmurs spread through the crowd, and Harry swore she heard the clinking of coins changing hands. For a moment, she was transported to a different duel - one without wands in a poorly lit bar. And then she was bowing stiffly to Malfoy, who had a smirk pasted across his narrow, pale face.
She swung her wand up and waited for the countdown, anger burning through her and an incantation on her lips. "Remember, Disarm only!" Lockhart reminded them. "On the count of three. One - two - three!"
"EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry shouted. The jet of light that exited the tip of her wand was at least ten times brighter than the one she'd shot at Neville. Anger, it seemed, was working with her.
Although her own shout had drowned out Malfoy's spell, she could tell it wasn't a Disarming Charm: it was a dark grey in color instead of crimson. Harry only barely managed to dodge it in time; Malfoy was a better shot than she'd anticipated, or maybe Neville was just particularly bad.
"I said, Disarm only!" Lockhart sounded slightly panicked. Snape didn't say anything from where he stood behind Malfoy.
Harry didn't care; she was already priming for her next spell. Malfoy had broken the rules, so she felt no compunction against doing so herself. "Rictusempra! Tarantallegra! Manguissendo!" Malfoy dodged the first two, but was hit square in the middle of his chest by the last one. Immediately, his fingernails began to grow at an extraordinary rate, so that within seconds he'd had to loosen his grip on his wand or risk impaling his hand on his own nails. Harry mentally thanked the twins for the hex.
Malfoy was clearly incensed by the hex, and before Harry could even think about trying to disarm him again, snarled out, "Serpensortia!" while making a simple jabbing motion. With a loud bang and an angry hiss, a snake appeared, almost squarely in the middle of the platform. Malfoy's stinging hex - recognizable by its irritating orange color - got the snake moving towards Harry. Shocked yells and screams rang out as students hurriedly backed away from the stage and the snake.
Harry, taken aback at Malfoy's unprecedented Transfiguration skills - she hadn't even tried conjuring an animal yet - hesitated just a moment too long.
"I've got it!" Lockhart pushed past her. "Not to worry, Harry." She was torn between irritation at him using her first name and displeasure at his taking over the duel for her. Lockhart pointed his wand at the snake, and with a showy flourish, declared, "Permoveo serpente grande!"
To her side, Harry heard several people gasp, and then the snake, instead of vanishing, was flying up towards the ceiling, and then arcing down - down - down, before landing, not on the dueling platform, but squarely on the floor in front of Ginny, one of the closest people to the platform. It seemed larger than it had on the platform, and Harry suspected, with a sick feeling in her gut, that Lockhart's spell had been more than just a flubbed attempt at Vanishing the snake.
The snake hissed and flared its hood wide open. Harry didn't know what type it was, but she knew, instinctively, that it was probably poisonous. Students were screaming and running, pushing and shoving and pulling each other along in their haste to get out of the vicinity of the maddened snake; Harry was moving before she knew what she was doing, jumping down off the platform and running towards Ginny, who stood as still as a statue, wand lax in her hand, seemingly in a staring contest with the snake.
And then someone - Harry never saw who - bumped into Ginny, sending her sprawling to the ground. Her wand flew from her hand and clattered to the floor, where it rolled towards the dueling stage. The snake hissed, drew back, and -
"STOP!" Harry shouted desperately, only a few feet away.
The snake, miraculously, stopped, quivering where its body lay stretched out, fangs, clearly visible now, mere inches from Ginny's arm.
Silence descended on the Great Hall. Harry was looking at Ginny, whose face had gone from terrified, to shocked, and then back to terrified, although not quite the same. Not terrified, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Alex said in the back of her mind. Horrified.
"I - are you alright, Ginny?" Harry asked. Her voice sounded very small in the suddenly cavernous room.
Slowly - minutely - Ginny nodded. She stared from the snake, to Harry, and then back to the snake, before scrambling backwards. Percy pushed his way through the crowd, glasses askew and robes rumpled, and helped her up, hugging her to his side with one arm as he Summoned her wand from underneath the stage with the other. Percy was much paler than usual; paler, even, than he'd been on Halloween.
"Potter," he said stiffly, and Harry frowned in confusion. She'd hardly ever spoken with Percy, but they'd always been on a first-name basis given the amount of time she spent with the twins and her being one of Ron's roommates.
She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but Snape spoke from just behind her, making her flinch and half turn around. "Don't move." His face was impassive, but he searched hers carefully, as if it would explain something. He pointed his wand at the snake. "Evanesco." It vanished silently, as if it'd never been there at all. "I think," he said slowly, loud enough for everyone to hear (although it was still quiet enough that Harry could hear birds - those few that were still around in late November - chirping outside), "that today's meeting is quite done." There was a pause in which no one did anything. "Remove yourselves," Snape said coldly, "or I'll give you all detention. Not you, Potter," he added as Harry turned to leave.
"I - "
"Say nothing."
Harry waited while the room emptied, far quicker than she'd imagined it would. Finally, it was only her, Snape, Lockhart, and, just outside the doors, Hermione and Neville.
"Lockhart, why are you still here? I require a word with my student." Snape's voice was tight and cold, and left no word for argument.
"I - well, that is - Harry is my student, and a very - ah - proficient one, at that - " He tapered off into a mutter about 'having an appointment anyways'. Harry and Snape both watched him leave. As soon as his robes had cleared the doors, they closed behind him, nearly hitting Neville on their way.
"Not that your...professor is gone, let me ask you: how long have you known you are a Parselmouth?" His tone had gone from derisive to unyielding in a matter of seconds. Harry, though, couldn't bring herself to care; the world had tilted beneath her.
"I'm not a Parselmouth," she said, voice sounding far away, as if in a dream.
"Quite clearly, you are." Snape sounded satisfied, for some reason. "It would be wise," he said after a long moment, "to contact your...sire." And then he was gone, leaving Harry swaying slightly in the middle of the Great Hall, still trying to get her head around the fact that she, apparently, was a Parselmouth.
Some indeterminate amount of time later, Hermione and Neville were there, pulling her out of the room and along corridors. Harry only came to her senses when they tried to take one of Fred and George's obscure shortcuts. "No," she balked. "Stick to the main halls."
Hermione and Neville exchanged glances, but stayed in the wider corridor. They ended up in the library.
"Why are we here?" Harry whispered as Hermione led her and Neville past tables and rows of books, all the way towards the shelves nearest the Restricted Section. None of the students they passed gave her any strange looks, but Harry knew that everyone in the castle would know that she could speak to snakes before dinner.
"To find out why you can speak Parseltongue," Neville said. "The last person to speak it was You-Know-Who. People are going to start thinking that you're related to him or something."
Harry stumbled over her own feet at the thought. "I'm not related to Voldemort!" she exclaimed, rather louder than she'd intended. Luckily, no one was close enough to have heard.
Neville flinched. "Don't say the name!"
"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," Hermione said, just before turning down an aisle.
"Don't think that applies to You-Know-Who," Neville muttered sullenly, and Harry's eyebrows rose in astonishment. Not once since she'd met him had she heard Neville complain about anything.
"Here," Hermione said, stopping in front of a shelf full of large, similarly-colored books. She read the titles, running her fingers over the spines as she did so, and then began to pull some off the shelves. "Harry, you take these." Harry accepted the three books, staggering slightly under the weight; all three were enormous. Neville was likewise loaded down, while Hermione herself took four, although hers were slightly smaller. She then led them to the nearest empty table; Neville allowed the books to thump onto the table with relief, earning a quick glare from Hermione.
"Sorry," Neville apologized, flushing as Hermione easily lowered her own, larger, stack of books, to the table.
"What are we looking for?" Harry asked, pulling Almanak of Oldeste Familyes towards her.
"I'm looking for the Slytherin bloodline," Hermione replied curtly, opening her own book and flipping straight to the index. "Neville's going to examine the Potter family tree, and Harry, you're going to try and find Voldemort."
Harry and Neville exchanged glances before doing as told.
The news that Harry Potter was able to talk to snakes spread faster than she'd imagined it would. When she, Hermione, and Neville walked into the Great Hall for lunch - a good hour later than they usually did - a hush spread over the students. Harry crossed her arms and stared back at the many eyes; most dropped their gaze immediately, but a few - including Malfoy - stared back.
"Ignore them," Hermione said firmly. "If you show that it bothers you they'll only keep doing it."
"Right. Like they'll stop anyways." But Harry did her best to ignore them as she ate. It was hard, though, since as soon as she and her friends sat down, a great shuffling movement took over Gryffindor table as those students nearest them scooted away, so that there was a buffer of at least four seats on either side of Harry and her friends.
Midway through their meal, Ginny Weasley showed up, her face flushed and brown eyes snapping with anger. She sat down across from Harry, glared at everyone who began to whisper (which was quite a few), and piled food onto her plate. Fred joined them not long after. Lee moved as well - to the Ravenclaw table. Ron and Percy gave Harry stiff nods, but didn't budge from their seats. Dean looked confused, and Seamus wary.
Harry sighed. Her year had just gotten that much harder.
The next morning in the locker rooms, Oliver broached the subject for the first time. Most of Gryffindor had acted as they usually did the night before in the common room, with only a few exceptions (of whom Lee and McLaggen the most notable).
"So, Potter," Oliver began. "About your newest little...trick." Harry froze from tying her shoe and slowly looked at the captain. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was staring her down with a completely neutral face. "Zakir and I were wondering - how badly do you think the Ravenclaws will piss themselves if you start hissing at them in the air?"
Harry almost felt like crying in relief. For one horrible moment, she'd thought he was going to kick her off the team. She smiled at him. "Maybe enough to drop the Quaffle."
Oliver grinned. "Honestly, Harry, we couldn't care less if you were the Heir of Slytherin, as long as you can catch the Snitch like you normally do."
"Thanks." She finished tying her shoe. "Hang on - I'm not the Heir of Slytherin!"
All she got in reply was a cheerful, "Of course you're not! Mount up, boys!"
Harry went straight to the library after practice, not even bothering to change out of her dirty uniform (although for her friends' sakes she did cast several - admittedly weak - cleaning charms). As she'd expected, despite the hour, Hermione and Neville were already there, at the same table they'd worked at the day before, with large tomes spread open, some of them holding down the corners of a large sheet of parchment.
"What're you doing with that?" Harry asked, taking the seat across from them.
"I'm sketching your family tree," Hermione replied distractedly, her finger tracing something in one of the books while her other hand scribbled down names. "I'm hoping that by reverse-engineering your line I can find out why you speak Parseltongue."
Harry's eyebrows rose. "Why?"
"I just told you! So that - "
"No - I meant why bother. I've got plenty of books on my lineage at home, plus our family tapestry."
Hermione gaped for a second. "Why didn't you say anything about this yesterday!?" she exclaimed in a loud whisper. "It would have saved us so much time!"
"I wasn't exactly thinking straight yesterday," Harry mumbled, pulling one of the unopened books towards her. Glancing at the title - A Comprehensive History of Hogwarts' Founding Four - she opened it and searched through the Table of Contents until she found, in large curving letters, 'Slytherin: the Dynasty', and turned to the appropriate page.
Hermione spluttered wordlessly for a moment before asking waspishly, "Well, can you have your dad send it?"
"Er - I'll write, but it may take a couple of days. He's not home very often anymore."
Hermione sighed and looked ruefully at the handful of names on her barely-started chart before picking up her wand and muttering an incantation; the ink on the parchment disappeared as she ran her wandtip over the words.
"That's useful," Harry commented, only to have Hermione grab the book she was reading and point towards the door.
"You've got a letter to write." Harry stood, slightly concerned - Hermione seemed awfully waspish this morning.
"Are you alright?" she asked, lingering by the table. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Neville wince and shake his head minutely. Apparently, he'd been quiet for a reason. Before Hermione could answer, Harry said, "I'll be back in a blink!" and hurried out of the library. Whatever Hermione'd got bit by, Harry sure hoped it wouldn't bite her too.
That evening after dinner, in a very crowded common room, Harry and Neville worked silently next to Hermione at the most rickety table in the room. Harry had just set down her Astronomy essay and accompanying sketch of Saturn and its moons when Neville cleared his throat. It could barely be heard over the laughter, chatter, and odd bangs, but Harry looked over at him.
"Yeah?" Harry asked before Hermione (who was still in a cutting mood) could formulate a response.
"Er - well - my Gran's really pleased with my grades, and when I told her it was because of my friends - you two - she went all - um - she told me that I should ask if you wanted to come to my house for Christmas vacation." Neville wasn't looking at either of them; he'd spoken the last part of his sentence to his hands.
Harry's heart leapt. Despite everything that had been happening, she hadn't forgotten the King's request - it would've been next to impossible to do so with his ring on her finger where she saw it whenever she moved her hands. Being out of Hogwarts would make meeting him that much easier.
"Okay. I'll come."
Neville seemed stunned. "But - wouldn't you rather go home?"
Harry shrugged as she rummaged through her bag to find her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. "Not really. Alex doesn't have more than a few days off so he's not coming home, and I don't like being there without him."
Neville gave her a bright smile. "Brilliant. And - Hermione? What about you?"
"Sorry, Neville, but my parents have got a trip to the Alps all planned out. They don't like not seeing me for such a large amount of time. I wish I could, though. It'd be fascinating to see how wizards celebrate Christmas." Harry suddenly wondered how muggles did their celebrating, but didn't get a chance to respond before Neville was out of his seat.
"I'll go write Gran and tell her that you're coming, Harry." He wormed his way through the crowded room, nearly tripping every few steps.
"But what about your father?" Hermione asked, her voice finally free of the waspish undertone that had been there all day.
It took her a moment to realize what Hermione was referring to, but when she did, Harry just shrugged again. "He understands - I stayed here over break last year. I'll write again tomorrow and tell him, though." She glanced over at Hermione, who was staring at her with an unusual expression, one that looked vaguely like pity. Harry bristled and asked, "How far have you got on the potions essay? Did you mention how the ripeness of the shrivelfigs can effect the draught?"
Hermione's brow immediately wrinkled in consternation. "No, I didn't! I can't believe I didn't think of that!" She dove for her bookbag, hair more frazzled than usual as she pulled the already completed essay out and frantically began to edit.
The next week was something of a wake-up call to Harry. Over the weekend, she hadn't really seen anyone outside of Gryffindor House, and while a few of them were wary - quietly or otherwise - most of her House didn't change how they acted too noticeably. To the majority of the House, Harry was just their Seeker: a person to be wished good luck and then cheered for, popular for the two or three days bordering a Quidditch match and largely overlooked otherwise.
The rest of the school, though, was another story. Usually, members of different Houses treated each other with polite indifference (barring those odd inter-house friendships or the nearly legendary feuds that sparked up every so often between Gryffindor and Slytherin), perhaps pasting on a smile if someone needed help or was paired together in a class. Now, though, they were all watching her.
No matter where she went, Harry could feel eyes watching her every move, and whispers followed in her wake like smoke after a fire. Ravenclaws would frown, Hufflepuffs would scurry away, and the Slytherins would simply stare, as if waiting for her to do something. None of them would meet her eyes.
Even the professors were affected by her display of Parseltongue. Lockhart, whenever she so much as squirmed in her seat, would jump and change the subject. It was like having Quirrell back as a professor, but without the stuttering. Professor Flitwick's wand never left his hand, despite the fact that they were going over theory during both classes that week (although it could've been because Seamus had been hiccuping little flames since breakfast, and had the tendency to catch his own robes on fire). Professor Snape - thank Merlin - treated her exactly as he normally did: picking over every mistake she made in a scornful voice, and then telling her to do better next time or he'd petition to have her moved back a year. Both of them knew that he wouldn't (because even if he tried, he didn't have any grounds to kick her out; Harry's potions were consistently in the top four of the class), but the normalcy was gratifying. Even Professor McGonagall was acting differently than she usually did during Harry's private lessons.
Harry had finally gotten the hang of transfiguring complex organisms into different-sized objects (it was always easier to make something simpler, and living to inert definitely qualified as 'simpler') and was eager to try her hand at conjuring when Professor McGonagall stopped her. "Mr. Potter, did you, by chance, hear Mr. Malfoy's incantation when he conjured the adder on Saturday?"
Harry had been expecting to start with objects, not actual animals. The idea had crossed her mind - several times, if she was being truthful - to try to conjure a snake, but snakes were complex and she'd never conjured anything before. She didn't want to end up messing up, since Transfiguration had a knack for making the worst of a mistake. "Yes, I did."
"I believe," Professor McGonagall said in an odd tone of voice, "that you'll have a natural advantage at Transfiguration - or any subject - when there are serpents involved." She didn't sound pleased with the matter, and Harry had the mad idea that Professor McGonagall hated - or even loathed - Parseltongue. "Try to conjure a snake, if you would, and then Vanish it."
Even knowing about her favorite professor's distaste for what she was about to do, Harry couldn't help the thrill of excitement that raced through her as she raised her wand and said, "Serpensortia." It was far easier than she'd expected, as if all she'd done was transfigure a beetle into a button instead of actually conjuring a living, breathing, highly-poisonous adder, nearly identical to the one that Malfoy had conjured only a few days past.
Professor McGonagall's mouth was a hard, unforgiving line, but when she spoke there was no malice in her voice. "Extremely well done, Mr. Potter. If you would." Harry Vanished the snake with a flick of her wand; it was easier by far than the hedgehog she'd just turned into a feather-duster. "Conjure it again, and focus on how the magic feels. And add a sweep to your jab, from the wrist, mind."
It was only after the lesson, as Professor McGonagall escorted Harry up to Gryffindor tower (she had to take attendance anyways), that the older witch truly relaxed. Before opening the portrait, Professor McGonagall looked down at Harry and said, "Do remember, Mr. Potter, that despite what certain people are saying, the ability to speak Parseltongue is not the marker of an evil wizard, just as the ability to Metamorph does not make one a liar and a thief." She stared at Harry with such an intense gaze that, for the first time since meeting her, Harry felt slightly uncomfortable.
"Yes, Professor."
"Good. Spes magna," she added, and the portrait swung open.
On Saturday, Harry went to the Quidditch match; partly because there was never a bad time to watch Quidditch, but mostly because she wanted to catch Cedric to talk to him after the match. She hadn't seen him at all since her ability to speak Parseltongue had come to light, whether by accident or design, she didn't know. Cedric was in his fourth year, and had such a different schedule than her that even if he'd wanted to speak to her, it would've been difficult, especially with the new rules in place.
Harry sat next to Oliver in the mostly-empty Gryffindor section. A few Hufflepuffs had bled over into their area, but Harry, Oliver, and the handful of other Gryffindor Quidditch die-hards didn't mind. In fact, had her area been as crowded as the Hufflepuffs', Harry would've moved too if it had meant a better view of the game. Hufflepuff was flying against the Slytherin team, who, despite their top-of-the-line brooms, was faring worse against the Badgers than they had against the Lions, mostly due to the Hufflepuff Beaters, one of whom had arms at least as thick as Harry's waist, and the other such precise aim that the Bludgers he hit rarely ever missed the target.
While Oliver took notes on Hufflepuff's chaser formations, Harry watched Cedric fly. She could appreciate many of his more difficult moves, especially those that she still couldn't pull off, mostly because she didn't have enough weight to be stable enough on the turns. But, like her, Malfoy was small, and so Cedric's weight gave him an advantage.
"Seen the Snitch yet?" Oliver asked, jolting Harry from wondering how she could build her body mass enough to do a Inoue Twist without losing her ability to flatten herself nearly flush with the broom.
"No." She changed from watching the Seekers to searching for the Snitch. To her surprise, she spotted it almost immediately, hovering quite innocuously some thirty feet above the ground on the castle side of the stadium. "Found it," she whispered to Oliver.
"Good, good. Now see how long it takes Malfoy and Diggory to notice."
Harry began to count. She'd gotten to eighteen when Cedric turned his broom, froze momentarily, and then blurred into motion. With Malfoy hot on his tail, the two Seekers streaked through the air, only narrowly avoiding barreling into the Slytherin Chasers' formation. One of the Slytherin Beaters hit a Bludger that was so perfectly aimed that Cedric should've had to give up on the Snitch to veer out of the way; instead, he waited until the last minute - ignoring shouts from the crowd (including Harry) - and then spun into the tightest Sloth-Grip Roll that Harry had ever seen. The Bludger impacted squarely with Malfoy's shoulder, sending the smaller Slytherin spinning wildly off course as he dually tried to keep control of his broom and not fall off. And then the game was over, the Snitch in Cedric's hand, Flint bellowing in anger at the hapless Slytherin who'd hit the Bludger.
Harry cheered out loud and hugged Oliver, who swore when his quill skittered over the parchment, leaving an ungainly black trail behind.
"Sorry!" Harry apologized.
"What was that for?!" Oliver asked, somewhat irritated, as he tried to wipe the ink off.
"Just Malfoy getting his," she replied with a grin.
"Still sore about that?" Oliver asked, this time more curious than mad.
"Not really. I just don't like him much."
Oliver chuckled. "I'm not overly fond of him myself. See you around." He stood and left, joining up with his girlfriend Alicia Spinnet as they left the stands.
Harry stayed where she was, watching as the Hufflepuff team laughed and joked together in the air. Cedric must've felt something, because he glanced her way, meeting her eyes squarely, holding them for a long moment before smiling and giving a little bow, Snitch held in a way that she could see it. Harry grinned at the challenge and, after standing, bowed back.
As she tagged along with Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson - Alicia's best friends, even if Katie was a year younger - Harry felt dually excited and relieved; the former for her match against Hufflepuff, even if there were six months to wait, and the latter because Cedric didn't care that she was a Parselmouth.
The next morning, students were confined to their common rooms until eight. Breakfast was served to them in their common rooms, although very few ate much. Another student had been attacked.
Nov. 21, 1992
Dear Alex,
I'm a Parselmouth. I'm not joking, either, so you'd better take me seriously when I tell
you to go find a bloody snake and see if it talks back. I need you to write to Dad, as well,
and tell him that you are one, even if you're not. I hope you are. I don't want to do this
alone.
The entire school knows by now. It happened at that Dueling Club I was talking about, so
about half the students were there anyways. I already know some of the Gryffindors think
I'm evil. Write back soon, please.
Love,
Harry
Nov. 22, 1992
Harry -
First off, no, I'm not a Parselmouth. I tried for about two hours before giving up.
My best guess is that it's because we're fraternal, not identical. And I always knew
you were evil, so your being able to speak Parseltongue really doesn't make any
difference. In fact, it'd be downright handy in some of the old ruins in South
America.
I wrote Dad. Don't be surprised if he writes you about it; he'll want to check to
make sure his princess is fine. It's up to you what you say back.
We'll figure something out for the Quidditch, don't worry. I've told my friends
that we switched spots, but not about you. Jonah's a right tricky bastard when
he wants to be, so between us I'm sure we'll come up with something. It helps
that he met you this summer.
- Alex
Nov. 22, 1992,
Dear Alex,
I know I just wrote yesterday - and the day before that, too - but I just thought I should
let you know that my friend Neville's invited me to his house for the Christmas hols, and
I've accepted. D'you know if Dowager Lady Longbottom knows Dad?
Love,
Harry
Nov. 22, 1992
Tiber:
As is my right as a member of the Potter family, I request a copy of the Potter Family Tree,
extended and included all name changes, as far back as it stretches. I also request the
book House of Potter: Genealogical Studies Through the Ages. Please owl them to me at
once.
Regards,
Harriet R. Potter
P.S. Say hi to everyone for me, will you, and make sure Dad doesn't get too drunk on
Christmas, if he's there.
Nov. 23, 1992
Dearest Harriet,
Your brother has recently brought some alarming news to my attention: he is a
Parselmouth. I would request that you ask your Year Advisor to help you find a
snake, to see if you too possess this talent. If you do, we can deal with it this
summer. As always, keep up your studies.
Love,
Your Father
Nov. 24, 1992
Harry -
Don't think so - Dowager Longbottom's all about politics, and you know how
much Dad likes politicians. If Dad asks, I'll tell him, but otherwise don't worry.
- Alex
Nov. 28, 1992
Alex -
It happened again.
- Harry
Nov. 28, 1992
Remus -
It happened again.
- Harry