Ah, good, the last chapter worked in with the rest of the story instead of changing it entirely. We are back on track now.

Thank you again for the reviews! Review responses up in LJ this afternoon.

Chapter Six: Moons and (Would-be) Stars

"Do you think he'll use the snake to cheat on exams?"

"No, I bet he uses it to plot the deaths of innocent people!"

"No, I bet he uses her to help him…" And Harry couldn't hear the last word, as the sentence trailed off in a burst of laughter.

Harry kept his eyes forward and his feet moving. He had known this would happen when he revealed that he was a Parselmouth. He had known. And he'd done it anyway. At least he had practice ignoring this kind of thing from the first three weeks of school, when he'd done his best to ignore his Housemates.

"I could hex them," Draco, walking beside him, offered in a low voice.

"All of them?" Harry asked dryly. They were passing a group of fourth-year Ravenclaws, who hooted loudly and hailed the "Snake Prince." Harry fought the impulse to hunch his shoulders. "Then you'll have three-quarters of the school reeling around with boils on their noses and legs locked together. And you'd land us in detention besides."

"We could do it," said a voice behind him.

Harry turned and glanced at Marcus Flint. The older Slytherin's eyes were burning, and he had his wand drawn. He hadn't fired any hexes at anyone yet, but from the look on his face, it was only a matter of time.

Harry wasn't sure what to make of Flint, nor the rest of Slytherin House. He'd annoyed them by ignoring them the first few weeks, and by not retaliating when they jinxed him. But since the moment he revealed he was a Parselmouth, they seemed to have closed ranks around him, determined to protect him as one of their own.

Harry enjoyed it, while trying not to, mostly because it puzzled him. He was sure it had to end soon, when their annoyance at him outweighed their pride that there was someone with Slytherin's talent in their House. Or when he told Flint that he had a Nimbus 2001 broom. Flint knew he was planning to play on the Quidditch team. He didn't know about the broom yet.

There hasn't been a right time to tell him, Harry defended himself.

"Of course there hasn't," said Sylarana. Since his show in the Great Hall, she'd taken to hissing aloud more and more often, not caring if anyone heard her. Draco, as always, tried to peer under Harry's sleeve at her; he never seemed to understand that a Locusta was both highly dangerous and highly unpredictable. "Keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better."

Harry didn't respond. He didn't feel like arguing in his head, and speaking with Sylarana in Parseltongue in the halls made him feel self-conscious. The other Slytherins had assured him they didn't mind. That only made Harry mind more.

They walked past two older Ravenclaw students, who half-turned towards Harry and smirked at him. "Maybe he keeps the snake on his pillow," one of them whispered, voice low and vicious. "There's some pillow talk."

"He's touched in the head," said the other one, and snorted. "Thinking he can control that beast at all. I bet the snake's just waiting until a certain point in the year, and then she's going to devour everyone in the school."

The return laughter had a nasty edge that made Harry more concerned than usual. Joking about him was one thing. Spreading rumors that Sylarana wanted to hurt the students might result in them trying to take her away, and that would result in someone getting hurt.

"I don't think he's mad," said a small, calm voice. "If you can talk to a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, I don't see why you can't talk to a snake."

Harry blinked. The Ravenclaw students reversed towards the sound of the voice so fast that he was left staring at their backs. They had someone cornered against the wall, he thought, someone small enough that he couldn't see anything of—her?—over them.

"Loony, Loony Lovegood," said the first student, the one who'd mentioned pillow talk, in a voice with an even nastier edge than he'd used to talk about Harry. "You're not the best witness to someone's sanity, are you? You and your Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and your radish earrings—"

Harry edged back, gently pushing aside Draco and a few third-year Slytherins who were bristling to strike back at the Ravenclaws. He could see between the two students now, and they'd edged a small girl towards the wall, a girl who seemed all straggling blonde hair and enormous eyes behind equally large glasses. She did indeed have radish earrings, dangling low enough to brush her shoulders. She blinked at the older students, even when one of them reached out and snatched her wand from behind her ear.

"You shouldn't keep it there, Loony," he said in a lecturing tone. "You could blow your own ear off."

The girl nodded. "Yes, that's true," she said. "Thank you for the advice." She held her hand out. "I'll keep it behind my left ear in the future."

The student who held her wand laughed. Harry growled softly. He didn't like that laughter, which was of the same kind that Ron and Connor had used towards Hermione last year before they became her friends.

"I'm not giving this back to you, Loony," said the Ravenclaw boy. "I'll keep it safer than someone who believes in Hellpaths or whatever you call them."

"He-lio-path," said the girl, carefully enunciating each syllable. "And it's true that they exist. Just not often in Britain. But the Ministry keeps an army of them. They don't want you to find out, of course. It's all very hush-hush." She turned and looked at Harry, suddenly, disconcertingly, through the same gap he was using to look at her. "But brave people put the truth forward, even if they're not believed."

Harry decided at that point that he'd had about enough, and called his own magic. "Give her back her wand," he said.

The Ravenclaw boys blinked and looked at him. Harry had the feeling that they'd forgotten all about him, that the girl was their more favored target.

So they tease her this often?

That irritated Harry. It was one thing for them to tease him; Parseltongue was a Dark talent, and he'd put himself forward, as the girl said. But all she'd done was defend him, and, apparently, talk about creatures that didn't exist and wear radishes as earrings. Those weren't enough to justify this kind of teasing. And she looked to be a first-year, so she couldn't have built up any long-standing grudges.

"Why should we, Snake Prince?" the one holding the girl's wand asked, grinning like a fool. "We just want to keep herself from doing harm. You can't trust these mad witches. Quite mad, her mother," he added, raising his voice to the students who had stopped and were watching the growing fight. "Destroyed herself in an experiment."

"Yes, she did," said the girl calmly. "I was there. I saw it happen." She paused. "I miss her sometimes."

Harry felt sick. He couldn't imagine losing a member of his family like that. And for the boys to use that to tease her…

And she'd defended him.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the boys and whispered a spell he'd never tried wandless before. "Apis Occaeco."

The Ravenclaw holding the wand shrieked and abruptly dropped it, clutching his hand. Harry nodded. The Invisible Bees hex was a mild one, but it did cause a sharp, stinging pain in the center of the hands, and that was worth it. Harry scooped up the wand swiftly and turned back to the girl.

"Thank you," she said gravely, taking the wand from him and tucking it behind her left ear. "My name is Luna Lovegood. What's yours?"

Harry blinked. "You were standing up for me, and you didn't even know my name?'

"We haven't been properly introduced," said Luna, and extended a hand.

Harry shook it, ignoring the stares he could feel behind him. "Harry Potter," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

"I am going to mess you up," snarled a voice behind him, and then the Ravenclaw not whimpering over his stung hand grabbed Harry on the shoulder and swung him around.

Harry met his eyes and thought of Sylarana. When he parted his lips, he knew the words came out in a hiss. "Can you come out of my sleeve and just coil on my wrist, not attacking them? I only want to remind them of you."

"There is an audience?"

"There is."

"I am coming."

Sylarana poked her head out of his sleeve and coiled on his wrist, in a perfectly lazy motion that Harry had to admire. She opened her mouth in an imitation of a human yawn, tongue flicking around her transparent fangs.

The Ravenclaw who'd been ready to beat Harry up had gone dead white. "Don't let her hurt me," he whimpered, shrinking away from Harry. "Please don't let her hurt me."

"Oh, she's not going to hurt you," said Flint, who had his wand trained on the Ravenclaw, "because I'm going to hurt you first."

"No, me," said Draco, and cast the Jelly-Legs Jinx. The Ravenclaw student sagged to the floor, half-screaming, as if Sylarana had already bitten him.

"Stop this at once!"

Harry winced as Professor McGonagall rounded the corner and bore down on them. Only Dumbledore would have been worse. The Head of Gryffindor House had her lips clamped together so hard that it was a wonder that she hadn't bitten through them. Her wand was out, and with a sweep, she ended both Draco's jinx and the Invisible Bees hex. Her eyes traveled through them all in the sudden silence, fell on Harry's face, and narrowed.

"Mr. Potter," she said.

"Professor McGonagall," said Sylarana, her intonation a near-perfect mimicry of the woman's voice.

Harry had never been more glad that there wasn't another Parselmouth at the school. "Professor," he acknowledged, dipping his head, and waited to be given detention or have points taken away. Probably both.

"What happened?"

Harry blinked for a moment, then remembered the one good consequence to Professor McGonagall catching them. Unlike Snape, the Head of Gryffindor House was scrupulously fair. She would listen to all sides, and since there were no Gryffindors involved here, she wouldn't be personally prejudiced—

Except that he was a Slytherin, and a Parselmouth.

Harry shrugged. He would have to accept what she chose to give him, in that case.

"I heard these two Ravenclaws speaking some of the gossip that's spread around the school in the wake of my announcement, ma'am," he said, gesturing at the boys. "Then Luna defended me, and they turned on her, teased her, and took away her wand. I interfered, and asked my snake to defend me. One of them didn't like me, and tried to attack me. Draco cast the Jelly-Legs Jinx. Then you appeared."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed further. "But you didn't use magic?"

"I didn't have my wand out, ma'am," Harry started, since he knew he could get away with that much. He'd reveal his ability to use wandless magic if he had to, but he preferred not to.

"And second-year students can't cast magic without a wand," said Flint, intruding. He didn't even flinch when McGonagall's glare came down on him—well, not much. "Everyone knows that, Professor. None of us saw Harry draw his wand. We'll all swear to that." His face was the picture of innocence.

McGonagall sighed, then murmured, "Well, that is certainly true," and stabbed Harry with a glare. "Why did you interfere, Mr. Potter?"

Harry blinked. "They were teasing her," he said. "She didn't deserve it."

McGonagall glanced at Luna. "And this is true, Ms. Lovegood?"

"On my honor as a future trainer of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," said Luna with perfect gravity, "it is."

McGonagall nodded briskly. "Very well. Forty points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for using magic on a fellow student, and a week's detention to be served with me."

Harry waited for Draco to object. He didn't. He simply looked smug. Harry didn't understand that, and resolved to ask him about it later.

McGonagall turned abruptly on the Ravenclaws. "Forty points from Ravenclaw for fighting in the corridors," she said. "Twenty points from Ravenclaw for harassing a student younger than you are. You should be ashamed of yourselves, Mr. Gorgon, Mr. Jones. Casting aspersions on a student in your own House?" She shook her head in clear disgust, while Gorgon and Jones gaped at her.

Harry had just let his breath out when she turned to him. "Mr. Potter."

Harry tensed, expecting points off from Slytherin for lying or fighting or calling his snake out to defend him. "Yes, Professor?"

McGonagall glanced at Luna, at him, and at the Ravenclaws. "Fifty points to Slytherin for showing that House loyalty is not the only thing that matters," she said. "And for defending a student younger than yourself." She had a funny sort of smile on her face when she looked back at him, one that just made Harry blink at her. "Now, Mr. Potter, if you do not wish to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts, I suggest that you hurry." She turned and swept away up the corridor.

There was a long, stunned silence, and then Flint said, in the voice of someone trying not to question a miracle lest it turn out to vanish when looked at too hard, "That means we came out ten points on top. McGonagall? She just gave ten points to Slytherin?"

"She gave ten points to Harry," said Draco, and nudged Harry with one elbow. "I think that's important."

"You'll pay for this, Potter," said one of the Ravenclaws—Gorgon, Harry thought—as they backed away. "I know you used magic." He held up his red, puffy hand accusingly.

"Come here and say that," said Harry, and Sylarana stirred menacingly. Gorgon and Jones swallowed and hurried away.

Harry turned towards Luna. "Thank you," he said. "For defending me earlier, and with Professor McGonagall."

Luna simply nodded solemnly at him. "Parselmouths aren't evil," she said. "Wrackspurt-speakers, now they could be evil, because they would set Wrackspurts on people and make their brains go fuzzy."

Harry blinked. He hadn't ever heard of Wrackspurts. But since Luna didn't seem to think there was anything unusual about what she was saying, he decided that he wouldn't think it, either.

"Thanks," he repeated, and went on his way to Defense, the Slytherins chattering around him. A glance back showed Luna marching determinedly down the corridor, wand tucked behind her left ear, alone.

"Why did you look so smug to have detention?" Harry whispered to Draco as soon as they were seated in Defense. Lockhart hadn't arrived yet, which made Harry happy. When he was in the room, it was hard to concentrate on anything but how much of a fool he was, and he wanted to hear Draco's answer.

Draco hummed under his breath, and went on about setting his books on the edge of the desk. Harry eyed them in resigned distaste. They were doing Adventures with Acromantulas this week. He had already read more about what Lockhart ate for dinner each night in the remote villages he traveled to than he had ever needed to know.

But he shook the thoughts away as he realized that Draco had his chin on one hand and was simply studying him, a bright smile on his face. "Well?" Harry asked. "It's not like McGonagall makes detentions fun." Harry had never heard that she did, even for her Gryffindors, according to Connor. It mostly consisted of writing lines or scrubbing things without magic. Connor had seemed aggrieved that McGonagall wasn't at least a bit fairer to her own House. Harry had to admire her for it, in a perverse way. McGonagall was consistent, and principled, and unbending, and never let anyone around her forget it.

"I know," said Draco. "But I protected you." He sounded as delighted as though his mother had sent him a whole box of chocolates from home, something she did about once a week.

Harry blinked. "I don't understand."

"I protected you," said Draco. "It was the first chance I've had since you announced you were a Parselmouth—the first time it's come to drawn wands instead of stupid insults that a Slytherin could do ten times better." He gave a little wriggle of something Harry thought was more delight. "I've wanted to do that, Harry," he finished. "I know that you don't think of me as a very close friend yet. But friends protect each other. So I did."

Harry sighed, but found himself smiling. Something like that would be Draco's reason.

Of course, his good mood was ruined in the next instant when Lockhart swept in, beaming at them. Harry comforted himself with the thought that at least the Defense professor's teeth were not as blindingly white as they could have been. A progressive Obscurus placed on his smile and hair had been Harry's revenge when he saw Lockhart once again urging Connor to appear in pictures with him. The smile and the hair would both grow a little dimmer every day. Harry hoped to be there when Lockhart first started peering into the mirror, thinking his hair was turning gray or his teeth yellow.

For now, though, the Defense professor was as annoying as ever. He swept up to the front of the room and clapped his hands. "Who knows what today is?" he asked brightly.

"Your birthday," said Pansy Parkinson from behind Harry, sounding dreamy. Harry cast her a disgusted look, and was just in time to see Millicent Bulstrode, with an even more disgusted look, elbow Pansy in the ribs.

"Act like a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake!" the bigger girl whispered. "Stop drooling over him!"

Lockhart went on before Pansy could retaliate. "My birthday, yes, excellent. Ten points to Slytherin." Pansy beamed. Draco made discreet gagging sounds beside Harry, and Harry was inclined to agree. "And that means," Lockhart announced, "that each of you has my permission to practice what spells you wish until the end of class, at which time you can present me with the gifts you used the spells to make!"

He grinned at them, the perfect, polished smile that was on the copy of Witch Weekly that Pansy kept with her at all times. Harry could see the darkness haunting his front teeth. He kept his thoughts on that and not on the chaos that could result from a class of second-year Ravenclaws and Slytherins flinging around spells as he drew his wand.

"Is he barking, or just bloody stupid?" whispered Draco next to him.

"Bloody stupid, I think," Harry whispered back, and shook his head. Lockhart was stupid, and it was a waste. Defense Against the Dark Arts was the most important class at Hogwarts, to Harry's way of thinking. The students had to learn how to defend themselves against curses and Dark creatures, or they would be helpless when Voldemort returned.

For now, though, he could content himself with thinking about the "gift" he would create for Lockhart. He closed his eyes for a long moment, then smiled and opened them. The best way of doing this would have been via a potion, but since he didn't have any potion ingredients here, he would do the best he could to approximate them with spells. He thought he could do it.

"What are you making?" Draco said, as he swished his wand and Transfigured a piece of paper into a slightly larger piece of paper. "I'm going to make something simple and pretend that it's something complicated and very ancient and pureblooded. The idiot won't know the difference."

"Watch," said Harry, and performed his own Transfiguration, turning one of Sylarana's scales into a sticky orange paste. Draco raised his eyebrows and started to ask a question, but Harry warmed the paste and stirred it in quick succession, then made it float into the air and twist around itself. He could feel his magic almost purring with happiness at the use, and shook his head. Sometimes he got very strange ideas about his own magic, and they seemed to be more frequent than usual since the summer.

He smoothed out the paste, and then glanced around for a container. Lockhart had an empty jar on his desk that he'd used to contain Cornish Pixies on the first day of class. Harry raised his hand demurely.

"Sir?"

Lockhart turned to him. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Could I borrow that jar from you?" Harry asked, lowering his eyes. "I need a container for my gift, and it would be an honor to touch something you've touched."

Looking positively delighted, Lockhart said, "Certainly, Harry," and tried to levitate the jar towards him. He mispronounced the Charm, and the jar shot up to the ceiling and nearly cracked, before Harry took control of it and floated it towards him. Lockhart chuckled. "I don't know my own strength, sometimes!"

What is that, one multiplied by the power of idiocy? Harry thought, and grabbed the jar, directing the orange paste into it. He cast a final spell, a simple one that turned the orange color to gold and made it look irresistibly beautiful. Harry held the jar solemnly out to Lockhart.

"Happy birthday, Professor," he said.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Potter," said Lockhart, and took the jar from him. "What a surprise." He looked at the golden paste for a moment, then frowned, as though he hated having to admit this. "Er—what is it?"

"A paste to help you take care of your skin and hair, Professor," said Harry earnestly. "I noticed that you were looking just a bit peaky at breakfast this morning. I hope this helps."

Lockhart turned faintly green. "Peaky? Really? Thank you, Mr. Potter. I will certainly apply it." He walked back to his desk, already dipping a finger in the paste and smoothing it over his right cheek.

Harry turned at a tap on his right arm. "Really?" Draco whispered, staring at him.

"Of course not," Harry said, taking care to keep his voice low. Lockhart probably wouldn't hear him, but there were plenty of people in the classroom who would take offense and hex Harry for daring to play a prank on him. "It'll make his hair shine brighter for a week, then turn his skin orange."

Draco's eyes widened, and he began to laugh. Harry smiled at him and leaned back on the table, ready to be pleasantly bored until the end of class as he watched Lockhart apply the paste liberally.

A mutter behind him warned him, but didn't give him quite warning enough. A voice that wasn't Slytherin said, "He hexed Gorgon! I know he did."

"This ought to teach him, then," said another voice, and Harry turned in time to see a brilliant green spell flying towards him. He panicked for a moment. He didn't think that he could get up a Shielding Charm in time, and he definitely didn't want to raise one in front of everyone. The students could think it was a professor who'd done it in the middle of the Great Hall, but here?

Let me.

Harry's body vibrated with the force of that voice, and the world in front of him warped and spun. He saw colors dragging against each other, turning into sunburned smears. He watched his own hand move in a lazy gesture, and the green hex turned red and flew back towards the Ravenclaw who'd cast it. He felt distant, detached, as though he hadn't done that. And he hadn't, not really.

Harry heard soft laughter in his head, and then Sylarana's agitated hiss. The next moment, the colors in the room stopped blurring, and he was back to normal, staggering, as the world appeared to begin again. Sylarana was visible, dancing on his wrist and lashing at nothing, as though she could bite whoever had spoken the words to Harry and laughed.

Draco grabbed his shoulder and stared into his face. "Harry? Are you all right?"

Harry nodded shakily. He still couldn't believe what he thought he'd seen. How could he have turned a hex red, particularly when he didn't know what it was?

"He hurt Margaret!"

Harry looked up swiftly, his heart pounding. A Ravenclaw girl, presumably the one who'd thrown the spell at him in the first place, was lying on the ground. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and she had a mark like a handprint on her right cheek. The handprint spread as Harry watched, turning the whole of her face red. Margaret whimpered softly in her sleep.

"There, there," said Lockhart, rushing over, his own face half-gold. "Bound to be accidents with these spells flying all over the place, yes? I really should have asked you to make small gifts for me, not special ones. Just take—er—Margaret to the hospital wing, Miss—er—"

"Turtledove," sobbed the girl crouching beside Margaret. She shot Harry a look of sheerest hatred. "Professor Lockhart, aren't you going to do anything to punish him? What did he do to her?"

"Er, well, I don't know," said Lockhart, and turned to Harry, attempting to look brave and heroic and failing miserably. "What did you do to her, Mr. Potter?"

"I don't know," Harry whispered. "I saw her spell flying towards me—"

"She didn't cast a spell!" Turtledove interrupted hotly.

"Yes, she did," said Millicent, leaning forward from the seat behind Harry. "I saw it. Harry deflected it. I don't think he meant to hurt her, but that's what happened." She shrugged. "She shouldn't have been playing around with spells like that in class. None of us should have." She cast Lockhart a pointed glance that he missed entirely.

"So it was just a case of dangerous magic meeting dangerous magic, then," Lockhart said, brightening. "So, please escort Margaret to the hospital wing, Miss, er, Turtleshell, and I'm sure she'll get better."

The Turtledove girl and three of her classmates helped carry Margaret out of the room. Harry could feel them glaring at him. He shook his head. He hoped that Luna wouldn't suffer from her Housemates turning their anger back on her.

And he hoped that he wouldn't suffer anything like that again. He touched his forehead and shivered. Then he paused. There was a specific pain in his head, and it was coming from his scar. He brushed his fingers over it, then flinched. It burned. He wondered that he hadn't noticed it before.

I felt him! Sylarana hissed in his head.

Who? Harry asked. He thought the last thing anyone needed now was to hear him hissing aloud in Parseltongue.

The one who visits you at night! Tom Riddle! Sylarana twined around in circles. I don't know what he did. He was—there, for a moment, and you weren't. Then I pushed him out, or he left, I don't know which. Harry had never heard her sound so worried.

Harry let out a breath, and glanced up when Draco touched his arm. "What happened, Harry?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Harry said back, watching as Lockhart moved up to the front of the room to daub the golden paste on his cheeks again. The joke seemed hollow now. "But I don't think it was anything I want to experience again."

"We'll fight it together, then," said Draco, and looped an arm through Harry's.

Yes, we will, said Sylarana, and now she sounded grimmer than she ever had.

Harry closed his eyes. If—whatever that was—happens again, does that mean I'm a danger to Connor?

He decided quickly that that wasn't the kind of decision he could make on his own. Nor could Sylarana or Draco, from lack of knowledge. But there was someone whom Harry needed to talk to who might know, who'd grown up around Dark magic and then fought it as an Auror.

After lunch, he decided. I'll go and talk to Sirius then.