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Chapter Two—How the Announcement Went

"Good morning, Harry. Did you sleep well?"

Harry smiled at Professor Riddle, and knew from the way that the other man's smile faded in response that he could see the strain in it. He strode across the entrance hall to Harry, ignoring the way the other students stared and chattered. He clasped a hand around Harry's neck and rubbed his thumb and back forth across the nape. Harry exhaled and closed his eyes.

"What happened?"

"A few people got so upset when they heard me speaking Parseltongue in the Gryffindor common room that they ran away sobbing. I couldn't sleep. I thought—I kept thinking about how afraid they were."

Professor Riddle said nothing for endless moments. Harry hoped that wasn't because he had no idea how to respond. He managed to hold his eyes open, even though they wanted to close under the professor's soothing touch, and instead watched how Nagini and Esmeralda were interacting with each other.

Nagini was huge. Harry had forgotten how big, because he usually only saw her in passing. She didn't come to the classroom with Professor Riddle. And she was lifting her head and staring directly at Esmeralda, who was smaller.

Esmeralda didn't seem to be bothered by it. Her tongue darted out, and she curved her neck back on herself, but she didn't approach Nagini. She simply said, "Hello. I am Esmeralda. I was created by magic to be Harry Potter's companion."

Nagini darted her own tongue out a few times without replying. Then she twisted the back half of her body so it overlapped itself and said, "Greetings, Esmeeralda. I am Nagini, the companion of Tom Riddle."

Harry sighed in relief that at least it seemed they wouldn't fight, and turned back to Professor Riddle. The professor was calm, or at least he looked that way on the surface, but his hand had tightened on Harry's neck in a way that made Harry wince.

Professor Riddle noticed, and let him go at once. "You are not responsible for the irrational fear of others."

"But it's a rational fear," Harry argued, because he couldn't help it. "All their lives, they've heard that Parselmouths are evil, and they fear snakes, and—"

"Am I evil?"

"What? Of course not."

"They've put up with my teaching for years in the classroom, and with Nagini following me about the school. They aren't convinced that I'm evil, or I would have been hounded out of my teaching position long ago. They're fearful, yes. That is not an excuse. They have brains they should use, instead of listening entirely to emotion."

Harry blinked. Yes, all right, he could see the sense of that. And he could see that if his parents had really believed that Parseltongue was incredibly evil, they would probably have pulled him out of school the minute they discovered that the Defense professor was a Parselmouth.

Or kicked him out when he manifested it.

Harry felt a spark of hope ignite in his chest. Maybe he wouldn't have to choose between Parseltongue and his parents after all. Maybe they were capable of getting over it, or thinking about it rationally.

"I will handle the reactions of the students," Professor Riddle said softly. "You need not worry about them. Restrain Esmeralda from attacking any of them, of course, and feel free to give me the names of any who have particularly worrying reactions. But if they attack you, they will have detention the way any student who hexes someone else would."

"Thank you, sir."

Professor Riddle paused, with an odd, complex look on his face. Harry didn't know why until he murmured, "I understand that you must keep up the pretense of formal distance between us when speaking English, but I would ask you to use my first name when speaking Parseltongue. No one else will know."

Harry flushed. He felt the way he had when he'd come back to the castle in sixth year and realized that the strong, endless draw to use his Parseltongue had begun to aim straight at Professor Riddle.

He'd resisted that. But it had filled him with bright fire, and he'd felt an odd drive to impress the professor, to show off in his Defense classes the way he had in his first two years. As if he wanted Professor Riddle to look at him, talk to him, admire him, think about him.

Now, finally, that longing could be fulfilled.

"All right," Harry said softly in English, and then switched back to Parseltongue. "Thank you for taking care of this, Tom."

The word felt beyond foreign on his lips, far stranger than just the language being spoken could account for. But the brilliance of Professor—Tom's smile was worth it. Harry had never seen him smile like that, not in seven years of classes or meeting him in the corridors or sitting across the Great Hall from him. Harry could feel his own flush mounting higher, especially as Tom lifted his hand and trailed his fingers delicately down Harry's throat.

"Good," Tom murmured. "I will make the announcements. If someone comes from the Daily Prophet, I will handle it—"

"Do you think they will?" Harry interrupted, horrified. That thought hadn't even occurred to him. Of course, the Prophet had an interest in things as minor as whether there had been cheating in the latest Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch game, so perhaps he should have expected it.

"Yes, of course," Tom murmured. "The people of Britain are fascinated by Parseltongue as much as they fear it. And I already have a ward up so that any Howler or cursed letter sent to you will be diverted to me."

Harry's face felt as though he'd eaten one of the Weasley twins' experimental Fever Fire sweets. "Sir…"

"It's necessary. I don't expect many for you. There are far more people who are likely to see me seducing you, a poor little innocent student, than the other way around. But I will not have you assaulted by those who might envy you, or your parents."

Harry didn't shake his head, but it was a near thing. "You don't need to do that."

"I want to."

"Why?" Harry lowered his voice as a clot of students drifted towards them, gawping at them more obviously than most of the ones who'd passed them had. "Because you barely know me, until yesterday I was just an underperforming student—"

"I spent decades without you," Tom hissed. "In search of you. And there's the possibility that others could take you away from me now, by hurting you so badly that you think it's not worth it to stay with me. I will allow nothing to take you from me."

Harry closed his eyes and shivered. He felt Esmeralda twine around his legs, and reached down to stroke her back.

"Are you all right?" she asked, peering up at him. "You don't feel cold."

Harry wasn't sure he could have responded with words even if they were in English. He ended up reaching out, convulsively clutching Tom's hand, and then turning and walking into the Great Hall, angling towards the Gryffindor table. There were people already gossiping there and staring at him, waiting to question him.

Hermione looked as if she was the leader, her arms folded as she stared at him.

Harry put up his chin and kept walking.

Tom entered the Great Hall a few meters behind Harry, and smiled at the way that everyone's eyes snapped to him. He enjoyed the sensation, and he hoped that someday, he could convince Harry to enjoy it, too.

But if not, he would shelter and protect Harry from any public attention, positive or negative.

He caught Albus's eye as he walked in, and Albus nodded to him. Tom reached the professors' table, and saw Minerva frowning at Nagini the way she normally never did. Tom ignored that. He doubted she had known about Harry's loneliness or his parents' prejudices, but fighting for Harry was Tom's responsibility now, not that of his Head of House.

"I wish to make an announcement," Tom said clearly, turning to face the school. "The kind that is required when a seventh-year student and a professor start a courtship."

The buzz died away into breathless silence. Tom caught more than a few students glaring at Harry. He would settle that if it became a problem, but he didn't think it would be, not compared to the Potter parents or Minerva's potential disapproval.

"I am a Parselmouth," Tom said, "and I have sought across Britain for another of my kind. I have found nothing and no one." No need to mention Morfin Gaunt in front of this audience. "Yesterday, I discovered that Harry Potter is also a Parselmouth. He and I will be courting through the remainder of this year, but nothing more formal than that will happen until after he takes his NEWTS."

"That's biased!" shouted a boy at the Slytherin table whose name Tom struggled to remember for a moment, since he wasn't in NEWT Defense. Draco Malfoy, that was it. "What kinds of marks will Potter be getting on his essays?"

Tom shrugged. "I will be handing the essays off to Professor Dumbledore to mark." That was something he and Albus had agreed on last night, to avoid the appearance of favoritism as much as possible. "And let me remind you, Mr. Malfoy, that the NEWT exams are proctored by the Wizarding Examination Authority. I will have no say in whether Mr. Potter receives a NEWT in my subject."

Except that, of course, he did intend to have a say by working with Harry as hard as he could to ensure that his deliberate holding back hadn't hurt him. Tom could hardly think of a more pleasurable activity than working with someone who had had the skill to invent his own defensive spells.

Well, no, he could think of more pleasurable activities. But not the sort he could pursue, or should be thinking of in the Great Hall.

"That isn't allowed!" Miss Granger's voice rang out from the Gryffindor table.

Tom turned in that direction, and saw Harry sitting with his eyes fastened on the table and his hands looking like they were folded in his lap. Esmeralda was probably beneath the table. "Actually, yes, Miss Granger, it is. As long as the student is in his or her seventh year and the professor is courting him or her, then it is permitted by the rules of Hogwarts."

"But you shouldn't—"

Miss Granger was a smart girl. From the look on her face, she seemed to realize that she would get nowhere with him. So she sat down and turned and began whispering furiously to Harry instead. Harry ducked his head, and his shoulders seemed to slump.

Tom resolved to handle that problem later, if he needed to. He knew Harry and Miss Granger were close friends, and he didn't want to fight all his future lover's battles for him. But if it got too bad, then Tom would step in.

"Are there any questions?" Tom asked in faux concern, looking around.

"Why do you want to date someone just because they're a Parselmouth?" asked a dejected-looking girl at the Hufflepuff table, third-year Anastasia Bones. "Why does that matter?"

"I enjoy spending time around other Parselmouths, and I have never been able to." That was all Tom intended to explain to most people about the intense feeling of being drawn to each other that he and Harry enjoyed. "And Mr. Potter has graciously agreed to allow me to court him."

"Not like he deserves it…"

"Why him? Why not me?"

"I could have become a Parselmouth if I'd survived a venomous snakebite!"

Other than allowing himself a slight snort at the last complaint, which was a completely untrue rumor, Tom didn't react to the words spreading around the Great Hall. Some of them were probably being voiced because Harry had become too good at hiding his skills, and had sunk in the esteem of those who might have thought him a worthy partner for a professor.

Harry would learn to show the kind of magic that won him respect again. Others would learn to show him respect. He had to face a few challenges on his own, and many of those people who thought they had crushes on Tom wouldn't challenge him at all. They would just mutter and grumble and cherish broken daydreams for a little while.

Tom sat down, sipped his pumpkin juice, and turned to Minerva. She was staring at him as if she had never seen him before.

"What?" Tom asked peaceably. There was no way that she could get upset about what he had done, not when he had scrupulously followed all the rules and Albus was supporting him.

Minerva settled back with a huff. "I never thought you would choose a Gryffindor," she muttered.

Tom laughed.

"Harry, we have to talk about this!"

Harry whirled around and stared at Hermione. Ron and Seamus had been walking behind her, but they stumbled to a halt when it seemed that the conversation was going to happen in the middle of a corridor. Harry caught Ron's eye.

Ron shook his head furiously and backpedaled, then turned and led Seamus and Dean and Neville down another corridor altogether.

Traitor, Harry thought after his best friend, and then turned to face Hermione. She had her arms folded and a betrayed expression on her face. Harry knew that less than half of that was about Prof—Tom courting him and announcing the engagement to the whole school. Hermione might think that was wrong, but she would have been much more upset with the professor in that situation than the student.

No, this was about his hiding his Parseltongue from her. Hermione liked secrets when they were in her possession, not otherwise.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Before you start," he said, "keeping it as secret as I did was my parents' decision, and not mine."

Hermione had had her mouth open, but she closed it now and blinked. "What? Why would they care?"

"They're both terrified of snakes," Harry said. His mind strayed back to the last time his mum had heard him speaking Parseltongue, to a grass snake in the garden during the summer, and the way she had vomited in sheer terror. He wrenched it away. He would have to deal with that, face it, and this conversation with Hermione was just a first step that wouldn't end up hurting as much anyway. "I mean, terrified. And they were more upset about the idea that Professor Riddle might find out—"

"Because he would want to be friends with a Parselmouth? Or want to date one? They knew he wanted to date one? Why would they know that? I didn't."

"Parselmouths are—we need to be with each other, Hermione." Harry winced at how clumsy he sounded explaining it, but it was the truth and the only thing he could say. "Professor Riddle's been looking for someone else like him for years. He couldn't find one. He would have, but after my parents took me to a Healer and tried to get her to remove my Parseltongue and she said she couldn't, they Obliviated her."

Hermione's mouth opened a little, then shut. She whispered, "Really? They did? They…"

Harry sighed as he watched her. Hermione had spent time with his family during the summers, been tutored in Transfiguration by his dad, helped his mum with Potions, and played with Angela and Brian. It must have wrenched her whole worldview out of alignment to have realized Harry's Mum and Dad could do something like this.

"Just because they were afraid of snakes?" Hermione said at last.

"It's a phobia. I can't judge them for it."

"Was it part of their phobia to Memory Charm a Healer?"

Harry held back his amusement. Hermione had obviously gone from furious at him for keeping the secret—and probably feeling betrayed that he didn't trust her—to furious at his parents for what she saw as shallow self-justifications.

It was more than that, Harry knew. It was worse than that. Tom thought they would send a Howler to Harry about the announcement this morning, but a visit themselves was more likely. Or they would tell—

"Harry?"

His little sister's voice quivered. Harry sighed and turned around, already waving a hand at Hermione to go on to the classroom. "Just a minute, Hermione."

"Harry, you can't be late to Defense!"

"I'll take what time I need to. Professor Riddle won't ride my arse about it."

"Harry," Hermione hissed, sounding scandalized, but either the look on Angela's face or worry about being late to class herself made her withdraw. Which left Harry facing his sister with no idea of what to say.

Angela crossed her arms in the silence. She had short, frizzy red hair that resembled Hermione's, actually, more than it did either Harry's or their dad's, and had made Hermione call her "little sister" too when she spent time with the Potter family during the summers. Her eyes were big and dark, and Mum and Dad joked that when she was little, all she had to do was widen them and make her lip tremble a little to get whatever she wanted.

It was trembling now.

"Why him?" Angela whispered. "Why Parseltongue? I didn't even know you could speak it."

"You remember that summer when I asked you if you could hear the snake speaking and you couldn't? I thought it was a magical snake that spoke English, but it wasn't. It was just me, understanding it."

Harry kept his voice as gentle as he could. Angela wasn't the baby of the family—that was Brian, who wasn't at Hogwarts yet—but in many ways, she was so vulnerable. It was so easy to hurt her. Harry had known it would hurt her to be kept out of the secret if his Parseltongue was ever revealed, but it would have hurt her more to know about it and see the silent, tense struggle between Harry and their parents.

I can be proud of that, at least, Harry thought, with a trace of bitterness. I did this so well and pretended to be fine with it so hard that Angela and Brian never suspected.

He saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and knew it was Esmeralda, returning from an exploration of the corridors near the Defense classroom. He put out his hand, and Esmeralda halted near him, tongue flickering, not speaking as she considered Angela with a bright gaze.

"But you didn't say anything."

"Mum and Dad didn't want me to."

"Why?"

"They were afraid. Of snakes and of me ending up…married to Professor Riddle." That was the easiest way to put it, and skipped a whole bunch of things that Harry was not going to explain to his thirteen-year-old sister.

"I don't understand," Angela muttered, and shook her head. "You could have said something. You should have said something. You shouldn't have lied to us."

And she turned and walked away.

Harry lowered his head and closed his eyes. He stood there until Esmeralda nudged him, and then he walked to the Defense classroom, ignoring her soothing hisses.

He knew what he'd won by confessing his Parseltongue and attracting Professor Riddle's attention and accepting the familiar bond with Esmeralda. But right now, all he could think of was what he might be losing.