The Memento

by Theine

Until he befriends a grass snake in his aunt's garden Harry believes his relatives when they say there is no such thing as magic. Looking for a place to belong, he ventures into an elusive world shackled by age-old prejudices and fear of a man who may or may not be his father. What he finds is more than he expected, but less than he hoped. First Year AU

29. Heir of Slytherin

How in the world is it already April!? I swear I blink and entire months vanish into the ether...

Some of the common room descriptions in this chapter were inspired by Hogwarts Legacy, and I hope you enjoy the twists I added to the game's already stellar designs. :)

---

The ceiling of the Great Hall was black as the belly of a cauldron and boiling with rain when Harry slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind him to keep out the draught. The storm had been raging all night; the wind howling like a pack of wild beasts as it raced down the mountain valleys to throw itself against the castle walls. It had made sleep nearly impossible, and after an hour spent staring at the ceiling above his four poster, Harry had put on his warmest jumper, tucked a drowsing Basil around his neck, and gone in search of breakfast.

As he made his way to the Gryffindor table, a wave of warm air piped up through the walls from the kitchen washed over him and he paused, taking a moment to luxuriate in the heat before he grabbed a bowl and filled it with oats and fresh fruit.

Less than five minutes later, as he was tucking into a bowl of hot porridge, a flicker of movement in the empty hall caused him to look up at the staff table. He peered at the shadows, but there was nobody there. Harry sighed and shook his head, certain his eyes were playing tricks on him — only to choke on his porridge when a mass of rippling, barred fur rose from between the house tables and slid onto the bench across from him.

Harry levitated out of his seat. He bashed his leg on the underside of the table as he threw it over the bench, the dull sting imperceivable beneath the flood of adrenaline. Under his jumper, Basil hissed in agitation and struggled to free her head.

Then the mass contracted, and Professor McGonagall's angular shoulders veered into view. The fur receded and the pointed ears of her feline form stretched into the peak of a tall grey hat, beneath whose brim her downcast eyes gleamed like twin moons.

Harry dropped back onto the bench. What a way to start the morning, he thought as he coughed into his hand. Once he'd recovered his breath, he tossed his spoon into his bowl and threw back the hood of his jumper.

"That," he rasped, "was a dirty trick."

Professor McGonagall looked up, blinking slowly. Her eyes were dark with fatigue and her mouth was pursed as though she'd bitten into a lemon. "Pardon?" she asked, sounding lost.

"You were in your animagus form."

She looked at her hands, which were curled on the placemat like paws. "Oh!" She rearranged them so they were resting one atop the other. "My apologies. I didn't mean to startle you."

Harry stared at her in amazement. "Is something wrong, Professor? You seem… distracted."

She tried to smile, but didn't quite succeed. "I'm afraid I have some bad news about your broom."

Harry's breath caught; he pushed his porridge aside, leaning against the edge of the table. "What did you learn?" he asked. It had been two weeks since he'd surrendered the Nimbus, and the suspense was killing him.

Her halfhearted attempt at a smile dissolved. "Based on the results of our investigation, we have sent it back to the manufacturers. We will receive a replacement in a few weeks. Until then, you'll need to make do with one of the older models during practice."

That explained what would happen going forward, but did nothing to alleviate Harry's curiosity over why the broom had gone mad. "So it was broken?"

She hesitated, tapping the side of her thumb against the table as she studied him. He shuffled forward until he was perched on the edge of his seat, his eyes round as the rims of his glasses, pleading silently. After a few seconds, she sighed and gave in.

"Not precisely."

"Then what was wrong with it?"

"I don't want to alarm you."

He bared his teeth in a grin. "You won't."

She gave him another long, searching look before slowly nodding. "I suppose, after the year you've had so far, it will take more than a little bad news to frighten you off." She ran a hand over her eyes and sighed. "We found traces of a curse on your broom."

That… wasn't what he'd expected. "I didn't know curses worked on brooms."

"Most of the time they don't. Brooms are warded against almost all forms of magical tampering. Only extremely powerful or unusual spells can bypass those defences. That's why we sent it back – so the wardmaster in charge of enchanting the brooms can verify our findings."

Harry toyed with the base of his goblet as the implications sunk in. "Can you tell when it was cursed?"

"It's impossible to say," she said wearily. Then, catching the worried furrow between his brows, she added, "I understand if you're nervous, Mister Potter. Anyone would be. The wardmaster may tell us more once he's finished his own investigation. And we will update the protections around the school broom sheds to prevent this from happening again."

Harry sipped his juice, his mind swirling like the storm clouds overhead. "Thank you, Professor. I'm sure that will help."

---

"A curse," he muttered to Basil as he left the hall and trudged up the main staircase. "Someone put a curse on my broom. I almost died!"

The muscles of her belly rippled against his skin as she slid forward to peer at his face. "Who was it?" she hissed. "Shall we eat them?"

He kicked his feet morosely, scuffing the velvet runner with the tip of his shoe. "I don't know who it was, but they must be skilled enough to bypass the broom's wards."

"The white-beard?"

Harry shivered as he remembered the cold fury in Dumbledore's eyes when he'd snatched the wand from the man's hand. "He might hate me enough to try, but he wasn't there. I checked."

"What about your classmates? They have attacked you before."

"Maybe? I don't know." He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Let me think about it."

He was still pondering the problem when he pushed open the door of a small draughty room at the top of a tower jutting from the eastern flank of the castle. Kicking the door closed behind him, he plodded across the room and collapsed into a shabby wingback armchair crammed between a roll-top desk and a barrel of candles.

Across from him, the tower's lone window rattled as the storm pounded against its cloudy glass; roaring in fury at being shut out. Nothing was visible outside. If the sun had risen, it was lost behind the black clouds.

He fished a candle out of the barrel and stared at the wick until it burst into flame with a hiss like a struck match. Leaning towards the desk, he wedged it into an antique brass candle holder and then settled in to wait.

Three quarters of an hour passed before Fred and George Weasley shuffled into the room, bleary-eyed and bundled in thick woollen jumpers.

"What a storm!" George said, eyeing the vibrating window as though it would leap from its frame and hurl itself across the room. He shivered and rubbed his arms. "I'm glad the Hufflepuffs booked the pitch today. Ten-to-one Wood would've had us out in it."

"Poor blighters," Fred said as he pulled a scrap of parchment from his bag and tossed it onto the floor. With a flick of his wand and a muttered incantation, the parchment swelled, its edges racing outward as it became a thick shag rug. A second flick changed its colour to a cheerful canary yellow.

Fred tested its texture with the toe of his shoe and nodded in satisfaction. He dropped his bag next to the wall and sat down.

"Here, pass me one of those candles, Harry," he said. "It's black as a dementor's arse in here."

Harry fished another candle out of the barrel. "Don't use your wand to light it," he instructed as he handed it over.

Fred gawked at him. "But that'll take all day!"

"I know. Hence the practice."

George snickered and nudged his brother with his foot. "Right to business, then. Never thought wandless magic would be so tricky, but if it took you a month of daily practice to get it right, we shouldn't complain about a few early mornings. Especially when you were forced to wait up here in the middle of a storm because someone didn't want to get out of bed."

"It's Saturday!" Fred whined. "Who wakes up at six on a Saturday?"

"Our most patient and long-suffering master, for one," George said as he walked to the barrel and reached inside. The cold wax clinked as he sifted through the candles, eventually settling on a blocky rod of rolled beeswax as long as his forearm. He tossed it in the air like a baton, his eyes brimming with mischief. "Bet I can light mine in half the time it takes my dear big brother."

Fred bristled at the challenge. "Oh, you wish!"

---

An hour later, they'd made little progress. The wick of Fred's candle had sent up tendrils of silver-grey smoke moments before George's had shrivelled to ash, but neither had produced the faintest flicker of flame.

Harry was similarly stuck. Even if he excluded Dumbledore, there were dozens of students who clung to the conviction that he was a budding dark lord and who, blinded by a collective moral outrage, happily bombarded him with tripping jinxes while he navigated the castle's shifting staircases. Even if they didn't intend to kill him, it took no leap of imagination to see that someone who was eager for him to careen down a flight of stairs might also get a laugh at watching him fall off a broom.

He sighed. If he wanted to whittle down the pool of suspects, he couldn't rely on motive alone.

"Could you curse a broom?" he asked the twins, startling them out of their meditative trances.

"A new broom or an old one?" Fred asked.

"New."

He shook his head. "Doubt it. Some bloke on the continent came up with a new warding technique a few years back and the broom-making companies snapped him up. Something to do with layering the arrays. Even Bill was impressed, and he's a curse-breaker!"

The name didn't ring a bell. "Who's Bill?"

"Our eldest brother," George said as he set his candle aside and stretched his arms over his head. "Why'd you want a broom cursed, anyway? Have a grudge that needs settling?"

"No, nothing like that. I was just curious if broom tampering was common. It seems like an easy way to score a win in Quidditch."

"Oh, tampering is easy," George said, his eyes sparkling. "You can file down one side of the handle so it flies cockeyed."

Fred leaned forward. "Or unpick the coil so its tail comes apart when they speed up!" A devilish grin split his face. "We pulled that one on Percy a few years back."

"Or cut partway through the shaft, so it snaps when they turn! We got Charlie with that one. He landed in the middle of the pond and came out looking like a kelpie."

"So it's really just the magic that's an issue," Fred said. "There are plenty of mundane ways to mess with brooms, if you don't mind bending the rules a little."

Harry felt a pang of sympathy for the twins' siblings. He knew how exhausting it was to spend every day looking over your shoulder, and the twins were creative enough to never spring the same trap twice. If Dudley had shown that level of ingenuity, Harry was certain he'd have gone mad long ago.

"Could any of the students here curse a broom?" he asked.

George shook his head. "Not with the spells they teach us."

"What about the staff?"

The twins frowned at each other.

"Dumbledore probably could," George said. "Or maybe Flitwick. I've heard he's a wicked skilled duellist."

Fred fiddled with the sleeve of his jumper, tugging at a loose thread. "Sprout is out. I've never seen her use anything more destructive than the pruning charm — even when that fanged geranium tried to gnaw off her finger."

"Vector and Babbling are too bookish," George said, counting them off on his fingers as he warmed to the task, "and Burbage is more interested in muggle technology than spells."

"McGonagall might, though she'd be more likely to transfigure the broom into something inconvenient, like a tuning fork." Fred brightened. "Pince probably knows more spells than anyone in the castle, including Dumbledore, though I doubt she can cast them all."

George nodded. "Binns is dead, Trelawney's not all there in the head, and Quirrell would faint before he made it through the first syllable of a curse's incantation. I suppose Pomfrey might know some curses — so she can treat people — but I don't see her using them. Same with Hooch. If anyone knows what curses work on brooms, she's your best bet, but I'm not sure she'd ever use one herself. She used to play Quidditch professionally, and if they caught her doing something like that, it would cause a scandal like you wouldn't believe." He grinned at Harry. "Or maybe you would, seeing as how you're so very scandalous yourself!"

"Who're we missing?" Fred asked.

"What about Filch?" Harry asked and was startled when the twins burst into a fit of giggles. "Or Snape?"

"Filch wishes he could curse a broom!" Fred snickered.

"He's a squib. Hasn't got a drop of magic in him." George's amusement drained away. "Snape, though, he could definitely curse a broom."

Basil shifted against Harry's stomach, and he scratched her lightly through his jumper. "Isn't Snape the school's potion master?"

"Well, yeah. But that's only because finding a potion master willing to teach in a school is as likely as finding a unicorn in a brothel. There's no one else to take his position, so he's stuck in it. The only reason he hangs around is because he's got his eye on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position."

George pointed his candle at his brother and waggled it menacingly. "Probably wants to turn it into a dark arts class. It would give him an excuse to curse us when we piss him off."

Fred cackled and raised his own candle in a duelling stance. "So, always."

Harry leaned back and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as the twins held a mock duel in the middle of the canary rug, taking it in turns to mimic Snape's cold, drawling voice as they came up with increasingly inventive ways to maim each other.

Snape was a likely suspect. The man hated him — that had been apparent since the start-of-term feast. He'd also been in the crowd during the match, and would have had a vested interest in knocking Harry out of the sky, as it would have guaranteed Slytherin's victory.

Harry closed his eyes, his stomach churning. "You're certain about Snape?"

Fred twirled his candle, then jabbed it at his brother's chest. "Such a task," he drawled in his best Snape impersonation, "is child's play to one such as I. Not that I'd know what play is, or friends, as I've been the scourge of dunderheads since the moment my mother brought me kicking and screaming into this inconvenient and horribly irritating world."

George clutched his chest and flopped onto his back — the very image of a pitifully vanquished schoolchild. He maintained the pretence for only a moment before his lips twitched and he cackled. "Scourge of dunderheads!" He slapped the ground with his hand. "He should put it on a mug."

Fred's eyes crinkled in delight. "Or we should — and give it to him!"

Harry didn't join in their amusement. The churning of his stomach had burgeoned into a peculiar sensation. It wasn't panic, but it filled him with a similar sense of urgency. He lurched to his feet, displacing Basil, who hissed in surprise and latched onto the inside of his jumper with her jaws to keep from tumbling to the floor.

His eyes fixed on the door and he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Why don't we call it here for today?"

"Already?" Fred asked, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "It's barely been an hour."

George rolled onto his stomach and propped his chin on his palm. "You alright, Harry? Your face is all red."

"I– yes, I think so. There's just something I need to do." He hopped over their legs and shouldered the door open. "I'll see you later!"

"Indigestion?" Fred mused before the low roar of the rain pelting the tower swallowed his voice.

"Where are we going so quickly?" Basil asked as Harry burst into an out-of-the-way wing on the fourth floor and set off at a trot for the Grand Staircase.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I've just got this odd feeling. Like there's something I need to do."

Her head popped up next to his jaw. "Instinct," she said, nodding sagely. "You should always listen to your instincts. They keep you from being eaten."

"But I don't understand what mine want!"

Basil settled herself around his shoulders. "When a hawk flies close above my head, instinct tells me to burrow and hide. I do not always see the hawk's shadow, but I hide all the same." She cocked her head. "What were you speaking of with those two-legged foxes? Your instincts would not have warned you if there was no danger. They may have noticed something you did not."

Harry slowed as he approached the balustrade ringing the hollow containing Hogwarts' shifting staircases. The stairs to the third floor were dithering at the entrance to the western wing, so he leaned his palms against the rail and stared at a pastoral landscape depicting a herd of sheep grazing sedately on the face of a rolling hill. He could almost feel the heat of the summer sun radiating from the canvas, and it did nothing to calm him.

"I asked them about cursing brooms," he said. "They said Snape could have done it, and I think they're right. I saw him at the game — up in the booth with Professor McGonagall — and the moment he spotted me, he was furious." He shook his head and heaved a sigh. "He hates me, and the game gave him an excuse. Slytherin is his house, and they were guaranteed to catch the Snitch with me out of the way. It makes perfect sense!"

The railing vibrated as the staircase swung in his direction. Harry let go and stepped back, allowing it to retract into the wall as the head of the stairs settled against the landing. Once they were secure, he started down the steps.

"What will we do?" Basil asked.

Harry kicked at the balusters. What did he want to do? Hiding was out of the question. He couldn't avoid Snape without skipping class for the rest of the year, which was impractical and would see him in detention for truancy. He stepped around a group of Gryffindor students returning to the common room and shuddered at the thought of spending hours scrubbing cauldrons under Snape's baleful glare.

Imagine if I'd been sorted into his house, he thought dismally. He'd have made my life miserable…

He stumbled, his stomach turning somersaults as he came to a horrible realisation.

"Basil, Snape is the head of Slytherin. That means he must have some influence over them, right? What if he turns them against me? I don't want to go back to how things were in September!"

"Is that when you tricked me into hiding in the wall-tunnels? I did not like that. If you order me back, I really will eat your thumbs."

The stairs rumbled, tiny tremors coursing up Harry's legs. He threw himself down the last three steps and onto the landing just as the safety rail slid out, cutting off the path behind him.

Harry leaned against the wall, panting. He stared at the polished oak bar and smiled grimly. It felt like an omen.

No retreat. I made a promise not to run anymore.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. Apart from his friends, the Slytherins were the closest thing to allies he had in the school. They'd treated him with courtesy ever since the troll attack, and yet… no matter how many fine thank you cards they sent him, the war loomed over them like a spectre. He'd heard the rumours about Slytherin — about how all its students came from families who had supported the dark lord during the war. It was probably an exaggeration, as rumours often were, but he couldn't discount that at least some of his classmates had family who'd fought on Voldemort's side.

How many of them had lost parents or relatives to Azkaban? How many were nursing a grudge over Voldemort's defeat, waiting for an excuse to turn on him? Perhaps their parents deserved to be locked up. Perhaps they didn't. The details of the war were a mystery to Harry, so he had no way to judge. In the end, it probably didn't matter. Their absence would sting either way.

Harry pushed off the wall and trudged onto the first floor.

If those students rallied behind Snape — followed his example — then Harry would no longer be dodging hexes in the corridors, but curses, and that was something he dared not risk.

"Where are we going now?" Basil asked.

"To find Draco."

She ducked back into his hood as two young Ravenclaws ran past, a small mountain of toast balanced on top of their textbooks. When their footsteps had faded she asked, "How will finding your dragon-friend help? He's not even a proper dragon and is too small to eat the angry man for you."

"If I'm going to stop Snape, I need to know more about what goes on in Slytherin." He pressed a hand to his ribs, the unease that drove him from the tower now a dull tingle running along his chest and down his arms. "Everything else comes after."

---

A damp wind whipped the braziers lining the Entrance Hall as Harry retraced his steps down the marble stairs. A huddle of Hufflepuffs was peering out into the storm through a crack between the doors. Harry noted their Quidditch uniforms in passing and caught a snippet of their captain's rousing speech on the merits of practising in all weather before he strode into the Great Hall.

Breakfast was now in full swing and the benches were packed with students in casual robes, thick jumpers and the occasional dressing gown in a riot of colours never seen on weekdays. The air buzzed with conversation and the smell of pancakes, sausages, and stewed fruit hung over the tables. Overhead, a dozen waterlogged owls perched along the walls, their eyes closed and wings drooping with exhaustion. They appeared in no hurry to leave, and Harry couldn't blame them. It really was a miserable day.

Harry planted himself at the end of the Slytherin table and squinted down the rows of faces, but Draco's gleaming platinum hair failed to appear. Not giving up, he turned to the nearest student, an older girl wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses who seemed vaguely familiar, and asked, "Excuse me. Have you seen Draco Malfoy this morning?"

She looked up from a newspaper and took a sip from a steaming mug of tea before answering. "I don't believe so. He may still be sleeping."

Well, that was inconvenient!

"Thank you," Harry said, bobbing his head in a polite bow. She nodded in reply before returning to her paper.

As Harry turned to leave, he scanned the staff table and paused when his gaze fell on Snape. Even across the hall, he could tell Snape's eyes were fixed on him, his hatred radiating across the room like heat from a blast furnace. If he turned that ire on the owls, they'd be dry in no time. Unfortunately, he was too busy trying to melt Harry like a heap of scrap iron to pay them any mind.

Harry glared back, and for one wild moment, imagined flipping him the bird. In the next moment, self-preservation prevailed over mischief, and he hurried away before he could come up with any additional ill-advised methods of provoking his professor.

Outside, the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team was still pontificating in front of the open doors, his back and hair growing increasingly sodden as the storm flung sheets of rain through the gap. The rest of his team stood well back, their arms crossed and faces stony. Harry flipped up his hood before tiptoeing around them. They looked dangerously close to dragging their captain off to the hospital wing for a pepper-up and a period of enforced bedrest — courtesy of the incarcerous spell — and Harry had no desire to give them an alternative target.

A scuffle broke out behind him as he rounded the end of the stairs, the captain's voice rising in a surprised bleat before a cete of angry badgers smothered him. Harry kept his head down and his pace steady as he pushed open a door tucked against the back wall and slipped into the dungeons.

He didn't know the exact location of the Slytherin common room, but he could make an educated guess. He passed the entrance to the potions laboratories and continued down the corridor, following the path he'd seen his friends take when they returned to their common room after class.

"One, two…" he counted the number of stairwells under his breath until he arrived at the third, which was flanked by a pair of twisted columns topped with tarnished silver serpents, their mouths open to strike. Nodding, he passed between them and continued his descent.

When he reached the fifth floor, he stopped and looked around. The hall they'd used during the Samhain ritual was on the sixth floor, one below him, which meant this was where he'd parted ways from Pansy after their long day cooking bread — when she'd complained of wanting a shower.

A faint glow radiated from one end of the corridor, and with nothing else to go on, he followed it past guttering torches until he came to a small heptagonal vault. Braziers burned in each of the vault's seven corners and the floor was inlaid with a mosaic of a snake swallowing its tail, each tile gleaming like polished glass.

"Can we stay here a while?" Basil asked. "It's lovely and warm."

It was also highly suspicious. This was the first time he'd seen a mosaic in the dungeons, and the presence of braziers rather than the more ubiquitous torches lent it an air of importance. He glanced at her. "Can you tell if anyone has passed by recently?"

She raised her head clear of his hood and flicked her tongue. "Many two-legs have been here. The air is heavy with their breaths."

From behind him came a soft rushing sound, like sand streaming through the neck of an hourglass, and Basil dived back into his clothes, shrieking, "Danger!"

He wheeled around, his wand jumping into his hand as the body of a massive, multi-hued serpent rose out of the floor. Its scales glittered as it arched against the wall… only there was no longer a wall. Beneath the serpent's body was a pair of tall green doors with tarnished silver handles.

A lock clicked, and the doors swung open, flooding the vault with soft blue light. Harry glimpsed pillars supporting an arched ceiling before someone with bright purple nails clapped their hands over his eyes and the doors slammed shut.

"I told you to check no one was outside," Pansy said as she removed her hands from Harry's face. She was staring daggers at Blaise Zabini, who was rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

"I didn't expect him to be loitering down here."

Behind the pair, the serpent's tail slipped back into the floor and the doors vanished as silently as they'd appeared. Harry's pleasure at having discovered the location of the Slytherin common room was amplified when a familiar voice mumbled, "Who is it?" from behind Pansy's shoulder.

Something clicked into place in Harry's head. He marched up to Draco and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Draco!"

Draco, who'd been rubbing sleep from his eyes, jumped so hard at the unexpected contact that he nearly gave himself a shiner. "Yes?" he squeaked.

"I've thought about your offer and have decided to accept."

Draco squinted at him. "…What?"

---

"What?" Selwyn asked, turning slowly from his arithmancy homework to stare at Draco Malfoy. The boy was panting, his normally perfect hair rumpled and his cheeks flushed, as though he'd sprung out of bed and ran pell-mell through half the castle before stumbling across the library table where the Slytherin prefects had set up camp for the day.

"Harry Potter wishes to be named the Heir of Slytherin," Draco repeated.

"Did he give a reason for his sudden request?"

"No, but he insisted I tell you right away."

"Give us a moment," Selwyn said. Once Draco had withdrawn out of earshot, he leaned across the table and met the eyes of the other prefects. "You already know I've a mind to accept," he murmured. "But I want to hear your opinions."

"I don't think we can refuse," Farley said. "Not after Samhain. He saved our lives, and debts must be repaid. If this is all he asks of us, we should consider ourselves fortunate."

Burke tapped his heavy knuckles against the table. The sixth year's face was troubled, and he glanced at Selwyn's counterpart, Rowle, before grunting in agreement.

Dolohov's face split in a lazy grin. "We can't even refuse out of fear for our house's reputation, since the press is now convinced he prefers playing the hero. Wouldn't you agree, Rookwood?"

Rookwood didn't rise to his bait. She sat rigid in her chair, her fingers white where they gripped the edge of the table. "I'm no fool," she gritted out from between clenched teeth. "I know we have no choice, but I still want him tested."

Dolohov drawled, "We've already said no to your venomous snake pit—"

Her foot lashed out under the table, catching him on the shin. He cursed violently, then slapped a hand over his mouth and looked around for Mme Pince, only relaxing when the ornery librarian was nowhere in sight.

"Not that." Rookwood looked around the table. "It's not dangerous, though I'm not sure it will work."

"We're listening," Selwyn said.

---

"You're sure we can't come with you?" Hermione asked as she and Neville scrambled out of the portrait hole behind Harry.

Harry gave them a moment to catch up before leading the way towards the Entrance Hall. "Sorry," he said. "I think they're already breaking the rules by inviting me into their common room. I don't want to overstep and make them angry."

Neville sighed, sounding resigned as he asked, "Do you really need to do this?"

Harry glanced at him. Neville had been despondent ever since Harry announced his plan to be named the Heir of Slytherin, and while he hadn't done more than drag his heels, Harry could tell his intention to link himself officially to the same bloodline as Voldemort bothered Neville more than the other boy was willing to admit.

"Of course I do. I won't let Snape win!"

"You've been saying that all week!" Hermione said, cutting in front of him and wheeling around to block his path. "But Professor Snape didn't treat you any different in Potions last Friday. Harry—" He tried to step past her, but she grabbed his shoulder, stopping him cold. "Harry! Is this the same as what happened between you and Professor Dumbledore? The, well…" she leaned in and whispered, "the blackmail?"

"No!" Harry backed up, waving his hands in front of him. "Nothing like that. Draco's the one who needs to worry about Snape blackmailing him — not me!"

"Then what? You know you can tell us. We might be able to help!"

He shook his head. "I don't want to put you in danger."

Hermione scowled and planted her fists on her hips, leaning forward to look him dead in the eye. "Isn't it more dangerous for us if something happens and we try to help without knowing what's going on?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, then realised she'd made a rather good point and closed it. Hermione and Neville had protected him in the past, and it was reasonable to assume they'd do so again, if given the chance. Only, if they got between him and Snape, and his professor really was trying to kill him, they'd be risking a lot more than a second trip to Saint Mungo's. He frowned. And yet, wouldn't telling them he was in danger make them more likely to confront Snape, not less? Wasn't that why Professor McGonagall warned him to keep the hounds on the third floor a secret? Because once someone knew they were there, they might feel compelled to investigate, regardless of the threat to their lives?

Hermione's face shone with determination, and he realised it was already too late. She knew something was wrong, and she knew it involved Snape. If he remained reticent, she'd keep guessing until she either got it right or ended up so far down a rabbit hole he'd have to fish her up to prevent her from acting on a misunderstanding. He rubbed his brow, bewildered by how a little information could be more dangerous than no information at all.

"Okay, I'll tell you," he said. "But not here. Let's find an empty room after dinner."

Hermione held out her right hand, pinky extended. "Promise?"

He stared at it in confusion for a moment before remembering the girls at his previous school doing something similar and linked his pinky with hers. "Promise."

---

It was quiet in the Entrance Hall. Breakfast had ended an hour ago, and the sky was threatening snow, chasing all but the hardiest students into the depths of the castle, where they could relax in front of a roaring fire, several thick walls between them and the biting north wind.

"Draco!" Harry called, waving as he spotted the boy standing beneath the Slytherin hourglass to the right of the front doors.

Draco waved back and met him at the base of the stairs. "Ready to go?" he asked, looking Harry over critically.

Harry tugged at the collar of his robes, adjusting the shoulders so they hung straight. He'd been extra careful with his appearance that morning; he took a long shower, polished the fingerprints from the lenses of his glasses, and wore his nicest casual robes, which were black with a dappled green lining the witch at the store had recommended. He tried to flatten his hair again, but it sprang up in every direction the moment he removed his hand. Draco, whose hair was neatly slicked back from his face, watched him struggle with a small, puzzled frown before waving for Harry to follow him.

Hermione caught Harry's sleeve. "Don't forget. I want to hear all about it when you get back."

She didn't specify whether she was referring to the trial in the Slytherin common room or his grudge against Snape, but her eyes were solemn and he suspected it was the latter. He smiled and held up his pinky. "It's a promise, right?"

He must have guessed correctly, because she relaxed and let him go. He looked up at Neville, who'd remained part way up the stairs. "See you later, Neville."

Neville waved gloomily as Harry followed Draco through the door at the back of the hall. "Bye."

"So, how will this work?" Harry asked. "Do I just need to prove I can speak Parseltongue?"

"I'm sure that will be part of it," Draco said. "The prefects have been very secretive the past few days, and Pansy swears they were up at the crack of dawn this morning." He tucked his hand into his pocket and pulled out a long strip of black cloth. "They wanted me to blindfold you, but I told them you already knew where our common room was, so there wasn't much point."

Harry eyed the blindfold with distaste and was glad when Draco stuffed it back into his pocket. "Good thing I found you last Saturday."

"You're lucky you didn't get lost. Do you have any idea how big the school dungeons are? They're practically a maze. Some places haven't been visited in decades."

"I know, Basil told me."

Draco looked at him in surprise. "What was she doing down here?"

Harry shrugged. "Just exploring. She said the lowest levels are all flooded."

"That's not surprising. Half the dungeons seem to extend beneath the loch. Even our common room is— well, you'll see soon enough. We're here."

They'd arrived at the vault with the mosaic floor, and Harry watched the wall concealing the door eagerly.

Draco looked between him and the wall. "Plug your ears," he ordered.

Harry smiled, backing up a few steps and pressing his hands over his ears so he wouldn't hear Draco whisper the password. This time, Harry saw the head of the mosaic serpent rise out of the floor, the tiles of its body gliding beneath his feet as it arched its neck over the newly formed lintel and then plunged back into the ground.

Draco pushed the doors open. With a grand sweep of his hand, he announced, "Welcome to the Slytherin common room!"

Harry's brief glimpse the week before had not done the common room justice. It was a sprawling complex, chiselled from the stone of the mountain. The walls and ceilings were rough, unfinished apart from tall ionic columns supporting the vaulting and framing a series of mosaics made of the same polished stones as the serpent outside.

Antique oriental carpets and long gathered drapes softened the space, while a handful of fireplaces took the bite out of the musty air. A fountain was trickling somewhere out of sight, and the blue-tinged light was stronger than it had been last time. Harry looked up as they passed beneath a domed skylight and stumbled when a mass of dark shadows too long and streamline to be birds darted across the glass.

The quiet murmur of voices ahead snatched him from his study of the room and sent his heart careening through his chest as he realised they weren't alone. The Slytherins had arrayed themselves along the walls, the older students reclining on baroque sofas and chairs while those who were younger, or not yet influential enough to warrant a seat, stood around them. Harry spotted the rest of the first year Slytherins standing beneath a mosaic of a wizard cradling a cockatrice in his arms. They were whispering amongst themselves and didn't appear to have noticed him.

Draco nudged him towards a grand fireplace on their right. Harry's skin prickled from the heat as they drew near, and the bright scent of wood-smoke awoke a feeling of nostalgia that he couldn't place. The fires in Gryffindor Tower had a more earthy, almost nutty smell. This was quite different, yet still… homely.

Draco nudged him again as Selwyn rose from a sofa and stepped towards them. "We bid you welcome, Harry Potter," he said, then bowed from the waist.

Harry mimicked him. "Thank you for inviting me."

The murmuring of the crowd faded as dozens of eyes fixed upon them. Harry shuffled his feet, the small hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Selwyn smiled, unperturbed. "It is our understanding that you wish to claim the title of Heir of Slytherin, as well as the rights and responsibilities inherent therein. Is this correct?"

"It is."

Selwyn nodded and walked to the centre of the room. "Members of Slytherin House," he said, holding his arms out to encompass them all, "In the centuries since the founding of Hogwarts, the heirs of the four great houses have all but vanished. A year ago, we believed Slytherin's bloodline to be extinct, his legacy lost to the mists of Avalon. Extinct, until young master Potter arrived at Hogwarts.

"Long ago, when the elder races still walked among men, an ancestor of Salazar Slytherin pleased the gods and was gifted the ability to speak the tongue of serpents. This memento of his service survives among his descendants. It endures; a link to the past that the shifting of names and circumstances cannot shatter."

He turned back to Harry. "Potter."

"Yes?"

"Do you still wish to claim Slytherin's legacy?"

"I do."

"Then you must find the token he hid within these rooms — in a place only his heirs would know to look."

Harry blinked at him, off kilter and with the oddest urge to laugh. He'd expected to be tested, but that his task was a treasure hunt struck him as absurd. After facing death twice, being asked to locate a hidden item made him feel like a gladiator who'd stepped into a coliseum expecting to fight a lion, only to learn the lion was a house cat and they wouldn't be fighting, but playing checkers.

Selwyn was still speaking. "As you are an outsider, we will allow you inside the common room at agreed upon times until you either find Slytherin's token or choose to abandon the search. All we ask is that you respect our space by not causing any undue damage or disturbing our students while they are studying. Does this sound acceptable to you?"

Harry dragged himself back to the present. "It does, thank you."

"Then you may begin when ready," Selwyn said before he returned to the sofa near the fire. Rookwood whispered something in his ear. He smiled and leaned towards her.

Realising the show was over for the time being, the students put their heads together and the room swelled with voices — some high with incredulity, others low and eager. Harry relaxed, the unpleasant sensation of being watched dissipating.

Draco was at his shoulder instantly, his eyes sparkling with ill-concealed excitement. "Where do you want to look first?" he asked.

Harry still didn't know what he was looking for, let alone what 'a place only an heir would know to look' meant, but he obliged Draco by turning a slow circle to take in the room. Other than the comfortable seating, there were a few low tables, a small collection of globes representing the planets and the night sky, and glass-fronted cases against the walls containing decorative curios or the skeletons of animals.

Across from the entrance, a pair of floor-to-ceiling swag drapes framed an archway leading into a room where Harry could just make out the statue of a wizard flanked by a pair of curving staircases.

He nodded towards the statue. "What's up those stairs?"

"That leads to the study area and girls' dorms," Draco said. "Come on, I'll show you around."

"Someone's eager," remarked a girl dryly, and Harry turned to see Pansy at the head of a small group of first years. She shook her head at Draco's exuberance and then glanced at Harry. "So, what do you think of our common room?"

"It's huge!" he admitted as they trailed Draco out of the hall. "You could fit the entire first floor of the tower in that room."

She narrowed her eyes. "How many floors does your common room have?"

"Just two, not counting the dorms. The second is mostly balconies, though."

"Ha! I knew it!" She held out her hand to Daphne Greengrass, palm up. "Cough up. You owe me ten galleons."

"I told you not to bet against her," Blaise reminded Daphne as she pulled a lace purse from her pocket and counted out ten gold coins.

Daphne shot him a venomous glare as she dropped the galleons into Pansy's hand. "Warn me sooner next time!"

They passed the statue and trooped up the steps to a small landing.

"Those are the girls' dorms," Draco said, pointing to two trefoil arches on either side of the landing. "Don't enter them. There's a spell on the arches that will knock you cold."

Harry nodded. There were similar protections on the Gryffindor dorms, so it didn't surprise him.

"And this," Draco continued, stepping aside and waving Harry through the draped archway behind him, "is the study area. We've got our own collection of books, and there are carrels against the wall over there, and tables for group work — though they're reserved for people writing their exams, so we always have to walk up to the school library."

As Draco gestured around the room, Harry's eyes slid past him to the quartet of tall bay windows along the far wall. Small motes of light danced amid shimmering stripes of cobalt and aquamarine beyond the glass. He walked across the room and knelt on a cushioned window seat, staring outside.

A school of silver-bellied fish darted past. They weaved between fronds of underwater plants, pursued by a pair of small, toad-like creatures with a mass of squirming tentacles in place of legs.

"We're underwater!" he said in awe. "I thought we might be, but I wasn't sure." He pointed towards the darting creatures. "What are those things?"

Draco followed him and leaned against the edge of the seat. "Grindylows. They're a menace. Sometimes they swarm the windows until all we can see is a wall of their ugly faces leering in at us."

"Have you ever seen the giant squid?"

"I haven't, but the upperclassmen say that on moonlit nights, it glides through the water like a ghost at the edge of the forest." He pointed across the swaying plants, to a place where the water shifted from vibrant blue to deepest black. "There's a cliff over there leading to the depths."

Harry leaned forward until his breath fogged the glass, trying to see the edge of the cliff. He jumped as another school of fish flashed past and one hit the glass with a loud thunk. The fish drifted for a few seconds, stunned. Before it could recover, a grindylow shot out of a patch of bushy hornwort and wrapped its tentacles around the fish's body. The grindylow gnashed twin rows of sharp, serrated teeth as they struggled, its webbed fingers ripping at the fish's gills. The school wheeled by again, either oblivious or uncaring of its fate.

Basil edged forward along Harry's neck, her tongue flicking in excitement. "Fish!" She sounded delighted. "So many fish!"

"I thought you were sleeping," he said. She'd been so still during his trip downstairs, he'd almost forgotten she'd come along.

"Not sleeping," she insisted. "Will you catch me one of those fish? I'm hungry."

"They might be too big for you."

Daphne made a noise of disgust as the grindylow clamped its jaws around the fish's head and ripped it off with a swift tug. "I wish they wouldn't eat in front of the windows. The loch is miles long, yet they insist on making a mess where we have to stare at it for hours until the currents wash it away."

"Can we stop talking about the damned water?" Pansy growled. She'd planted her back against the wall next to the window and was staring resolutely into the centre of the room. "Harry, if you had to hide something in here, where would you put it?"

He turned away from the gruesome scene outside and looked around the room. Bookshelves were built into the walls between the windows, and a mix of worn wooden tables and straight-backed chairs filled the floor. Rising to his feet, he inspected the shelves. Most of the books were old school texts, their spines stained with ink and creased from heavy use.

Harry shook his head, at a loss. Even if he found a clever nook to shove a token into, he doubted it would remain hidden long. A student fumbling for a quill they'd dropped in a gap between their carrel and the wall might discover it by accident. Or an unapologetic bookworm might challenge themselves to read each of the tomes on the shelves and find it squirrelled away between the pages of De Vermis Mysterii.

His eyes drifted upwards and after a moment he offered, "If it's something small, I might sew it into the lining of those drapes."

"Into… the drapes?" Draco looked between Harry and the heavy velvet fabric framing the archway several times, his hands fluttering uncertainly at his sides. "Why the drapes?" he asked, flustered. "Why not the bookshelves?"

Harry smiled at him. "Because people use the bookshelves."

Pansy covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter as Draco flushed bright pink and turned away. "Anyone would look there," he grumbled. "People hide things in drapes all the time."

Harry grinned at Pansy, who rolled her eyes.

Blaise threw an arm over Draco's shoulder. "Don't pout," he chided. "I wouldn't have looked there either. The real question is whether the drapes are a place only an heir would know to look."

"Ah, probably not," Harry admitted.

"I wonder what that means," Daphne said. "Only an heir will know. Know how?"

After a moment of silent contemplation, Pansy suggested, "Maybe they're told, like a family secret."

"Or a grimoire," Theodore said quietly from the back of the group.

Harry heaved a sigh and tapped his finger on the edge of the shelf, his amusement at the apparent simplicity of the task draining away. If Pansy and Theodore were correct, he was doomed to fail. Even if he bore the Slytherin memento, he had no actual connection to the family. He didn't know any surviving members, or the location of their ancestral home, so unless the token fell miraculously into his lap, he would need to rely on clues kept here, in the castle.

His eyes glided once more over the stone walls and antique furniture. Would Slytherin have guarded against the slow scattering of his bloodline? Would he have planted clues to assist the children of daughters and grand-daughters who'd married out of the family, or did he only care about direct heirs? From Selwyn's speech, it seemed the family memento counted at least as much as the Slytherin name. If it didn't, they would have denied his request outright.

An oil lamp glowed on a table behind Theodore, tracing the edge of his robes with a band of gold. It was a startling contrast to the blue-tinged light filtering through the water of the loch, arresting Harry's gaze and drawing him closer. The font was in the shape of a coiled serpent, its nose pointed to the ceiling and the lampshade protruding from its gaping mouth like a half-swallowed fish.

Harry turned to face the others, a new idea taking root in his mind. "What if it's not a human I need to talk to, but a snake?"

"Of course," Blaise murmured, "the memento."

"But there are no snakes in the common room," Draco said. "No real ones, at least."

"Do they need to be real, though?" Pansy wondered. She walked to the lamp and picked it up by the neck. "What if Slytherin enchanted them to respond to Parseltongue?"

"Like a password," Millicent Bulstrode said, her normally staid voice rising in excitement.

"I guess I should get started," Harry said. Pansy held the lamp out to him and he leaned in close. "Hello." They waited, watching it with bated breath, but the serpent didn't so much as shudder.

"We must have got the wrong one," she said and set it back down. "Luckily, there's no shortage of snake decor here. Well," — she turned to the others and clapped her hands twice — "what are you waiting for? Go find some snakes. Chop chop."

They scattered, chatting brightly as they ran to fetch the other lamps or peered at the embroidery on pillows. Draco, determined to prove the shelves were a perfectly acceptable hiding place, began pulling out the books and rifling through their pages. When he found nothing of interest, he tossed them aside. One landed at Theodore's feet, who, with a resigned sigh, picked it up and began tidying the shelves, replacing each of the books Draco discarded.

Basil peeked out from behind Harry's neck and looked around. "Who were you speaking to?"

"No one, yet," he said. "I'm trying to find something Salazar Slytherin hid, and it's possible one of these snake decorations will show me the way, or at least give me a hint."

She eyed the lamp. "Then you will need to find one that is alive."

"Yeah…"

She ducked back into his collar as Millicent offered him the lamp from the next table over. He repeated his greeting — to no effect. Millicent shrugged and walked away to put it back.

"Hey, Basil, let me know if you taste any strange magic nearby. Maybe it will help me find Slytherin's token."

"This entire den tastes of strange magic," she complained. "How am I to know which you need?"

"I'll catch you one of those fish if you find something."

"A fish!" Basil shot halfway out of his robes, her flanks heaving as she swung her head to-and-fro. "Hurry, let us taste these false-snakes! Oh, how I want a lovely, big fish!"

Behind Harry, Daphne squeaked in surprise and raised the pillow in her arms like a shield, covering all but her eyes. Basil turned at the sound and lapped the fabric a moment before losing interest.

"I guess there's a real snake here after all," Blaise said with a small laugh.

Draco was beside Harry so fast he swore the blonde had apparated. This was the first time Draco had caught more than a glimpse of Basil and he stared, his mouth agape.

"I didn't think she was that big!" he said, leaning closer. "She's a grass snake, right?"

"I think so," Harry replied as he grabbed her around the middle and tried to shove her back under his clothes. She wriggled out of his grip and wrapped her body around his right arm, immobilising the joint.

"Basil, calm down! There are people around!" he said, exasperated. "Do you want them to see you?"

She looked at him, her pupils huge and black. "I'm so very hungry. Can we go to the big water again?" she asked as he pried her off his arm, tented the front of his robes with his spare hand, and slipped her back through his collar. "I do so want a fish — or a toad! You said not to eat the one in your den, but it is so very tempting."

Harry made a mental note to ensure Trevor's vivarium was secure when he returned to his dorm. "It's too cold right now. You'll freeze if we go outside."

"But my fish!"

He bopped her gently on the nose. "I promised I'd get you one if you helped, and I will, but you can't wander off on your own."

"Fine," she grumbled, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

Harry fiddled with the hem of his sleeves and smiled apologetically at the others. Daphne was still hiding behind her pillow, her pale eyes wide, but the others seemed more curious than afraid. "Sorry," he said. "She's excited — and hungry. She's only had rats of late and I promised her a fish if she helps."

Blaise laughed. "Well, two tongues are better than one. And who knows, she might beat us all to it!"

Basil bumped Harry's ear. "Do not stand around. Let us hurry!"

They swept across the room like a hurricane, checking every serpentine carving, mosaic, and embroidered motif they could lay their hands on — and not always putting them back when there was no reaction to Harry's hissing.

"I was sure we'd find something," Draco said, surveying the disarray with a small frown.

Pansy tossed a chair cushion onto a nearby table. "There's still the rest of the common room."

"Isn't there a snake skeleton near the fountain?" Millicent asked.

They all agreed that there was, and Harry followed them back down the stairs past the statue. They turned into a curving passage that ran parallel to the main hall, and Harry was startled to find himself on a boardwalk over a canal. The water churned slowly beneath the wood planks, flowing from somewhere ahead and vanishing under the floor of the room behind them. Water lilies crowded the surface, their pink and white flowers in full bloom despite the lack of sunlight.

The sound of running water he'd noticed near the entrance grew louder until they passed between two columns and into a circular room with a small pool on one side. A monstrous simian face with bulging eyes leered at them from the wall above the pool, water spilling from its grinning jaws. Its expression was unnerving, and Harry turned away, relieved he wouldn't need to negotiate with anything that looked like it could snap him in half with a single bite.

The skeleton was in a glass cabinet along the back wall, sandwiched between two rows of wooden benches. Someone had reconstructed the snake after death, arching the thin column of its spine back as though to strike, the skull's jaws gaping wide, displaying a pair of needle-thin fangs. Harry caught his breath when he saw the Slytherin crest emblazoned on the top of the cabinet, and he hurried forward, pressing his hands to the glass.

"Hello," he said. "Can you hear me?"

The skeleton didn't move. Harry tried again, saying anything that came to mind. Begging. Cajoling. Even Basil joined in, but nothing worked.

"Not this one either?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. "No."

Pansy threw up her hands. "But it would have been so cool!" she complained. "If I were Slytherin, I'd have enchanted it!"

Draco ran his hand along the side of the cabinet and then tapped the wood, his head tilted to the side as he listened to the sharp, hollow reverberation. "To be fair," he said, "we don't know when this was added. It might have been after Slytherin left the school."

That was something Harry hadn't thought of. In order for Slytherin to have hidden anything in the school, he must have done it shortly after the castle's construction a thousand years ago. Magic could preserve things that would have otherwise degraded over time — the school sorting hat being the most obvious example – but would Slytherin have invested that much time and magic into knick-knacks?

If he intended it to last centuries, he wouldn't have chosen something that might be thrown out, which reduced the number of possibilities to things that were an intrinsic part of the architecture, such as the mosaics and sculptures, or something that was too cumbersome, or iconic, to replace.

There was also no guarantee Slytherin would have enchanted a snake. While the family memento linked them to serpents, perhaps he'd felt that choosing one to hide important information would have been a little too obvious. Harry glanced at the skeleton. Though, if the decor was anything to go by, subtlety wasn't Slytherin's strong suit. He seemed to take great pride in being a parselmouth; the memento influencing everything from his interior decorating to the mascot of his house.

"Hey, Draco?" he said.

Draco looked up from studying a narrow mosaic band on the wall. "Hm?"

"What is a memento? I know they're passed down through families, but I don't understand where they come from. Are they really gifts from the gods, like Selwyn said?"

Draco frowned pensively. "Some might be. Though I think most of them are from the old magical races, like the fae, or nymphs."

"Not all of them are gifts, either," Pansy added. "Some are curses, like the maledictus."

That answered where they came from, but Harry still felt as though he were missing a piece of the puzzle. "But what are they?"

Draco sat down on the bench. "They're…" His brows furrowed as he fumbled for the right words. "Well, they're mementos," he finished lamely.

Pansy lifted her eyes to the ceiling in a silent prayer for eloquent housemates. "Think of them like multi-generational curses or boons," she said. "Say one of your ancestors seduced the consort of a faerie queen—"

Blaise jolted upright from where he was peering into the water of the pond with Daphne and Theodore. "Hey, don't bring my family into this!"

Pansy waved away his protest and continued, her voice rising theatrically. "When the queen found out, she flew into a towering rage and declared: Wretched woman, may your love wither on the vine! May you and your daughters be married in widows' weeds and bury your husbands before the mourning period is spent!"

"That's not quite what happened," Blaise protested.

"Well, it's true that any man marrying into your family dies less than two years later." Pansy turned to Harry and waggled her finger at him. "And that's why you should never marry without knowing your partner's family history."

"Are mementos common, then?" Harry asked.

"A lot of the older families have one," she said. "Though they're not all as dramatic as the Zabinis'." She pursed her lips. "Let's see, the Notts are good with languages, the Longbottoms have green thumbs, and the Malfoys only produce sons. The Blacks have two, a boon and a curse, though they don't show up together."

"And Slytherins can speak to snakes," Harry finished.

She grinned at him. "Exactly."

They continued to search the room, but other than the skeleton and a mosaic band low on the wall, the only other serpents they could find were a set of gargoyles jutting from the heads of the columns supporting the ceiling. They didn't react when he hissed at them, and Harry was about to suggest they move on when Basil slid down his left arm and said, "Look at the water!"

He walked to the rim of the pool and crouched down, expecting to find a mosaic rippling beneath the surface. Instead, he discovered a small school of dappled carp drifting beneath ornamental lily pads.

"Oh," he said, a moment before Basil shot from his sleeve, piercing the water like a spear.

The carp scattered a hair too slow and the surface of the pool frothed with spray as she coiled around a fish as long as his hand and unhinged her jaws.

"What was that?" Draco asked. He moved to the side of the pool and peered at the distorted shapes beneath the surface.

"Basil found a fish," Harry said, caught somewhere between laughter and despair. "I hope it wasn't someone's pet."

Draco's face lit with interest. He crouched beside Harry and leaned forward, his arm propped against the lip of the basin as he pushed lily pads aside to get a better look. Pansy came up behind him and gave his shoulder a light shove, grinning when he tipped forward with a strangled yelp. Harry caught the back of his robes before he toppled headfirst into the water and tugged him back to safety.

"They're just decorative," Pansy assured Harry as Draco wrung water from his sleeve. "Other than feeding them bits of toast every once in a while, no one pays them much mind."

Harry sighed in relief as Basil's head breached the surface, the tips of the carp's tail vanishing down her throat. She swam back to the edge of the pool and hauled her body onto a lily pad.

"This water is not too cold," she said as he picked her up, mindful of the lump working its way down her throat. "Why do you not have a pond like this in your den?"

He ran a finger down her back, willing her dry, then slipped her back into his sleeve, cradling her body on his left arm. "I suppose the person who built my den didn't think having an indoor pond was important."

"How foolish! All dens should have a pond. Even if your water comes through the wall tunnels, think of all the lovely snacks you could keep if you had a pond."

As Basil rambled, a group of older students passed by on their way to the dorms. They glanced at Harry, who tucked his left arm closer to his body and inclined his head in a polite bow. They returned the gesture, murmuring quiet greetings.

Once they'd vanished along the boardwalk, Harry turned to the others. "I think we've checked everything here. Let's go back to the main hall. It may have quieted down."

Harry's guess proved correct. There were still a few groups of students relaxing near the fires, but those who'd been unable to secure a seat had departed in search of more comfortable accommodations.

The prefects remained around the grand fireplace, and Harry felt their eyes upon him as he made his way around the hall, whispering greetings to the walls and mantles. His voice seemed to echo in the sudden hush that fell over the surrounding students when he spoke. He knew they were listening intently and swallowed his unease at being the centre of attention, forcing his voice to remain steady.

Daphne peeled off from the group when an older boy with her blue eyes and honey-blonde hair called her name. She nodded politely to Harry before joining who Harry assumed was a brother or cousin. Blaise left a few minutes later after wishing Harry good luck, disappearing towards the lavatory.

Their numbers dwindled further when Harry approached the prefects, only Draco remaining at his side as he apologised for intruding and slipped between Selwyn's sofa and a wingback chair containing a heavyset boy Harry recognised as one of the Slytherin Beaters — though he couldn't recall his name.

Across from the Beater, Dolohov lay languidly in his chair, his lips twitching upward when he met Harry's gaze. Harry turned quickly to the mantle and greeted the serpents coiling across its surface. The heat of the fire scorched him as he waited for a reaction, sinking into his robes until they felt as though he'd just pulled them from the dryer. Basil shifted on his arm, poking her head out of his cuff.

"Oh," she said, basking in the fire's warmth. "This is lovely."

"No luck?" Dolohov asked innocently; his eyes glittering with silent laughter.

Harry forced a smile. "Not yet, but we're still looking." He leaned towards Draco and asked quietly, "What other snakes are there?"

"There's some in the boys' dorms," Draco whispered. "Or we could try the one hiding the entrance. That one's definitely enchanted."

As Harry hesitated, wondering if they'd kick him out for the day if he risked checking the mosaic outside, Basil said, "Why don't you ask that snake?"

Harry glanced at her. "What snake?"

"That one." She pointed up with her nose.

"We already checked the snakes on the mantle."

"Not those stone snakes," she said, jabbing her head upward. "That one. Up there."

Above the mantle hung a still-life of a table overflowing with food. Bunches of radishes and grapes spilled over the table's edge, taking a lopsided tablecloth with them. In the centre of the table, nestled among the pies and plates of fruit like a morbid centrepiece, was the horned skull of a dragon. Behind it, a vase of dried flowers loomed like a thundercloud, the blooms withered and dull, nearly invisible against the hazy sepia background. The oil paints were dark with age, lending a forlorn air to the scene, as though the corpses of its inhabitants lay just beyond the edge of the gilt frame, their withered limbs twisted into grotesque shapes, black with disease.

He drew breath to tell Basil that the painting's inhabitants were long gone when the shadows behind a half-empty wine bottle shifted. A shudder ran through the dishes on the table as something massive slid between them, and then the dragon's jaws opened, forced apart by the head of an enormous snake.

Draco gulped and stepped closer to Harry, catching his sleeve. "I've never seen him before," he said in a quavering voice.

The snake turned its glowing yellow eyes upon them and for a second Harry's body locked up and he forgot how to breathe. A cold sweat broke out on his skin. Instincts screaming, he tore his gaze from the snake and fixed it on the fraying corner of the tablecloth.

"Harry?" Draco whimpered, tugging on his sleeve. "Say something."

Harry cleared his throat and stammered, "Hello."

"It has been a long time since I've heard our tongue from the lips of a human," the snake said in a voice that rasped like dry leaves. "What is your name, human child?"

"Harry Potter, sir."

The snake let out a long hiss. "You do not bear Slytherin's crest, yet you trespass in his domain. Why have you come, child Potter?"

"I'm looking for Slytherin's token."

"His token?"

"Yes. To prove I'm worthy of being his heir." Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to look into the snake's eyes. "Please, sir, if you know where it's hidden, could you tell me?"

The snake shifted its bulk. One of the wine bottles toppled and shattered on the floor, dark liquid thick as tar seeping into the rug. "Slytherin left no token," it said.

Harry took an involuntary step forward. "But then, how do I—"

"If you wish to claim his legacy, speak to the guardian of the Chamber of Secrets. If you are worthy, she will accept you. If not…" The snake bared its fangs, beads of poison glistening at their tips. "Your life shall be forfeit. So choose carefully, child Potter."

Harry bit his lip, confused. Was he looking for an item, or a whole other room?

"What did it say?" Draco asked in a whisper.

Harry whispered back, "I need to find the Chamber of Secrets."

"Find the—" Draco stammered. He looked around at the prefects and then said in an undertone, "But it's a legend! No one knows if it even exists!"

Harry shrugged. It made no sense to him either.

"This advice does not please you?" the snake asked.

"No, it does," Harry said quickly. "It's just, the students believe there's a token hidden somewhere nearby. They've told me to find it."

"If you seek what they have hidden, then check the smallest stone of that fireplace." The snake gestured across the room, where a second fire crackled merrily in the grate.

Harry glanced between the two. "That they hid?"

"Yes. Shortly before the house woke, a group of children brought a small box before me and waved it most erratically. They seemed anxious I know where they hid it."

"Do you see the children now?" Harry asked, curious.

The snake raised its head clear of the skull, the dragon's teeth skittering across glossy scales the colour of pine trees at night. Short spikes jutted from the back of the snake's skull like a crown of thorns, their tips a muted red. As the snake swung its gaze across the room, the spikes seemed to swell.

The remaining Slytherins had fallen silent, their bodies rigid in their chairs as they waited to see what would happen next.

The snake looked down at the prefects. "The children who disturbed me sit around you now; they who bear metal crests upon their necks."

The prefects, Harry realised. But why? What did they gain by faking a rite of passage? Were they hoping for an excuse to refuse his request — or to make it appear legitimate?

"Thank you. I'll check there."

He turned his back on the painting and headed across the room, Draco scampering in his wake.

"Well?" Draco asked.

"I'll explain later."

The students around the second fireplace jumped to their feet and pulled their chairs out of the way as he approached, leaving an open space in front of the hearth. The facing was one solid piece of marble, but there was a small lip under the hearth fronted with a handful of offcuts.

He knelt on the edge of the rug and pressed the side of his face against the floor. It appeared the smallest piece was on the rightmost side, so he shuffled over on his knees and felt beneath the lip. The stone was smooth as glass, but the grout holding it in place crumbled when he pressed against it. Grunting, he chipped away at the grout and slowly worked the stone free.

"It came off!" Pansy exclaimed. She'd rejoined them when they left the circle of prefects and had squeezed her way to the front of the crowd. The surrounding students murmured in excitement. A few ran to fetch friends who'd retreated to their dorms, but most remained transfixed on the dark hole beneath the hearth.

Harry peered inside, but couldn't make out anything amidst the shadows. He slid his hand in, cautious of sharp edges, but the sides had been sanded smooth — a fact he was grateful for, as it was a tight fit, even for him.

His fingers bumped against something other than stone and he twisted his hand, trying to wedge his fingers into the small gaps along the object's sides, but they were too narrow and all he did was push it deeper.

If he couldn't retrieve it by hand, he'd use magic. He closed his eyes and focused on the object, imagining it jumping towards him. Nothing happened. Harry frowned and tried again. A few small rocks jumped into his palm, but, once again, the mystery object refused to move. He pulled out his hand and rolled the stones across his palm before dropping them on the ground. The magic had clearly worked, but whatever hid in the hole remained elusive.

He looked up at Draco. "I can feel something, but it's stuck and magic doesn't affect it."

"It's probably warded so it can't be summoned by accident," Draco said, answering Harry's unasked question.

"If you cannot reach, let me get it," Basil said

"Are you sure you'll fit? That was a pretty big fish."

The muscles of her belly rippled, and the bulge of the fish slid down a few centimetres. "I will fit," she insisted, inching forward until her head was resting in his hand. "This is bigger than the hole in your latch-door, and I do not need to go all the way through."

Harry decided she might as well try. He lowered his left arm and pressed his hand to the lip of the hearth, his sleeve shielding her from sight as she slipped forward.

Her tail remained wrapped around his wrist, and through it, he felt her body contract as she hauled on the object. She threw a second loop of her tail over his arm, then a third, tightening until his pulse throbbed in the veins of his wrist. He grit his teeth and held still, afraid of hurting her if he added his own strength to her efforts.

The object came free with a scraping sound and Basil's head shot out of the hole.

"Mmph!"

Harry slowly removed his hand and peered into his sleeve. Basil stared back, a wooden box jammed in her mouth. The muscles in her throat twitched as she spat it out and re-hinged her jaws.

"Now you owe me another fish!" she said, sounding very pleased with herself.

He picked the box up in his right hand and turned it over. It was carved from a wood so dark it appeared black. Small green stones studded its sides, and the silver serpent of Slytherin coiled on the lid, its head raised and ready to strike.

"I owe you a fish and a toad," he corrected. "If you hadn't noticed the painting, I might have been searching for days."

She bumped his wrist in excitement. "A toad! Oh, catch me one quickly. I do miss toads!"

When the Slytherins saw the box, they broke out into excited whispers, drowning out any further gushing on the culinary merits of amphibians.

Draco dropped to his knees beside Harry. "You found it!"

"Well, come on," Pansy said, leaning on Draco's shoulder. "Open it!"

Harry nodded and nudged Basil back into his sleeve. Once she was secure, he took the box in both hands and cracked open the lid. Inside, a silver pin rested on a bed of soft green velvet. At first Harry mistook it for a prefect pin, but when he tilted it to better catch the light, he saw it bore a coat of arms depicting a shield flanked by two serpents with the same crown of spikes as the snake from the painting.

"That's the Slytherin family crest!" Draco exclaimed. "Look, there are the twin basilisks!" He paused, then his eyes widened, and he glanced back towards the still-life above the other fireplace.

So that was a basilisk, Harry thought, running his thumb over the pin's face. No wonder I couldn't hold its gaze. If it hadn't been a painting, I'd be dead right now.

The students parted behind him as the prefects approached. Harry stood up and turned to face them.

"Congratulations, Potter," Selwyn said solemnly. "You have proved yourself a true heir of Slytherin. From this point on, as long as you act with the dignity expected of an heir to one of Hogwarts' noble houses, you will have our support."

Harry studied Selwyn's face. He didn't appear angry or disappointed that Harry had completed their task — in fact, from the small wrinkles that appeared at the corners of his eyes, Harry had the impression he was chuckling to himself.

"Thank you," Harry said, deciding to play along. There was no point in challenging the validity of their test if it benefited him, especially if the alternative was risking his life in the so-called Chamber of Secrets. "Does your support include protection from people who try to hurt me?"

Selwyn blinked. "We can extend the same level of care we offer all our students," he said carefully. "But we cannot interfere in anything that goes on outside the school."

"That's okay," Harry said. "It's someone here I'm worried about." Then, because he might as well be certain, he added, "Professor Snape, specifically."

"Ah," Selwyn breathed, his good humour returning. "I see. So that's why you sought us out." He smiled and patted Harry's shoulder. "You needn't worry. Professor Snape may be our head of house, but he has let us know in no uncertain terms that the last thing he wants is to wade through the 'teenage histrionics of a pack of useless dunderheads'." From the dry tone of his voice, Harry gathered that last bit was a direct quote. "We rarely see him, and have learned to get by on our own."

"I thought Professor Snape favoured Slytherins," Harry said, bemused. He'd always considered Snape vicious, but he'd thought the students of the man's house would be exempt. He glanced at Draco, wondering why he'd never brought this up, and found him staring at Selwyn in wide-eyed bewilderment.

Beside him, Dolohov laughed harshly. "The only way to earn that man's favour is to be a once-in-a-century potions prodigy. The rest of us are just a convenient means to earn points so he doesn't suffer the indignity of losing the house cup to Gryffindor." He made a sharp motion with his hand, as though swatting a fly. "That kozel didn't even check on us during Samhain when he knew a troll was loose in the school."

A murmur of agreement rose around them and Harry looked down at the box in his hands. It seemed his fears of the Slytherins siding with Snape were mis-founded. Still, it couldn't hurt in the long run… could it?

"Well," Pansy said, "what are you waiting for? Put it on!"

Harry obliged her, fastening the pin to his collar. She looked him up and down, then nodded in approval. He slipped the box into his pocket for safekeeping. "Is there anything I need to do?" he asked Selwyn.

"Not for now. This is an unusual situation for all of us, and you're still in your first year. As long as you don't spread any malicious rumours about our house, or knowingly attempt to damage its reputation, I believe that should suffice." He glanced at the other seventh year prefect, a dark-eyed girl whose pale hair was knotted at the back of her head in an elaborate braided up-do. Harry didn't know her name, and doubted this was the moment to ask.

"When you're older," she said, "you may wish to act as an unofficial prefect, but for now you should continue to familiarise yourself with our world: its magic, its history, and its traditions."

"I can do that," Harry said, relieved that they weren't asking too much of him.

"It would also be nice," grumbled Marcus Flint from the edge of the crowd, "if you could let us catch the Snitch the next time we play."

Harry smiled beatifically. "Not a chance."

He remained in the Slytherin common room for another quarter of an hour, repeating random sentences in Parseltongue for curious students who had missed his conversation with the basilisk in the portrait.

Draco hovered behind his shoulder the entire time, silent and fidgeting. When Harry took his leave, Draco insisted on walking him out, all but pulling him through the door and up a flight of stairs. Once they were alone, he asked in a half-whisper, "Okay, what's going on? Why did the portrait tell you to find the Chamber of Secrets if the crest was in our common room?"

Harry told him the truth. "Because the test, and this crest, are both fakes. Slytherin never hid a token in your common room. The prefects did."

Draco looked as though he'd been struck. "But they—" he began, then shook his head. "So the actual test is to find the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry started down the corridor. "Yes. I need to speak to its guardian."

"Will you tell them?" Draco asked, glancing back toward the common room.

"No! And you shouldn't either!" They turned the corner in lockstep. "I need their support so that—"

"Well, well," drawled an icy voice, "if it isn't Mister Potter."

Harry's words died in his throat. He and Draco looked up in horror as Snape prowled towards them, empty potion flasks cradled in his arms. Their professor's face was tight with growing anger, his lips a bloodless slash across his face as he crowded them back into the corner.

Draco whined high in his throat as the potion fumes clinging to Snape's robes flooded their lungs — sweet and slightly astringent.

Snape glowered at Harry down the length of his nose. "It seems you have a bad habit of wandering into places you should not—" His breath caught in his throat, his eyes locked on the silver pin at Harry's neck. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked in a soft tone that set Harry's hair on end.

Harry cleared his throat and raised his chin to stare Snape straight in the eyes. "I've been named the Heir of Slytherin," he replied, unable to suppress the quaver underlying the words as a wave of phantom pressure bore down upon him. He blinked rapidly, unsure what was happening but determined not to back down.

Snape's face went blank. The flasks slipped from his arms and shattered on the floor, showering their shoes with shards of crystal. "What have you done?" he rasped, his voice faint. A tide of red swept up his skin, a vein pulsing in his neck. He lunged forward, grabbed Harry by the collar, and shook him savagely. "What have you done?"

"Let him go!" Draco cried, grabbing Snape's arm at the same moment Basil shot upward and sunk her teeth into Snape's wrist.

In the confusion that followed, Harry wasn't sure if Snape knew what had bitten him. Basil had already ducked back into his robes when Snape staggered away, snarling a curse, and tried to press a hand to the wound, only for Draco's fingers to get in the way. Draco released him, but lost his balance on the shattered vials and fell forward, ploughing into Snape's stomach. Snape, already off balance, tripped on his cloak and sprawled in a heap on the floor.

Draco stood as though petrified, his arms extended in front of him where he'd raised them to break his fall and inadvertently shoved their professor to the ground.

"Draco," Snape snarled as he staggered to his feet. "My office. Now." He whirled on Harry, the muscles of his face writhing like a pit of worms beneath his skin. "And you, Potter," he spat. "Get out of my sight."

Harry hesitated, not wanting to leave Draco alone.

"You better go," Draco said weakly.

"Will you be—"

"DRACO!" Snape roared. He pointed his finger towards the potions classroom. "NOW!"

Draco sent him a pleading look before Snape grabbed his arm and propelled him down the corridor.

Harry watched them go, an iron ball of dread settling in his stomach as his mind bombarded him with images of bucking brooms and a plummet toward earth. Would Draco find his wings, or would he perish in the crash? Harry swallowed hard and clutched the silver pin at his neck, overwhelmed by helplessness as he tried and failed to think of a way to help Draco without further antagonising Snape.

Their lies had caught up to them, and Draco would pay the price.

Harry staggered into motion, following them at a distance. At the very least, he could check on Draco once he escaped. It was the least he could do.

---

Poor Draco's in for it now! The next chapter will be primarily from his point of view, and will go deeper into what mementos are, as well as explain why Snape is so angry at Harry being the Heir of Slytherin. I'm curious if anyone can guess the reason for the latter. I've tried to come up with a reason that isn't just 'because his father was a bully' and think I've come up with something quite plausible.

Thank you to everyone who has stuck around despite my atrocious update rate! Until next time.