Draco Malfoy walked up and down the Hogwarts Express, looking in each compartment. Vince and Greg trailed along behind him, but he didn't need them at the moment. They were decent enough friends, but they wouldn't make good bodyguards for a few more years, and no one pretended they were very bright.

No, this job was his own. Father had told him that Harry Potter would be coming to Hogwarts this year, and he'd also impressed upon him the importance of making connections with him. Despite the House of Potter being at odds with House Malfoy from before the war, no one was certain what Harry Potter was capable of after he had (apparently) killed the Dark Lord.

And so, Draco was searching the train. The rumour mill from Diagon Alley said that Potter was a spitting image of his father, so he had carefully studied old newspaper clippings of James Potter so he could recognise him. He'd been thinking about what he would say to Potter, too. He didn't want to antagonise him, but he also didn't want to appear subservient or inferior.

But all thoughts of his mission fled from his mind when he saw a young boy in cheap, ill-fitting clothes in one of the compartments, who was talking to a snake.

Draco barged into the compartment before he had time to think. The boy stopped and looked up at him in surprise, giving him another shock. Up close, there was no mistake. It was Potter. He did look like a young James Potter, although his Slytherin-green eyes and terrible fashion sense threw him a bit.

Draco opened his mouth, then checked himself, suddenly feeling foolish. He hadn't actually heard Potter speaking, and plenty of people spoke to their pets in English, although the fact that Harry Potter owned a snake was odd in itself.

"Hello?" Potter said.

Draco straightened even as he mentally cursed himself. Barging into Potter's compartment was not part of the plan. "Hello," he said with as much air of dignity as he could manage. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"Er, yes, that's me," he replied.

"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. And this is Crabbe—and Goyle." He gestured vaguely at Vince and Greg. "I noticed you had a snake there."

"Oh, right. This is Monty," Potter said. He extended his arm, where the snake was coiled several times around it. The snake had a distinctly not-Slytherin look about it. Its scales were golden up and down its sides with bright red splotches on its back ringed with black. It was hard to tell, but it looked to be three or four feet long.

"Monty?"

"Yeah. His name was supposed to be Monty the Python—except he's not a python; he's a corn snake."

Draco had no idea what that meant, so he just stared at the snake. The snake hissed in a way that sounded too complex to be mere animal sounds. Given the choice between just ignoring it and humouring Potter, he chose the latter. "Er…hello, Monty?" he said.

There was another hiss, and then Potter said, "He says hello."

"You can understand him?" Greg said—kind of a shock to hear him say anything, but Draco was silently thankful. He didn't have to ask himself, now.

"Sure," said Potter. He hesitated and added, "Do any of you?"

Was he seriously asking that? "No, we don't," Draco said. "I just noticed because snakes are the symbol of Slytherin House, you know."

"Oh, right. Professor McGonagall was talking about that."

Bloody hell, he knew McGonagall already? At least he didn't seem hostile yet. "All our families have been in Slytherin," he said. "It's an old tradition for us."

Potter didn't answer right away, first hissing something to his snake. A shiver went up Draco's spine. That was definitely Parseltongue. Hearing it felt like an unsettling jolt of magic running through the air, just how Father had described the Dark Lord speaking it. He sat on the opposite bench to hide his tremor, Vince and Greg following suit.

At that moment, the compartment door opened, and everyone looked up. A redheaded boy—Draco thought he might be a Weasley—started to walk in. Then, he saw the snake and Potter talking to it, yelped in fear, and ran away.

Potter looked back at Draco in confusion. "That's the third one who did that," he said. "Are a lot of wizards scared of snakes?"

Draco stared at him. "Seriously, Potter?" he said. Potter nodded. "Not really, but talking to them tends to freak people out."

"But why? I bet loads of witches and wizards can speak to snakes."

"What? But don't you know? Parselmouths are really rare."

"Parselmouths?"

"People who can talk to snakes? Didn't you learn this stuff?"

Suddenly, the compartment door opened again, loudly this time, as an older girl barged in confidently, but Draco noticed at once that this girl was wearing a prefect's badge—and Slytherin robes. "Alright, what's going on in here?" she said. "People say you're doing dark magic or something."

Draco sat up straight. "I was just explaining to Potter why talking to snakes might scare people, Miss."

The prefect's eyes widened slightly in recognition. "Malfoy?" she said. Then, a much larger jerk as his words sunk in. "Potter?"

"Yes?" he said.

The snake gave hiss that had a distinctly impatient tone to it. Potter hissed back at it, and even the prefect shivered. He let the snake off his arm to rest on the windowsill. The prefect had to sit down next to Potter for lack of another seat.

"Bloody. Hell," she said.

"Sorry," Potter explained. "Monty's hearing isn't very good, and he has trouble with English. Snakes mostly hear through vibrations in the ground, you know. But I think my voice does something different."

"I…I'd heard," she said and struggled to collect herself. "Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you. Gemma Farley. Slytherin Prefect."

"Uh, likewise."

"So, I think I understand what happened," she said. "People saw you talking to your—" She glanced to the windowsill. "—talking to Monty, and it scared them. Unfortunately, it's got the rumour mill going," she sighed. "By the time we get to Hogwarts, I'm sure someone will be saying the Dark Lord himself was on the train."

Draco winced, thinking about how that would go over, but Potter still had that same clueless look on his face. "But why is talking to snakes so scary?" he said.

"Merlin, Potter!" Draco exclaimed. "Did you grow up with people who hate Slytherins or something?"

"They hate all wizards; they're muggles."

"Muggles?!" Vince and Greg both grunted. Oh, that was a scandal Father would like to hear about.

"Yeah, my aunt and uncle. I guess they're the only family I've got left."

"Ooh, that must have been horrid," Farley said sympathetically. "Having to live with muggles."

"Yeah, horrible—well, most muggles are alright," he said. "My relatives are just awful people."

"So that's why you didn't know about being a Parselmouth," Draco said. "They couldn't tell you anything about magic."

"Not much. Aunt Petunia knew about magic, but she and my mum didn't get along, and I think Aunt Petunia didn't pay attention to any of it. She barely remembers anything about the magical world. She didn't even remember where the train platform was!"

"Did you talk to Monty around them?" Farley asked.

Potter grinned. "Uh huh. And garden snakes, first. That's what finally scared them enough to not be so awful. I just thought it was a wizard thing, though."

"But you had to do your school shopping and stuff," said Draco. "Didn't anyone mention it?

"No. Professor McGonagall took me shopping. I told her I had a snake; I had to get permission to bring him. But I guess I never talked to him in front of her, so it never came up."

"Scandalous," Farley muttered. "Okay, Potter, you're gonna need to learn this stuff quick, so listen up. Parseltongue—the ability to speak to snakes—is really rare in the magical world. It's a special talent that's usually passed down in families. Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth. That's why our house's symbol is a snake. But a lot of people think being a Parselmouth is a sign dark magic. Which is silly, but they believe it anyway, especially since the only other one who's lived in Britain recently was…"

"Was the Dark Lord," Draco said softly.

"The Dark Lord?" Potter said.

"You-Know-Who?" Farley suggested.

"Oh, you mean Voldemort?"

Everyone gasped in horror. Even Draco started and nearly fell out of his seat. "Don't say his name," Farley hissed.

"Nobody says his name," Draco agreed.

"But why? Professor McGonagall was nervous about it too, but—"

"You don't say the Dark Lord's name," Farley insisted. "It's just not done. They might allow it in Gryffindor, but in Slytherin, we don't, and the Prefects and our Head of House enforce it. I get you probably don't like him, Potter, but you need to give the name respect."

Potter stared at them, looking confused. "Okay, I guess," he said.

"Good. You wouldn't want to make trouble for yourself in Slytherin."

"Er, I don't really know what house I'll be in."

"Oh, come on, Potter," Draco scoffed. "You're a Parselmouth. You have to be in Slytherin. Who knows? You might even be the Heir of Slytherin."

"Just because I can talk to snakes?" he said nervously. He had a short, hissed exchange with Monty and added, "Does it really matter that much?"

"Well…I guess there's not a rule against you going somewhere else," Farley said, "but really, why would you want to?"

"Professor McGonagall said all the houses are good," Potter insisted. "Beside, my parents were both in Gryffindor."

Draco carefully avoided saying what he thought of Potter's parents, while Farley took a different tack: "Well, of course everyone says their house is the best, but they're obviously wrong. Slytherin is the best. Merlin himself was in Slytherin, you know. And I know Salazar Slytherin himself would've moved heaven and earth to have you."

Potter didn't object any further, but it was clear he still didn't think Slytherin was a sure thing. Draco really hoped that wouldn't be a problem. Slytherin House would never live it down if the first open Parselmouth in fifty years went to Gryffindor (not that Gryffindor would like it either—inside the Common Room, anyway). But he decided not to push his own agenda any further while Farley was there, so they spent the morning talking about general goings on at the school and greeting any other Slytherins who walked by. Potter managed to scare several more students from other houses talking to Monty, which was amusing, and Draco was surprised to see he splurged even more on sweets from the trolley than Draco did.

No one was brave enough to take the extra seat in the compartment until Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, showed up. Draco was quick to bring up his flying experience with him, but Flint seemed more interested in Potter, who had never flown in his life. That was annoying.

"I have to ask, Potter," Flint said after a while, "you got a snake in Gryffindor colours?" That would be a little awkward in the Slytherin Common Room.

Potter shrugged. "I didn't know what the colours were when I got him," he said. "Aunt Petunia didn't know anything, remember? Monty is an Okeetee corn snake. They're an American species that a lot of muggles keep as pets."

"Muggles keep pet snakes?" Draco blurted.

"Sure. Well, not a lot, a lot, but some of them like reptiles. Some of them keep lizards and turtles, too."

"Huh. Is he poisonous?" asked Flint.

"No, he's a constrictor. He grabs prey and squeezes the life out of it. He mostly eats mice."

Farley laughed. "So he kills his prey by sheer stubbornness! He really is a Gryffindor snake."

Draco glared at her, but Potter seemed to take it in stride, though that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

By afternoon, Farley had to go on patrol, so she and Flint left. "Potter, I hope to see you in my house," she said as she left. "Malfoy, good luck."

"Thank you, Miss Farley," he replied.

Potter mumbled a goodbye to them and then lapsed into Parseltongue for a few minutes, talking to his snake. When he spoke to Draco again, it was to ask, "Does it really matter that much what house you're in?"

"It depends who you ask," Draco admitted. "Ravenclaw isn't that bad, and I suppose you get some decent wizards from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, but seriously, I'd leave if I wound up in one of them. Some wizarding families are better than others, Potter, and the same goes for the Houses. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort…I can help you there."

To his dismay, Potter didn't look grateful for the help. In fact, he looked annoyed. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped. "Who are the 'wrong sort'?" Monty hissed, but Potter cut him off with a whispered word.

Draco opened his mouth, but he hesitated. He couldn't very well say "mudbloods and blood traitors" since that's exactly what Potter's parents were. What was it that actually made them the "wrong sort" that a boy who was raised by muggles would understand. "You know…" he said. "People who don't respect our noble heritage. People who don't respect magic. People who want us to mix with the muggle world. You start to get a reputation hanging around with people like that."

Potter had another brief conversation with his snake.

"What?" Draco asked.

"It just that's the sort of thing my uncle always says about other muggles," he said.

"Other muggles? What other muggles would he care about?"

Potter shrugged. "I think it was mostly foreigners, poor people, and communists."

"What's a communist?"

He stopped and thought for a minute. "I'm not sure, exactly. What they are in Russia, I guess."

Draco shook his head. "Well, anyway, let me put it this way, Potter. If you want to get ahead in the wizarding world, Slytherin is place to be. We know the right people—especially the Malfoys. And in Slytherin, you can be sure we have each other's backs."

"Dragon-Boy sounds like he wants to help you," Monty told Harry.

"I think he just wants to get me in with the 'right sort'," Harry replied. "The Cat-Lady teacher said I was famous here, and people would want to be my friend because of that."

Harry had excused himself in the mid-afternoon to try to find a quiet place on the train to think and talk to Monty. He knew people found his Snake-Speak—Parseltongue, he reminded himself—unsettling. Plus, it felt awkward talking about Draco in front of him in a language he didn't know, now that it was more than just the Dursleys.

"He could still help you." Monty insisted.

"Yeah. I just hope he's not like my Uncle. Gem-Girl and Stone-Boy seem alright, but I don't know if I want to go to Slytherin." He blinked in surprise. "I can say Slytherin's name in Parseltongue! I can't even say your name right! How did that happen?" Proper names never worked in Parseltongue; Monty's name always came out sounding closer to "Mountain."

"I can say your name, Harry," Monty pointed out. "Maybe it is because you are both Parselmouths."

"But how does that work?"

He considered the question. "Magic?"

Harry laughed. "Okay, you got me. But I don't know which house I want to be in, and I don't want people to be my friends just because I'm famous."

"Those people might be hard to avoid. You will have to figure out which ones are good friends in spite of that."

"Yeah, I guess." And the way Malfoy was talking…well, he wasn't sure. Slytherin would have his back, he said, but they also sounded like they would care even more about his fame and especially about him being a Parselmouth. And they seemed a bit odd in other ways, too. "Why do you think the don't want anyone to say Voldemort's name—Oh, bloody hell!" he complained, lapsing back into English. "Three names that work in Parseltongue, and he's one of them."

"Perhaps it is because they are afraid of him," Monty said. "Even muggles sometimes fear to speak the things they fear."

"So…they're superstitious?" Harry said. It sort of made sense. Muggles would say "break a leg" or "don't jinx it" (something that infuriated his aunt and uncle). And Professor McGonagall said she didn't think Voldemort was really dead, so maybe he could come back. Harry shivered. Even then, it seemed odd to do that with a name, though, and it didn't make him feel any better about Slytherin.

"Cat-Lady said the Sorting will find your right home in Wizard School," Monty said. "Any of the houses will be good if you are supposed to go there."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Mont-ane."

Harry was in awe as he laid his eyes on Hogwarts for the first time. It was probably the most magical place he'd seen yet (not that there were many)—an enormous, sprawling castle with many turrets and towers, all lit up like a Christmas tree as they rode the boats across the Black Lake. He'd have to make sure Monty got a chance to see it sometime. When he'd asked, one of the prefects told him to leave Monty in his terrarium, and the house elves (whoever they were) would take him to his room later.

The inside of the school was just as grand as the first-years walked into a vast banquet hall filled with floating candles and ghosts flitting through the air, and golden dishes and flatware on the tables. But Harry was soon distracted by Professor McGonagall bringing out the Sorting Hat.

Harry regretted being near the end of the alphabet, having so long to wait. (Sure enough, Malfoy and his two friends were Sorted into Slytherin.) But finally, his name was called, and he walked up to the stool and placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Ah, a Parselmouth. Interesting," the Hat whispered in his ear. "Salazar would have made a strong case to have you in his house…but I've always said you shouldn't go to a house just because you think you're 'supposed to.' You have plenty of courage, too. Not a bad mind, either. Still, you would do well in Slytherin. You have the talent, and your thirst to prove yourself would fit right in…"

Slytherin didn't sound so bad, Harry supposed, except for that bit about Voldemort and no one wanting to say his name there. Malfoy was kind of smarmy, and it seemed like they mostly cared that he could talk to snakes, but he thought back to Monty's words. If the Sorting Hat thought he would fit in there, it would probably be okay.

"Yes," the Hat agreed. "Better be—SLYTHERIN!"

A tremendous cheer erupted from the Slytherin Table, where, no doubt, Gemma Farley had already spread the word about him. The other tables reacted with polite applause, although there was very little from Gryffindor, and Harry could hear nervous whispers from the around the Hall. Malfoy had already cleared a seat for him, so he made his way there and joined his new housemates.

"See, I told you you'd be in Slytherin," Malfoy said.

Harry nodded and looked back up front. That was where the real surprise came in. Several of the teachers were staring at him in undisguised shock. They must not have heard yet. Even Professor McGonagall looked surprised, though not as much.

"Looks like you threw Snape for a loop," one of the older boys said. He pointed out a man with long, black hair who was watching him with wide eyes and flickers of a half dozen expressions that suggested he had no idea what to think of this development. But it was forgotten as "Rivers, Oliver" was Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall continued with the last few names. Elizabeth Runcorn and Blaise Zabini also joined them in Slytherin, and Professor Dumbledore started the feast in short order.

Albus Dumbledore sat heavily in his office after the Welcome Feast. While it had been a joyous time (he'd even felt inspired to sing the school song—much to Filius's dismay), there was that one fly in the ointment. Harry Potter was a Slytherin.

Albus wasn't stupid. He had planned for and could work with young Harry being in any House, but Slytherin was a bit of a disappointment. No, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff would have been a bit of a disappointment. Slytherin was a bit worrying. It could be a coincidence, but Harry Potter being in Slytherin, and with Minerva having already requested permission for him to bring a pet snake, this was something he needed to keep a closer eye on.

Severus, he was pleased to see, had anticipated his will (or perhaps just wanted to complain) and had come up to his office not long afterwards.

"Ah, Severus, congratulations for all of your new Slytherins," he said. "Especially Harry Potter."

"For all the trouble he's going to cause, I should think sympathies would be more in order," he grumbled.

"I have said that you should not be so quick to judge," Albus told him sternly. "I would have thought you would be pleased by this development."

"Don't mistake me, Albus; if Potter's father were alive, I would be rubbing it in his face, but I still don't have to like the boy. That's beside the point, though. Gemma Farley approached me after the Feast and confirmed what my entire House had been whispering: Harry Potter is a Parselmouth."

Albus gave a start and turned deadly serious. "A Parselmouth?" He turned over the prophecy and the events of that Halloween night in his mind, rapidly considering the possibilities. Voldemort "marking Harry as his equal" somehow gave the boy Parseltongue. Harry was born a Parselmouth, and it was sheer coincidence. He was born a Parselmouth, and Fate had caused Voldemort to mark him as his equal because of that. Harry was possessed. (Unlikely) Voldemort had done something other than try to kill Harry that night. (Even less likely.) Most worrying was the fact that several of the possible methods Voldemort could have used to cheat death could result in those sorts of side effects on Harry, and most of those side effects would not be good for the boy's long-term health.

"That is indeed troubling," he concluded. "Do you happen to know if there was any family history—?"

"None." Severus almost growled it. "Lily didn't have the…gift, and the Potters are well documented. Lily probably had magical ancestors at some point, but none close enough to trace."

"I see. Then you must be watchful for signs of any trouble with him."

Severus snorted. "I would do that regardless. But what does this mean?"

"I am uncertain. It may yet be coincidence. I think we can rule out full possession. Only a child raised in the muggle world and acting of his own free will would act so openly, and it had been long enough to acquire an exotic pet, he would be dead already."

"Remarkably, that does not fill me with comfort."

"I will investigate Severus," Albus said. "You know what you must do for Harry's well-being."

Lucius Malfoy leaned back with a glass of scotch the following evening as he read his and Narcissa's first letter from Draco, but he nearly spilt it all over the floor when he read his son's words:

Dear Father and Mother,

I have of course been Sorted into Slytherin and have settled in comfortably at Hogwarts.

Your recommendation that I attempt to make contact with Harry Potter has met an unexpected result. I was able to speak with him at length on the Express. However, our discussion was necessarily distracted by the strange circumstances.

Harry Potter is a Parselmouth. What's more, he already has a snake for a pet—perhaps a familiar—which he obtained permission to bring to school. He named the snake "Monty the Python," but said that it is a species of "corn snake." (Nonvenomous, eats mice, sometimes kept by muggles, or so he claims.) The creature is in blatantly Gryffindor colours, but is otherwise a fine specimen.

Unfortunately, Potter was raised by muggle relatives and knows almost nothing about our world. He didn't even know the significance of being a Parselmouth! It sounds like they weren't very nice to him even by muggle standards. I spoke with him enough on the train, along with our prefect, Gemma Farley, to make sure he won't put his foot in his mouth about things like the Dark Lord, but he'll need practice to behave like a proper wizard.

I'm hoping that being in Slytherin (where Potter was Sorted without trouble) and exposed to the right wizards will help him catch up to where he needs to be. He was hesitant to accept my offer of help, but he at least didn't turn me down flat. I didn't really understand, but I think he's holding on to some muggle notions of what's proper. I will keep you informed of new developments.

Your loving son,

Draco

Lucius downed his scotch at once and poured himself a second. "Narcissa?" he called.

His wife hurried into the drawing room. "Is something wrong?"

"Draco is well. However, things just became much more complicated." He handed her the letter. There was no doubt about the accuracy of the report. They could both tell the genuine emotion by the slight tremor in the handwriting, and Draco would never prank them like that.

"A Parselmouth," she muttered.

"Are you aware of any possible connection between the Potters and the line of Slytherin?" Lucius asked.

"Of course not. Cantankerus Nott believed the only family that could be reliably traced to Slytherin was the House of Gaunt."

He nodded. "And my father said the Dark Lord claimed to be from that line, though he never gave details. Although if the Potters did have Parselmouths, I'm sure they wouldn't have let anyone know. Hm…"

"You think he might have inherited it?" she asked.

"I wouldn't have thought so, but I do have to wonder. You know what people have been saying all these years, Narcissa. Something happened that night to stop the Dark Lord."

"You don't really believe a baby could have done that, do you, Lucius?" she said, aghast.

"No, I don't. No matter how powerful he is, a baby wouldn't know how to deflect the Killing Curse even if it were possible. I could perhaps believe accidental magic if he was eight or even five at the time, but fifteen months? Harry Potter is either the second coming of Merlin, or he wasn't the one who did it. I still believe his parents must have performed some kind of lost ritual, rather than a baby being able to defeat the Dark Lord…but…"

"But he's still a Parselmouth," she completed the thought.

"But he's still a Parselmouth. He may not be the second coming of Merlin, but he is almost certainly powerful—perhaps naturally, perhaps touched by the ritual, perhaps touched by the Dark Lord himself somehow. Whatever it is, he is uniquely talented to stand in the stead of the Dark Lord."

"Maybe in the future," she said. "He's only a boy now."

Lucius shook his head: "I've said all along that it's not about strength. It's about symbolism."

"Ah. Having Potter in Slytherin is a morale coup, even if he does nothing," Narcissa said shrewdly. "Something around which we can rally. And as a Parselmouth, that case is far stronger."

"Precisely. Potter won't be able to fill the power vacuum on his own, not after being raised by muggles, but Potter plus a dedicated mentor of the right persuasion…that would be a golden opportunity."

Narcissa smiled broadly, but her smile soon faded, and she grew more nervous again. "And," she said, "should the Dark Lord himself return?"

"Then we'll have to hope that Potter finishes school before that happens," Lucius said grimly. "And that we can teach him what he needs to know by then."