December 1992

Harry had another letter from Professor Quirrell a week later. A lovely snowy owl brought a letter one frosty winter's night, addressed on the outside of the envelope merely to "Harry Potter, Hogwarts", but more creatively addressed at the start of the letter itself.

To Mr. Harry James Potter, Heir of the Noble House of Potter, the Almost Slytherin,

How simply delightful to hear from you at last. I am most pleased to hear you have resolved the problem with your mail and are interested in corresponding.

I do miss my time in my former profession, but circumstances necessitated a swift removal that left little leisure for proper farewells. I hope you and some of my other more promising students are continuing your studies under a capable replacement this year.

Harry thought "capable" might not be quite the right word, but since Professor Lockhart had eventually given up on making him re-enact things in class and let him sit there quietly and do his own work, Harry was quite happy enough. He was learning a lot from Professor Lockhart… just not in class time.

I am sorry to say that the medicine I acquired when last we spoke turned out to be fake – a mere shamremedy concocted to fool the buyer. Or perhaps the seller I acquired it from was also fooled as to its potency. Perhaps I shall never know, which vexes me greatly.

I have been searching for the brewers of the original receipt. But as far as all their friends and acquaintances are aware, they passed away peacefully in their sleep a couple of weeks ago. My spells have determined that the bodies in their alleged graves are but cunning simulacra – yet perhaps none have discovered this but I alone. They have hidden themselves somewhere and I cannot find them despite all my searching. I cannot plead my case and beg for medicine to heal my suffering.

So it seemed the Flamels had faked their death, and Quirrell wasn't sure if Dumbledore knew about that or not, or if the Stone was fake. Harry rather thought it more likely that Quirrell was hoping to steal the real Philosopher's Stone if he could find the Flamels, rather than ask for their help, but it would be rude to comment on that.

How curious that the Chamber is allegedly open again once more. I doubt this is truly so, for the petrifications seem to point perhaps at another cause rather than the Chamber truly being opened. There are always those who seek to ride on the coattails of those with more notorious accomplishments than their own, having no great reputation themselves for good or ill. For the last time the Chamber was allegedly open, there was a single death, and a few injuries, but no petrifications. The man held responsible for the attacks last time is one now esteemed by the Headmaster as a friend, so he may be hesitant to accuse him unless driven to it. He has little care for the welfare of those who are not personal favourites of his, so I am unsurprised to hear of the neglect of a lone injured student of presumably no particular social or political standing.

Interesting. So he thought the Chamber wasn't actually opened at all, and that a friend of the Headmaster's was behind it all last time. He wasn't very clear about who, which was a shame. Quirrell's guess seemed to be that it was now someone just badly imitating the last attacks, anyway.

I regret to say I cannot contribute any advice on the matter of your house-elf troubles. I have never troubled myself to study the creatures, and know only of their loyal obedience to their Masters' commands. I do not retain the services of a house-elf at this time, and most assuredly did not send one to you.

Well, it had been a long shot, but he thought it was worth checking.

I am pleased you are continuing your studies. You are a most exemplary student, and I would encourage you to continue your extracurricular research. The strength of the Shield Charm varies in proportion to the power harnessed by the caster. Exert your will and determination, and channel as much power as possible for an improved effect. Some spells that books claim will easily penetrate a Shield Charm are able to be blocked by a more magically powerful caster. Conversely, a puissant caster can penetrate even a strong Shield Charm with a theoretically weak spell. It is cast on an area, not an individual, though its point of origin is the caster, so it may be employed to protect others adjacent to you – though it would be hoped they would not be so weak as to be unable to exert themselves to cast their own defensive spells. One should not chose the weak and incompetent as allies, but those strong enough to stand with you in a time of need.

The Killing Curse is impeded only by physical barriers, not magical ones, so theoretically no variation on the Shield Charm (of which there are already a few) should succeed as a defence. If you should perchance find any notes on your mother's hypothetical research in your vault, I would be most pleased to act, with the utmost discretion, as a sounding board for any further discussion of your theories.

Owls directed to carry your missives to "Slytherin, England" should reach me, provided they are competent at their duties (do not choose a weak or stupid owl for such a vague direction – if in doubt you are welcome to instruct the owl I have sent with my own correspondence to wait for your response).

With my best wishes for your future endeavours,

Yours sincerely,

Always Slytherin

It was nice of him to answer Harry's questions rather than just complain that he should ask Professor Flitwick. And volunteering to be a sounding board was a kind thought. Certainly a man on the run from the authorities would have low motivation to be promulgating magical theories or gossip in a newspaper for the world to read, in any case. Who would he tell? At most, he'd no doubt love the information to hoard as a potent defence to add to his own capabilities, should Harry find out something truly useful.

Harry asked Neville for some advice on formal letter writing, including how to finish off a letter; Neville recommended the valedictions "Yours sincerely" or "Yours faithfully" as generally suitable, or their expanded versions, "I am yours sincerely" or "I remain, Sir, your faithful and obedient servant", when being especially courteous to an older, traditionally minded person whom you were trying to impress.

"I know you're not wearing your Heir ring, Harry. Though I think you should. Gran won't give me mine yet – she says I'd just lose it. Perhaps you didn't know, but those kind of rings are good for pressing your family House crest into the sealing wax on your letter," Neville advised.

Harry thought about that, but decided that since Quirrell was trying to be relatively anonymous with his correspondence, stamping his letter with the Potter crest might be a tad indiscreet. He decided to stick with "Yours sincerely" to finish off his letters as it felt most familiar and seemed acceptable enough as an option.

He wrote a quick letter to Quirrell discussing how he couldn't access his family vault to look at notes until he was seventeen, and asking if Quirrell had any advice on further books to read about the Old Ways, as he wanted to learn more about Lugnasadh, which Bagshot's book didn't cover in much detail.

That week Neville joined him, Millicent, and Daphne in a couple of sessions practising casting charms. Everyone seemed to get on well together, which was a relief. Daphne's trouble with the Shrinking Charm seemed to be a matter of focus and motivation – her incantation and wand motion seemed fine, but the transformation took forever. Harry talked her through using a visualisation; mentally pretending that someone was coming and that she desperately needed to shrink and hide an object in her pocket before they caught her.

"Now you've got it," he grinned, as with a new record time she shrank a page of parchment with "Secret Plans" scrawled on it.

Daphne looked pleased. "Thanks, Harry."

Neville didn't actually need to practise that much – he was doing well in Charms at the moment, so he worked with Harry on the focusing exercise Flitwick had given Harry where you alternated between increasing and decreasing the strength of the Lumos charm.

When Professor McGonagall collected names of those staying for the holidays Harry didn't put his name down, but Ron and Hermione did; they'd heard from Harry that Malfoy was staying at Hogwarts, which struck them as suspicious proof of Malfoy's guilt. Judging by the explosion Ron managed to cause in Potions with a firework in Malfoy and Goyle's cauldron (Malfoy got a nose like a balloon from the splattered Swelling Solution), the two were forging ahead with the plan to filch Snape's ingredients; Hermione looked far too pleased with herself. Snape glared at everyone suspiciously and threatened expulsion, but no-one was accused or caught.

Near the end of term, a Duelling Club was announced, to great excitement. Harry had high hopes of it; gossip said that Professor Flitwick was a former duelling champion. They went to the session for first and second years at 8 o'clock in the evening to find Professor Lockhart was running it, dressed in resplendent but impractical-looking robes of deep plum. It was a disappointment. Hermione may still be a fan of Lockhart, but as Harry hadn't learnt a single useful spell off the man in any of his classes yet his hopes were quite dashed. Oh, he liked him quite well on a personal level, but as a Defence teacher his skills were sorely lacking. And Professor Snape was assisting him, which also boded ill for the quality of teaching.

After an amusing demonstration of the Disarming Charm by the teachers they were paired up with someone from another house. Ron was matched with a first year lad from Ravenclaw, Harry was with Theo, Neville with a first year Hufflepuff girl, and Hermione was assigned to partner Millicent. Pansy and Daphne were too far away from where he was standing to see who they were paired with.

Harry and Theo each took a turn casting Expelliarmus, while the other obligingly stood still waiting to be disarmed. Nott went first, and sent Harry's wand flying with a textbook cast of the spell. Then it was Harry's turn.

"Well, that was very civilized, but irrefutably dull," said Nott with a drawl, after his wand flew from his own hand to clatter on the floor. "Shall we liven things up a little with an expanded spell list for another duel?" He picked his wand up again and checked it for damage, thankfully finding none.

"Nothing forbidden or permanently damaging. In fact, shall we say first and second year spells only?" suggested Harry.

"Your terms seem quite reasonable. Agreed."

They bowed formally to each other again, with a swish of wands in front of their chests, and soon were casting spells (and dodging them) with great enthusiasm. It was more fun than Harry had ever had in any Defence class to date! Pity it had nothing to do with any official instruction.

Across the hall, Millicent and Hermione were wrestling. Hermione had snatched Millicent's wand out of her hand when her first try at Expelliarmus had failed (trying to copy Lockhart's wand motions probably hadn't helped) and Millicent had laughed at her.

Neville was gamely trying to show his partner how to cast Expelliarmus despite not having mastered it properly himself yet. And Ron was showing his partner how to cast a Bat Bogey Hex on unsuspecting duellists in other pairs.

After a while the teachers noticed the increasingly chaotic duels, and called a halt, switching to a demonstration pair. Snape suggested Malfoy and Weasley, with a twisted smile to Lockhart, who gamely (and overly trustingly) agreed.

Of course, Lockhart's pathetic attempt at demonstrating a Shield Spell was useless to Ron, and the two rapidly escalated their duel with the nastiest hexes and curses they probably knew. And then, Malfoy summoned a snake. It hissed angrily at Ron.

"Bite!" it said, and Harry wondered if he or someone else should do something, but then Lockhart intervened before Snape could. Sadly he only managed to make it angrier and a hair's breadth away from biting Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Poison! Kill!"

Finch-Fletchley was too far away from Harry for his as-yet small Shield Spell to work, and there was too much of a crowd in the way to cast an offensive spell, so as the snake reared back with fangs exposed ready to strike, Harry did the only thing he could think of. Though he feared it would lead to trouble.

"Ssstop! Leave him alone!" Harry hissed loudly, though to him it sounded just like English, not an eerie sibilant language.

The snake slumped to the floor, docile as a coiled up garden hose, eyes fixed on Harry. Harry smiled hopefully at Justin, but he didn't look grateful, or even puzzled. He looked angry… and scared.

"What do you think you're playing at?" he shouted, and stormed out of the hall before Harry could say anything.

Snape vanished the snake, and gave Harry a shrewd and calculating look; Harry didn't like it. Or the muttering around the hall. It wasn't all against him, though. He heard a snippet of Pansy's distinctively shrill tones.

"…my cousin, you know," she said, with a note of pride. She caught him looking in her direction, and gave him an impressed smile and a nod of her head. Daphne was next to her, and bobbed a discreet curtsey at him. Malfoy, on display in the middle of the crowd, looked impassively blank by the time Harry glanced in his direction, and Ron looked gobsmacked. And maybe a bit afraid.

Neville, Ron and Hermione hurried him out of the hall to the Gryffindor common room as soon as they could, looking supportively worried, and hit him with their questions as soon as they had a bit of privacy.

"You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?" demanded Ron, who still looked shaken.

"Well… it seems to have a bad reputation in wizarding society," said Harry defensively. "I didn't want people to judge me. It's not like I can help it. I'm sure there's plenty of people who can do it, who just stay quiet about it."

"No, it's really rare," said Ron. "Harry, this is bad."

"But maybe since people heard me use it to tell the snake to leave Justin alone, they'll come around," said Harry, with desperate optimism. "I mean, I saved him! That's brave, and Gryffindor-like?"

"All we heard was hissing, Harry," Neville said quietly.

"Really? Are you sure you were close enough? I was speaking English, it's just that the snakes understand you."

"No, it was definitely a weird kind of hissing language. I thought you were egging the snake on," said Ron. "It was dead creepy, you know."

Harry gaped at him. "You thought… I'd do that?"

Ron looked shifty. "Just for a second, maybe."

"People are going to think you're the Heir now," said Hermione, speaking in a hushed voice. "I'm worried for you, Harry. Salazar Slytherin was famous for speaking to snakes."

"I guess they'll think that," sighed Harry. "At least you guys know I'm not his many-times great-grandson, right?"

"Of course you're not, Harry!" said Neville supportively.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Well, he lived a thousand years ago. For all we know, you could be. Statistically it's even likely, given how pure-bloods are about blood purity and not marrying out. Obviously it doesn't make you evil or anything ridiculous like that. Just like having magic doesn't make you evil either. It's just a talent." She smiled encouragingly at him.

Ron didn't say anything more at all. He just eyed Harry suspiciously.

Harry tried to find Justin the next day to apologise, but his plans to catch him in Herbology were thwarted by a snowstorm that cancelled the class. With Hermione's encouragement he ventured out to find him in the library instead.

He overheard some Hufflepuffs gossiping about how they'd advised Justin to hide up in the dormitory since Harry had obviously marked him for attack after letting slip he was down for Eton. Harry lurked in the shadow of a bookshelf and eavesdropped some more; Hannah Abbott, Lily Moon, and Ernie Macmillan were there, as well as some others he didn't know by name.

Lily seemed sure he was the Heir, and suggested maybe the reason the Dark Lord attacked him was because he'd recognised Harry's potential to grow up to be a rival Dark Lord himself.

Ernie seemed unsure, but did comment on how so far only Potter's enemies had been petrified, which seemed very suspicious.

Hannah seemed inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, but was growing more anxious the more the others talked.

"There have been a lot of Dark wizards and witches in the Black family you know, and Potter has been researching his links with that family," Lily muttered warningly. "Who knows what secrets about the Chamber he's unearthed, or what books of Dark magic? For some," she said, with a meaningful glance at Ernie, "what starts innocently can lead to dreadful things. Blood sacrifices and stuff like that."

Harry couldn't take it anymore and stepped out to confront them, but hearing he was looking for Justin failed to reassure them. He tried to tell them how he was ordering the snake not to attack, but no-one seemed to believe him. He was just about to storm off when Pansy stopped by.

"Harry, cousin!" she said, delightedly. "I had a free class too, so when I heard Herbology was cancelled I thought I'd come and find you. I thought you might need a friendly face."

"Trust a Slytherin to be buddies with the Heir," muttered someone.

"Well, I've certainly got nothing to worry about," she said, smugly, linking her arm around Harry's.

"I thought you had History of Magic this morning?" he whispered.

"Like I said – a free period," she whispered back, conspiratorially. "Tracey takes notes for us all."

"Well, I'm not going near him." There was a murmuring of agreement, and Harry felt a bit sick to his stomach.

"I might remind you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's…" said Ernie nervously.

Pansy snickered at him.

"Do you think I'm the Heir of Slytherin, Pansy?" asked Harry seriously.

"If he is, you can't really trust him," warned Hannah, anxiously. "It might be safer…" she trailed off, chewing at her lip.

Harry looked worriedly at Pansy, but she just snorted and rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," she said, turning to face the crowd. "If he is the Heir, then the safest place to be is as a loyal friend at his side. And if he's not, then being his friend is no risk at all and he'll appreciate the support!"

She turned to Harry. "Honestly, you have to spell everything out for Hufflepuffs. House of the 'loyal' indeed. They're definitely not the house of the smart, cunning or brave, that's manifestly obvious." She turned and sneered at them all.

"Thanks, Pansy. I think."

"For what it's worth, I don't think you're the Heir."

"Thanks," he smiled gratefully.

"Unless you are the Heir, in which case, my belief in you is unwavering, and just not something I want to talk about publicly." She grinned at him. "Hypothetically."

"Covering all the options, aren't you?" Harry didn't even know what she really believed; she'd sounded pretty sincere both times.

"Well, you are a Parselmouth!"

The Hufflepuffs seemed quiet and thoughtful as they listened to their interchange.

"Can I carry your bag to your next class for you, Potter?" offered Abbott, when there was a pause in their conversation.

"Do you need help with your homework?" said another, and they started pressing in around him.

"You know I didn't mean any offence with my comments," said Lily worriedly. "It was just idle speculation."

"You know I've always liked you, Harry. I think of you as a friend. A very good friend," said a third Hufflepuff earnestly, whose name Harry didn't even know.

"We've been friends for ages, right Harry?" said Ernie anxiously.

Pansy seemed vastly amused at Harry's new plight. He looked at her pleadingly and whispered a request for help, but she only egged them on.

"Well, you say you're a friend, but I don't know what you've done for him to demonstrate that. I wonder if you've even bought him a gift for Yule?" she hinted heavily.

"Pansy!" Harry gasped disbelievingly.

"Oh, I have! It's a great gift, err... I just haven't wrapped it yet."

"Mine's better!"

"You wouldn't attack a friend would you, Harry? I can call you Harry, can't I?"

It took ages to reassure them that even if, hypothetically, he was the Heir of Slytherin, that he wouldn't attack anyone just because they didn't give him something for Yule. They seemed to find that far more calming than his assertions that he wasn't the Heir. Pansy was subtly undermining those attempts with meaningful looks and comments about how no-one was saying he was, and he didn't need to worry – they all supported him.

Eventually he got so frustrated he stomped off on his own. It was almost time for Transfiguration, and he had to get his books. He was halfway down a particularly dark corridor (the torches having blown out) when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was petrified on the floor, and Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, was floating immobilised in the air, looking uncharacteristically black and smoky.

Harry's heart beat wildly as he looked around in a panic – would something attack him too? Would people assume he'd done it if they saw him here? He sprinted down the corridor away from the scene of the crime but ran literally right through Peeves, who raised the alarm, sending students and teachers crashing out into the hall. There was chaos for a moment, and Harry was pinned against the wall by the crush of students. As Professor McGonagall restored order by sending students back into their classes, a few lingered to watch. Ernie stared at him, white-faced and nervous.

"It wasn't me," Harry said loudly, in his direction, speaking up to drown out Peeve's delighted mocking rhyme. "I just came down the corridor, and they were already like this."

"Of course it wasn't him," said a student's voice smoothly behind him. Harry turned, to see Draco Malfoy smiling innocently. Draco turned to face Professor McGonagall.

"I saw him, Professor. He came down the corridor in the opposite direction to me, and I saw him stop. He looked really startled. He just stumbled across them, like he said."

Harry looked at Draco confusedly. He hadn't seen him at all. Mind you, it had been a very dark corridor.

As Professor McGonagall and the other teachers dealt with Peeves and organised Justin and Nick to be moved to the hospital wing, Harry had a very quiet word with Draco.

"I didn't see you in the corridor…" Harry whispered.

"But it's plausible I might have been there to witness your arrival," said Draco softly, sounding cautiously polite.

"You're… trying to cover for me?"

"I owed you a favour of silence, from last year. Consider that debt repaid."

"But I really am innocent! I just came along and found Justin like that – I tripped over him in fact!" he whispered intensely.

"Really? So you know absolutely nothing about whatever attacked the Squib's cat, and those students you disliked?"

Harry hesitated a moment – he really didn't want to tell Draco he was hearing voices. "Look, yes they were annoying, but I didn't attack them - I don't know what did it, or how. I have a credible witness who can attest to my innocence for the first incident, and I was in the infirmary for the second."

"Yes, well done." Unfortunately for him, Draco had noticed his slight hesitation and was now smiling smugly as he congratulated Harry, assuming Harry had arranged his alibis well. "And I'll vouch for you for this one."

"It wasn't me!"

"Of course not, and I shall be sure to attest to that to anyone who enquires," said Draco, leaving him with a polite nod of his head (dipping low as to one superior in rank) and heading swiftly off to class as McGonagall approached.

What an infuriating boy, thought Harry. Didn't anyone believe in his innocence? Only Hermione and Neville seemed to be offering their whole-hearted support so far.

As McGonagall marched him up to Dumbledore's office and left him there alone, it didn't feel like she had much faith in him either.