When Harry was released from the hospital wing the next day, he immediately gathered Ron and Hermione with me to tell us about his visit from Dobby, and how it had been the house-elf that cursed the Bludger, and how Colin Creevey had ended up being petrified the same exact way that Mrs. Norris had been.
"Colin?" I gasped, feeling my throat constrict. "You mean that kid with the camera?"
Harry nodded dully. "Yeah… I overheard Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey talking. They think he was coming to visit me…"
The guilt to his voice was unmistakable. I reached out to seize his arm—perhaps a little too tightly, based on the way he flinched—and declared, "Harry, you cannot blame yourself for what happened. You had no way of knowing."
"I know that, but it's still terrible. He didn't deserve that."
I smiled sadly at him and returned my hand to my side. All three of my friends had somber looks to their faces; shaking my head, I replied, "No one does."
The next week was rather uneventful, exempting the Potions lesson where Harry threw a Filibuster's firework into Goyle's Swelling Solution. A number of the Slytherins ended up with the potion splashed upon them; the effects were instantaneous. Almost half the class ended up with enlarged noses, ears—a snort existed my mouth upon seeing Elizabeth Malfoy have to ask Professor Snape for help, as her bottom lip was now the size of an eggplant.
Harry later told me why he had done such a thing: it was to create a diversion for Hermione, who needed some extra ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion needed that could only be found in Snape's personal stores.
It had been quite the Potions lesson, seeing as Snape was forced to end class early so he could deflate Draco's nose, Elizabeth's left hand, and some sort of body part from half of his own students.
A sudden thought came in my head as I was watching Professor Snape deflate Elizabeth's lip—once class was over and we were out of range of Snape and any nosy Slytherins, I pulled Harry aside and murmured, "When you use the Polyjuice Potion, ask Draco if he thinks Elizabeth might be the Heir of Slytherin, will you?"
"Elizabeth?" he repeated, astounded. But then I told him about how she was still a Malfoy, and how she'd been the one to say, 'You'll be next, Mudbloods!' the night we'd found Mrs. Norris.
Harry nodded at this and agreed that she was suspect indeed.
The next week, thoughts of the Chamber of Secrets were driven out from my mind when I saw a poster that advertised a dueling club after classes on Friday.
"Could be useful," Ron mused, tapping a finger to his chin. "Shall we go?"
We all agreed to that: with piqued interest, we trailed into the Great Hall on Friday afternoon. It was Hermione who asked, "I wonder who'll be teaching us? Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young. Maybe it'll be him."
"As long as it isn't—" Harry started to say, but his next words were substituted with a groan.
Lockhart stood upon a long stage in the Great Hall. If that wasn't bad enough, on the opposite side of that stage stood Professor Snape, his arms folded and hidden within his black cloak. The contrast between Snape's black robes and Lockhart's bright purple cape was so absurd I couldn't help but snort.
"Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me?" Lockhart waved everyone around the stage, his normal cheeky grin still upon his face. I sighed and shook my head upon noticing Parvati and Lavender shoving others aside to reach the front row. "Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions—for full details, see my published works.
"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape. He tells me he knows a tiny bit of dueling himself, and sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry—you'll still have your Potions Master when I'm through with him, never fear!"
"Wouldn't it be great if they finished each other off?" whispered Ron. Harry and I gave him a grudging smile. It was a beautiful sight, imaginary though it was: the two of them blowing each other's faces off.
The two teachers bowed—rather, Snape jerked stiffly as Lockhart enacted a meretricious flourish—and faced each other, holding their wands.
"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart began. It was shocking to hear him saying something sensible for once. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."
Harry grinned, nudged my arm, and muttered, "I wouldn't bet on that," while pointing towards Snape's sneer.
I bit the inside of my lip, trying not to laugh out loud.
Then it began: Snape raised his wand. "Expelliarmus!"
Lockhart went sprawling across the stage as a red jet of light flew from Snape's wand. He landed hard upon the end of the stage, nearly falling off of it due to the force of the impact.
Hermione gasped, apparently horrified. "Do you think he's all right?"
"Who cares?" Ron, Harry, and I answered all at once.
Lockhart got back to his feet—pity—and said, "Well, there you have it! That was a Disarming Charm; as you see, I've lost my wand. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would've been only too easy—however, I felt it instructive to let them see…"
Noting that the students weren't really all that invested in his excuses, Lockhart cleared his throat. "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me…"
Ron, Harry, and I looked uneasily at each other as Snape strode straight towards us. An unpleasant leer was upon his face as he instantly decreed, "Weasley and Finnegan, Potter and Malfoy, Skylar and Malfoy, Granger and Bulstrode."
I locked eyes with Draco; we immediately orbited towards one another—but Snape smirked and said, "I don't think so. Switch Malfoys."
Draco and I scowled somewhat, but obeyed. Elizabeth and Harry both let out exasperated sighs; needles to say, none of us were very happy with the arrangement.
Once we stood across from each other, Elizabeth and I glared at on another. All I could think while looking at her was the thought that she might be the Heir of Slytherin—and if that was the case, I wanted to get back at her how I could for what she did to Colin.
"Face your partners and bow!" Lockhart instructed. "Wands at the ready! When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents—only to disarm, we don't want any accidents. One… two… three!"
"Expelliarmus!" I shouted.
Elizabeth's wand flew out of her hand and into mine; her grey eyes flashed in outrage as she shouted, "Piss off, Skylar, you stuck-up tightwad!"
"How about you, you insecure psychopath!" I retorted. With great reluctance, I chucked her wand onto the floor in front of her, and then glanced over to where the others were dueling. Draco was on the floor, laughing his guts out from a tickling charm, while Harry was sprawled on the ground from a feet-tangling jinx.
Snape's lips furled upward when he heard our verbal exchange—but he said nothing and just stalked off.
After regaining order over all the chaos, Lockhart exclaimed, "I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells. Like this: protego! Now then, let's have a volunteer pair. Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?"
"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," Snape said smoothly. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox. How about Malfoy and Potter?"
Lockhart grinned and waved them upwards. Seeing as they had no real choice, Harry and Draco ascended the steps. A stone dropped in my stomach as I watched them… there was no doubt in my mind that they'd send each other to the hospital wing if they could. As Draco was stopped by Professor Snape to be told something, so Lockhart stopped Harry.
"Now, Harry," began Lockhart, "when Draco points his wand at you, I want you to do this." He started to perform a mildly impressive wand flick, but then the idiot dropped his wand. Harry raised an eyebrow as Lockhart pathetically muttered, "Whoops—my wand is a little overexcited…"
Harry and Draco walked to the center of the raised platform. They glared at each other; due to the utter silence, everyone could hear Draco murmur, "Scared, Potter?"
"You wish," Harry retorted evenly.
Lockhart patted Harry on the shoulder and said, "Just do what I did, Harry!"
Harry looked at him with disdain and scoffed, "What, drop my wand?"
Lockhart ignored that. "On the count of three!"
I didn't want to see this. Those two hated each other, and the last thing I wanted to see was one of them seriously injuring the other. So it was that under my breath that I muttered, "Protego," with my wand pointed in between them.
The slightest film appeared between them—Draco raised an eyebrow, but didn't inspect it any closer. It was rather hard to see, which meant maybe it could go undetected by the professors, who were standing further away from the platform.
"One… two… three!"
Harry and Draco each shouted a different hex—yet nothing happened. They obviously grew confused, their eyebrows furrowing, and tried again: still nothing. It was dead silent in the hall.
Then, without even looking at me, Snape muttered, "Miss Skylar, if you cwould so be so kind as to lower your shield charm…"
All eyes turned to me and my slightly upheld wand. My face flushed, breaking my concentration, causing the protective veil fell apart. Admittedly surprised, I asked turned to the Potions Master and asked, "How did you know it was me?"
Snape smiled thinly. "Out of all the people in this school, you are the only one I can think of that has tolerance for both Malfoy and Potter."
Draco and Harry shot dirty looks at each other. I had to resist the urge to sigh, because they were only proving Professor Snape's point…
Officially caught out, I could only watch as another round was prepared. On Lockhart's count of three, Draco shouted, "Serpensortia!"
A snake was conjured from his wand, landing flatly upon the platform. It raised its head, hissed menacingly, and began slithering over to Harry—
"Don't move, Potter," Snape said dismissively, wand at his side, watching Harry and the snake stare at each other with unspoken glee. "I'll get rid of it."
"Allow me!" cried Lockhart. He flicked his wand upward—the snake flew a couple of meters in the air and landed back on the ground with a FLUMP!
Then the snake turned to Justin Finch-Fletchley with fangs bared and eyes full of malice.
Harry rushed forward and made a noise that sounded like a cross between hissing and spitting. If I didn't know better, it sounded like snake language. He couldn't be…
Yet the snake sat backwards, almost obediently.
Harry turned towards Justin with a grin… but if he was hoping for a nod or thanks, he did not get it. Justin lurched away from Harry with a furious look and the words, "What do you think you're playing at?"
Justin stomped out of the hall. The hall was nearly dead silent behind him; poor Harry looked astounded as others began to whisper.
Ron grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him off of the platform, out of the Great Hall, in the direction of the Gryffindor common room. Hermione and I dogged their heels the entire time, struggling to keep up due to how quickly Ron was walking. Only once we'd secured our regular places by the fire, did any of us speak.
"You're a… a Parselmouth!" gasped Ron. "Why didn't you tell us?"
"I'm a what?" Harry asked.
"A Parselmouth. You can talk to snakes!"
"I know," said Harry. Upon seeing our mouths drop open, he exclaimed, "I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once—long story—but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to, it was before I knew I was a wizard."
Ron swallowed hard. "A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?"
"So?" retorted Harry. He looked as though he was beginning to get defensive, based on the way he crossed his arms. "I bet loads of people here can do it."
"Oh, no, they can't," said Ron. "It's not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad."
Harry made an unintelligent noise in the back of his throat. "What's bad? What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin—"
"Is that what you said to it?" Hermione asked.
"What do you mean? You were there, you heard me—"
Ron shook his head. "I heard you speaking Parseltongue: snake language. You could have been saying anything—no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something. It was creepy, you know."
Harry's mouth dropped open, and his voice went hoarse as he exclaimed, "I spoke a different language? But I didn't realize—how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it? Do you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping a massive snake from biting off Justin's head? What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?"
In a small voice, Hermione said, "It matters because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin house is a serpent."
Harry didn't seem to like that. He squirmed in his seat, his gaze falling to the floor.
"Exactly," Ron added. "Now the whole school's gonna think you're his great-great-great-great-great grandson or something."
"But I'm not!" Harry shouted.
"You'll find that hard to prove," whispered Hermione. "He lived about a thousand years ago. For all we know, you could be."
Harry turned paler than he had upon seeing his motionless arm a week ago.
With not much more to add to the conversation, Hermione and Ron exited the portrait hole for dinner in the Great Hall, leaving the two of us alone. Harry was obviously still trying to digest what two of his best friends had just said to him… I figured it would be better to wait for him to speak first.
It only took another few moments for him to do so. In a strangled voice, he asked, "Belle, did it really sound like… I was egging the snake on?"
I pursed my lips and shook my head. "I didn't think so at all. I just heard you speak the language; like hisses and spits like snakes usually make. It didn't sound like you were egging it on to me."
He sighed and put his head in his hands. "If others thought that I was, I don't think it's going to matter what either of us say."
Almost without meaning to, he placed his head on my shoulder. Figuring that Harry could use some support, I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and held him close, saying nothing. For a little while, we simply stared into the fireplace, a heavy fog passing over us. Only when our stomachs simultaneously rumbled did we decide to go down to the Great Hall for our supper.
