Chapter Thirteen: Hisses and Kisses and Horcruxes

Draco Malfoy wasn't quite sure what to think when he arrived in the Great Hall for dinner one evening and heard some of the strangest sounds to ever grace his ears.

He'd arrived early, as he often did, so the Hall was practically empty for the time being, save for some people scattered about and a somewhat large gathering at the Gryffindor table. Now, normally he could care less what the Gryffs were up to, but the unusual hissing sounds reaching his ears were bizarre enough that he sought to find an answer.

He wasn't surprised in the slightest to find Potter at the center of the group, (sort of) with his pair of magical serpents curled up on the table beside him. On the opposite side of the table was Granger, with a notebook and quill, as well as a gathering of other students. Three of the Weasleys, (the twins and their youngest brother) the Hufflepuff Second-Year Tonks, and, oddly, Blaise Zabini, someone from his own House.

Draco came up near Potter, though he kept away from the pair of snakes that were his unofficial bodyguards. "What's this all about?"

"What's it to you?" Ron scowled at him, to which Draco sneered back.

"Don't start something, Ronald," Hermione told him off. "I'm trying to focus here."

Harry threw Draco a bone and turned to face him. It was eerie how the pair of snakes turned in time with their master, but the slight smirk on Harry's face threw it off. "We're trying to make a dictionary for Parseltongue…sort of."

"Why?" Draco asked.

"Because even though Parselmouths have existed for centuries, none of them ever bothered to sit down and actually record what the language means," Hermione scoffed to herself, as though she couldn't believe such a travesty could occur. "Imagine, this language has been considered dead because no one with the natural ability to speak it ever tried to teach anybody else!"

Draco just blinked. "Ok…? Why does this involve more than just you and Potter?"

Nym chortled. "Malfoy, what's the first thing one does when one is learning a new language?"

This even had Blaise snorting in amusement, to which Draco raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten me."

"Do not encourage him!" Hermione snapped at Nym, but the Twins were already choking on laughter and Ron had seemingly forgotten Draco's presence in favor of this unknown humor.

Selena hissed something in Parseltongue that had the group sniggering uncontrollably. Hermione gaped at the Basilisk, who looked far too smug. "Selena!"

Blaise filled in for Draco, smirking. "They're starting off with foul language."

Draco's lips curved up into a slight grin. "Oh? Like what?"

"Not you, too!" Hermione groaned, staring at the mostly empty piece of parchment. "I can't bring myself to write these down!"

"I can!" The Twins said in unison.

"Now Hermione," Nym said in a serious voice. "This dead language is incredibly important! We must record all of its meanings, or else there may be a horrible mistranslation one day!"

Hermione shot the older girl a dirty look and just shook her head. "You lot are awful."

"Thanks," Nym replied cheerfully.

"Seriously now," Hermione looked at Harry, who had taken a moment to scratch Aurelion under his chin. "There's a lot we could learn if we can translate Parseltongue. There might even be secrets in the school that can only be discovered by a Parselmouth?"

"What gives you that idea?" Blaise asked.

"The founder of your House, actually," Hermione reached into her book bag and yanked out the huge tome—Hogwarts: A History, and opened it up to a page on Slytherin. "Salazar Slytherin, one of the Four Founders, was known for his ability to speak Parselmouth, and apparently created a secret space in Hogwarts called 'The Chamber of Secrets'. There's not much to tell about it, but supposedly, Salazar sealed it off before he left Hogwarts for good."

Draco whistled. "So what, you think he might've locked it up with a secret language? How does that even work?"

"Parselmouth is more than just a language," she replied. "We've kind of figured out already that for the words to mean anything at all, you have to project them with magic. It's kind of tricky."

"Tricky how?"

Harry looked at Draco again. "I do it naturally, but I don't really understand how. When Hermione or anyone else tries to speak it, the words don't really make sense to Selena or Aurelion. It just sounds like nonsense to them. We think it's because Parseltongue is a language based pretty much completely on magic."

"So wandless magic," he concluded, cocking his head back thoughtfully. "Huh."

"I've worked out how to do it to an extent," Hermione told him, regaining Draco's attention. She extracted her wand and carefully pressed the tip of it against her throat. Casting a glance down at the parchment to read one of the words, she looked up at an expectant Harry and hissed in Parseltongue. "Hello."

"Not bad," he replied.

Hermione removed the wand and winced, massaging her throat. "It's rough speaking it, though."

"Doesn't seem to bother Harry," Nym pointed out.

He shrugged. "I might just be used to it. I talk in Parseltongue all the time."

"Well, when you work it out, tell me how I can call Weasley a git in snake."

"Jog on," Ron retorted.

Draco shot him a nasty smirk and walked off to the Slytherin table. Blaise shrugged and followed him after a moment, grunting a farewell to the other kids.

Nym watched them both go and frowned, looking over at Hermione. "How did Zabini wind up over here in the first place?"

"I was talking about our project with Harry before Madam Hooch showed up for flying lessons," Hermione told her. "Blaise overheard and I guess he was interested in the idea? He asked about it and we invited him to join us if he wanted to."

Ron looked after Malfoy and Zabini distrustfully. "They're still snakes."

Harry sighed as Selena and Aurelion fixed their gazes on Ron and stared at him in silence until he shifted uncomfortably. The ginger fumbled over his words. "Not snakes? Fine, they're Slytherins."

"Better," Selena hissed at him.

The school year flew by before Harry knew what was happening.

It seemed like after Quirrel's death, his first year at Hogwarts blasted past him until the weeks and months blurred together. In no time at all, he was studying for his O. alongside a group of other First Years from various houses. Even Draco joined them in the library frequently, scoffing that Crabbe and Goyle were useless for reviews. Often times, he dragged in Blaise and a girl from Slytherin, Daphne Greengrass.

As the months warmed, Selena and Aurelion's appetites increased and they hit growth spurts one after another. By the time April rolled around, Selena was closing in on eight feet long, while Aurelion was climbing past five. The Basilisk was almost as thick around as Harry's arm at her widest point. She was almost big enough to start eating rabbits, though both she and Aurelion preferred to eat rats still.

On the subject of Aurelion, he had almost mastered his ability to fly, although he could only keep it up for a few minutes before he tired. Researching Horned Serpents informed them that repetition would improve Aurelion's capacity for magic, the energy for which was stored in the jewel on his head. The same could be said for his ability to turn invisible, although he could keep that up for almost an hour now.

With how much he ate, he had the energy to practice almost as often as he wanted.

In his spare time, Harry had often found himself practicing spells for his own intrigue, (sometimes with Nym, who was always keen to show him her favorite pieces of magic) caring for the snakes, or reading. The latter especially—he wasn't going to be able to access the library whenever he wanted over the Summer.

At least he had plenty of stuff to look into while he was at Grimmauld Place. He was hoping Andromeda and Ted might let him visit Diagon Alley when the Summer started, so he could pick up a few more books.

Hopefully he'd be in some position to read once they got the Horcrux out of him. Maybe he'd even get to meet with Mr. Scamander again—he knew the Magizoologist was probably going to request a meeting in-person to check up on Aurelion.

As such, it was easy for Harry to get lost in thought as he stared out the window of the Hogwarts Express, watching as the scenery rushed by.

Even so, above all of those thoughts hanging heavily over him, there was one more topic that had been present in mind for some time now. He'd written Andromeda about this and although she had agreed, he could tell she was hesitant—so was he for that matter.

But still…

The door to his compartment opened and Harry looked away from the window, blinking at Nym as she walked in with a smile on her face.

"Mind if I drop in?"

He smirked back. "Would it stop you if I did?"

"If you really meant it, yes," she replied.

Harry felt a little warmth blossom in the core of his being. "Well, I don't mind. Come in."

She grinned at him and winked, settling into the seat across from him and beginning to chatter about the latest, most nefarious scheme the Twins had cooked up. Harry leaned back and was content to just listen to the energetic girl as she regaled him about their plot to replace all the Slytherin Quidditch team broomsticks with fake brooms—which would apparently launch them screaming fifty feet across the grounds before exploding like oversized firecrackers.

Harry probably wouldn't mind seeing that. He had a feeling any time he spent at the Burrow over the Summer would involve broomsticks and explosions, anyways. Being within fifty miles of the Twins was a hazard in and of itself.

An entertaining hazard, to be sure, but a hazard nonetheless.

"Still listening to me, Harry?" Nym prompted after a while, snapping her fingers in the space between them.

He blinked at her and realized he must've dozed off at some point. "Whoops. Sorry. Must be more tired than I thought."

"Hm. Ah, I have an idea to wake you up!" She exclaimed, grinning mischievously. "Close your eyes a moment?"

For some reason, it didn't even register in Harry's tired brain that she might be up to no good, because he did as she asked without even thinking about it. He heard a quiet shuffle, and then suddenly all he knew was the warmth of her lips on his cheek.

Harry's eyes flew open, suddenly very awake as she backed off, grinning wildly.

"Did I get your attention?"

He spluttered in shock, blood rushing to his face until Nym fell off her seat in an uncontrollable fit of giggles. "Wh-wha—"

Nym was gasping for breath as she shook with mirth. "Your f-face! Merlin, your face!"

Harry felt his every atom grow hot and he decided to flip the hood of his cloak over his head, burying himself into a singularity of embarrassment while Nym continued to laugh. He tried and failed to hold back a reflexive smile.

Needless to say, he wasn't all that tired anymore.

The next evening, after Harry had settled back into Grimmauld Place, Andromeda showed up to ask him if he was certain about this particular desire of his. He had to think about it for a few minutes before confirming that he was.

He shouldered his suitcase, took Andromeda's hand, and they Apparated to Privet Drive.

It was late at night already, so all the residents would be asleep. Harry looked at his old home with a wary expression—he was sure the Dursleys were already sound asleep at this hour, but he didn't care. He walked up to their front lawn and knelt down, speaking in Parseltongue.

"Come to me! Come!"

It took a little time—for a minute, he wasn't sure it had worked, but then he spotted a small shape slithering through the grass towards him. Then another, and another, until he was surrounded by the small group of tiny ground and grass snakes that had helped him create Selena almost a year ago.

"Harry Potter has come back!" The grass snake exclaimed. "Why?! Why would you return? It is not safe for you!"

"I didn't want to leave you all here," he told them as the snakes curled around his hands in familiar, old patterns. "I have a place for you to live now, if you like. You can come with me."

Some of them agreed. Others had lived in the gardens for years and wished to stay.

After those who joined him slipped into the suitcase, Harry took Andromeda's hand again and looked at the Dursley's house. His conscience clear, he left with no regrets.

And good riddance.

They received a letter from Dumbledore not long after the Summer holiday had started.

It was time.

The next day, the Hogwarts Headmaster arrived at Grimmauld Place to escort Harry and Ted to the Ministry of Magic, and led them quietly to the Department of Mysteries—the place where the Unspeakables did their work. It was a quiet, tense trip.

Dumbledore led them to a chamber deep in the department, where they met Croaker and a number of other Unspeakables, who were silent as they waited.

Harry stepped into the chamber warily, Ted's hand on his shoulder squeezing to reassure him. Croaker stopped and turned to face them.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter," his confusing voice filling the chamber. "We're ready to remove the Horcrux latched onto your soul. If I may, I will explain what this will entail?"

Harry nodded jerkily and the Unspeakable continued. "The fragment that is attached to you is, thankfully, rather small. All we need to do is transfer it from you to an inanimate object, which we will then destroy. Unfortunately, it's been siphoning your magic from you for ten years—so it's going to take some time to remove safely. It will also likely be quite draining for you, so you will feel rather tired as the process nears completion."

"Will it…will it hurt?"

"We've taken precautions to ensure it will not," Croaker told him, gesturing to a number of runes on the floor in the center of the room. "Even so, you will likely feel some kind of resistance from the fragment. It will attempt to remain with you. You may see flashes of its existence. As it is imperative you remain calm during this process, we will be giving you a calming draught to help you relax."

He fell silent. "Do you have any questions?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied, swallowing hard. "I—I just want to be shot of it."

"We have healers waiting for you," Dumbledore told Harry, gesturing to a pair of witches who were not Unspeakables (Harry could see their smiling faces clearly). "And I will be presiding over the ritual as well. You are in the best possible hands, Harry. All will be well."

Ted squeezed the boy's shoulder again. "I won't be participating, but I'll still be here. We'll take you straight home to recover once you're given the all-clear."

Harry nodded, fighting the shakiness in his limbs. The fear of the unknown. He took a deep breath and looked up at Croaker. "Ok. I'm ready."

"You are," the Unspeakable agreed. He gestured to one of the healers. "Madame, if you would—the calming draught."

One of the witches bustled over with a small goblet, gently pushing it into Harry's hands. "Here you are, dearie. Should taste like the best cup of hot chocolate you've ever had."

Harry took another breath and began to drink down the potion. It flooded him with a lulling warmth and by the time it was all gone, he felt like he was floating. He blinked drowsily and swayed on the spot.

Ted and Dumbledore guided Harry to the center of the room, where they helped lay him back down on the floor and took a moment to get his attention. Dumbledore smiled at him from above. "Brave, brave boy. Close your eyes now, and it will be over before you know it."

Harry nodded and was aware of them backing away. He closed his eyes and let the warmth of the calming draught flood his every cell.

He was aware of a hymn filling the air—a thick, melodious magic that coaxed his very soul to answer. It was soothing...so soft and gentle that he leaned into it eagerly.

He was content in that state for some undetermined time, until a small part of him tugged against the hymn. Harry frowned to himself lazily and pulled back, but the piece insistently tried to drag him back to his body.

"NO!" A foul voice screamed, thought he volume was so muffled he could barely hear its distress. "You are mine, boy! Mine!"

Harry tried to shrug it off, but it only latched on harder and he could feel his soul being pulled back into his body against his will.

The voice shrieked again. "You will die by my hand! You will NEVER escape me! Just like your parents!"

Irritated by the persistent voice, Harry's eyes opened lazily.

He was staring at the specter of some…inhuman thing floating above him, screaming and gnashing its teeth in a sudden assault upon his senses.

It was attached to his head. He could feel the wraith's cold presence on his skin.

Harry stared into its bloody eyes and his reaction was instinctive.

"Gerroff," he slurred tiredly.

Magic roared out of his body and ripped the fragment from him, sending it screaming away in agony. Harry was aware of the ground shaking beneath him, of startled shouts and exclamations filling the air.

But he was tired and the warmth of the potion lulled him back to rest. So he closed his eyes again, despite the hymn having disappeared, and uncaringly settled into the cracked floor.

"You're sure he's ok?" Ted asked anxiously.

The healers nodded, and the senior of the pair looked up at him. "His magic is exhausted, so he'll probably be sleeping the rest of today and tomorrow, but he'll recover quickly enough."

"Thank you," he said gratefully, pausing a moment to look around the shattered chamber. The Unspeakables were already repairing the damage, while Dumbledore and Croaker carefully studied the Horcrux's new host (a small, enchanted cauldron) with a number of spells to ensure it was well and truly locked up.

Croaker took the Horcrux away after a minute and Dumbledore walked over to Ted, crouching next to Harry's sleeping form. "We're going to prepare a space to contain the Horcrux, and then I'll destroy it with Fiendfyre. It will be done before the day is up."

"Good," Ted sighed in relief.

Dumbledore nodded and observed the destruction again with practiced eyes. "Mr. Tonks—"

"Just Ted, please," the man cut him off. "I think we can afford to not stand on ceremony here."

"Ted, then," Dumbledore smiled tiredly, looking down at the subject of this whole process. "We knew the Horcrux was siphoning off some of his magic, but I don't think any of us realized just how much. It surprised me."

Ted watched Harry's peaceful face for a moment in silence. "He's been this powerful all along?"

"Untrained, but yes," Dumbledore admitted. "Supposedly, the Dark Lord marked Harry as a threat to him when he went after the boy's family all those years ago."

The younger man whipped his eyes up to the Headmaster sharply. "What do you mean?"

"There was a prophecy," Dumbledore told him quietly. "Whether or not it has been fulfilled, I know not, but Harry was marked as Voldemort's mortal enemy—his equal—before he was born."

Ted flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord's true name, but he was mostly dazed by the revelation. "We should tell him. Shouldn't we?"

"Soon, but not just yet," the old man decided after a minute. "Let him recover. Once he's feeling better, I'll visit again. Before the Summer is up. For the sake of secrecy, I suggest we keep this between us and Harry, but he is the subject of this prophecy. It would not do to keep him in the dark."

"Good, good," Ted pursed his lips for a second. "Dumbledore, the amount of power he has—"

"I know. I suspected, given all he's become capable of in his first year at Hogwarts, but this has confirmed it for me. He's going to grow into the same vein of powerful wizards and witches throughout history as myself. The same vein as the Four Founders, Merlin, and Morgana. We must keep his strength secret until he can wield it properly."

"Will you teach him?"

"To the best of my abilities," Dumbledore said, nodding slightly. "Yes. Yes, I will teach him."

Lucius Malfoy signed off on the last piece of paperwork that would be necessary for this particular appointment to be completed, then leaned back in the luxurious chair of his office.

The board of directors for Hogwarts (of which he was a member) had decided to appoint Gilderoy Lockheart as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher following the death of Quirinus Quirrel. The man had quite the reputation, but Lucius was intelligent enough to see him for what he really was—a fraud. A puppet, good for little more than distracting others with his dramatics.

Well, the rest of the board had seemingly missed Lockheart's faults, because they were excited to appoint him. Lucious scoffed. Fools, the lot of them.

He had more pressing concerns.

The Potter boy—Draco had reported that the child who had banished Lucius' old master was growing swiftly. He excelled in his classes and had somehow even managed to tame a Basilisk. Dumbledore was interested in him; of course he was. The man had an eye for talent, and even though he was over a hundred years old, his instincts were no less sharp than they'd been in his prime.

Potter was dangerous. In time, he could take the wizarding world by storm of his own power, not just the legend he'd practically been born into.

Lucius could already tell from the crowd the boy kept around him (mudbloods and blood-traitors like the Weasleys, bah!) that he wasn't going to favor a pureblood agenda. He'd almost certainly retaliate against any agenda the Dark Lord had supported, due to the role he'd played in killing Potter's parents all those years ago.

There would be no swaying him. Potter was at the top of his class—he was anything but a fool, even if he was inexperienced.

He was a threat. Threats had to be removed.

Lucius pondered the idea he'd been harboring for some time, ever since he'd heard that Potter was attending Hogwarts. If the boy died, his master's return would be unimpeded. He had the means, but not the time nor excuse to visit Hogwarts in the coming months. He needed a puppet. An unknowing victim.

This would be risky. If the boy was as skilled at Parseltongue as Draco indicated, this plan could backfire badly. But Potter's ability was nothing compared to the Dark Lord's, and he was not the true heir of Slytherin. Salazar's monster would not obey him, Lucius was certain—especially if the true heir was present to direct it.

He opened a secret compartment in his desk with a quick pulse of magic and removed from it an old diary, within which he knew was a secret the Dark Lord had entrusted him with.

Lucius Malfoy set the diary on his desk, sipped from a glass of fine wine, and made his decision.

The boy must die.

A/N: That concludes year one, yay! Moving fast? That is kind of the idea I've been going for. Since this isn't one of my major projects, the plot will be skipping ahead at some points to keep things going.

Also, new job starting tonight. Late tonight. Overnight shifts. Yay. My schedule is screwed.

As ever, please review and thanks for reading!