By breakfast the next day, rumours that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin had spread through the school and taken root in the minds of the other students.

A group of Hufflepuffs split Harry's school bag when they saw him in the corridor, to give time for one of them – apparently a muggleborn – to get away from him, and Ron got himself detention for punching Cormac McLaggen at lunch after he asked a question that none of Harry's friends would repeat to him.

Dinner was quiet; only Draco and Ginny sat with Harry; Hermione was in the library with Ron (the pair of them came in to load plates, then disappeared again) and the rest of Gryffindor kept their distance, with the exception of the Quidditch team, who patted him on the back as they passed, and sat just beyond Draco to talk about the upcoming game in low voices. Harry couldn't quite muster the energy to join them, and instead kept his head down and tried to ignore the whispers that were all too clear to him, thanks to his Animagus-hearing.

Harry supposed it wasn't entirely surprising that he found himself escorted to Dumbledore's office after dessert, by a thin-lipped McGonagall. He wondered if she believed the rumours too.

"Hi, Fawkes," Harry said, and got a rather sick sounding croon in response; he supposed it was burning week.

"Take a seat, Mr Potter," she said, gesturing to the chair. "The Headmaster will be with us shortly." Harry sat, and she was right; Dumbledore was arrived just minutes after them, and offered Harry a lemon drop as he sat down.

"No, thanks," Harry said.

"Admirable as their loyalty is," Dumbledore said, with an arched eyebrow, "you might suggest to Mr Malfoy that he keep tabs on you from a greater distance; he almost got himself crushed by my revolving staircase, just now."

"Shall I-"

"Leave him be, Minerva," Dumbledore said, choosing a lemon drop for himself. "Harry needs his friends at the moment, they merely need to be more careful about it." At this, Dumbledore graced Harry with a smile.

"Not loitering," McGonagall muttered, but remained where she was.

"I s'pose you heard about yesterday," Harry said.

"I believe we've had a conversation about secrets – or, rather, the lack of secrets – at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "And I – while, admittedly oblivious to some things – have a tendency to hear these sorts of things." Harry, not sure whether he was about to be told off, or comforted, stayed silent. "First and foremost, are you all right?"

"Sure," Harry said, shrugging. McGonagall made an irritated noise.

"Potter," she said.

"Given the circumstances, I'm as good as I can be," Harry said, not looking at either of them. He stared at his shoelaces. "Am I having a brilliant day? No. Could it be worse? I reckon it could be." He looked up at the pair of them. McGonagall's mouth was open, like she wanted to say something, and Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Do you know why?" Harry asked after a pause.

"Why what, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"Why I can- you know. Talk to snakes." Harry was well aware of McGonagall looking at him with pity, not because he could see it, but because he could smell it. It was a sickly sort of smell.

"I don't have answers," Dumbledore said. "Only guesses." Harry waited. "My best guess, at this stage, is that the night Voldemort attempted to kill you as a baby, he accidentally transferred some of his own abilities to you-"

"So then I kind of am the Heir of Slytherin, given that I-" Harry wrinkled his nose. "-inherited his abilities."

"By magic, not by blood," Dumbledore said gently.

"But parseltongue's how it all happens," Harry said. "Or at least we think so."

"Indeed?"

"We think it's a snake. That's why I can hear it, but no one else can-"

"A very logical explanation." Dumbledore was on his feet, pacing around behind his desk. "One I hadn't considered, but given the rarity of the gift…"

"So I could be, then-"

"You have time to ponder the intricacies of inherited magical abilities and their applications later, Albus," McGonagall said tersely.

"Of course," Dumbledore said, inclining his head in her direction. Slowly, still looking thoughtful, he made his way back to his chair. "I suppose what I really wanted to talk to you about, Harry, is where we're going to go from here."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I cannot think of anything that will make your problem go away," Dumbledore said. Harry shook his head; neither he, his friends or Padfoot had come up with anything either. "There will be rumours, and some of the bolder students may target you out of fear-"

"I know," Harry said.

"That behaviour will not be tolerated," McGonagall said firmly. "I'll have them trimming the Quidditch pitch with nail scissors, Mr Potter, I assure you." Harry mustered a weak smile, sure that he'd never turn anyone in to her for that, even if they did properly attack him. She nodded at him.

"But the fact remains, that they are scared, and people who are scared can be dangerous," Dumbledore said. "I have no wish to see you in danger, Harry, and so, must ask if you're sure you want to remain at Hogwarts."

"I'm always in danger, sir." Or at least it seems that way, Harry thought. "I can handle it." Dumbledore didn't look surprised, but he did seem a little sad, and didn't speak. "If that's it," Harry said, "then I have an essay-"

"Actually, Harry, I might have to trouble you for some more of your time." Harry lowered himself back into the chair and watched, curious. "The Board of Governors are always looking for reasons to force me aside," Dumbledore said, almost cheerily. "And I think they've come to the conclusion that this Chamber business might be the way to go about it…" His cheeriness faded, and he was left looking grim. "I heard whispers over Christmas, though everything seems to have fallen quiet in the last week." He paused and glanced at McGonagall. "Whether that's a good thing remains to be seen."

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked.

"Last time, the attacks only stopped because Tom couldn't risk exposing himself after he went to such great lengths to conceal his involvement. This time, nothing of the kind has happened, and so-"

"There'll be more attacks," Harry said. McGonagall's lips thinned. "That's what you think, right?"

"It seems likely," Dumbledore said gravely. "Obviously we are doing what we can to keep the students safe but-"

"-but that doesn't mean they are," Harry said, and then realised what he'd just said. "Sorry, I-"

"There is no need to apologise, dear boy," Dumbledore said, waving a hand. "You are – unfortunately – correct." He sighed. "And I fear that the next attack will result in my removal from the school."

"That'd be stupid," Harry said, folding his arms. "No one on the Board has as good a chance as you do of finding Riddle-"

"You might," Dumbledore said softly. Harry blinked at him. "I am not," Dumbledore said, suddenly stern, "suggesting that you throw everything aside in order to track him down, Harry. As I said before, I have no wish to see you in danger-"

"I'm always-"

"You've said," Dumbledore said, gently. "What I do mean to suggest, is that Tom may be drawn to you. He's cunning, and talented, but he's always had the unfortunate need for acknowledgement. He will want someone to know that all of this is because of him."

"You think he'll let himself get caught?" Harry asked, frowning.

"No," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "I think, though – and I know you must have had similar thoughts yourself – that he may reach out to you-" Harry nodded slowly. It was something that had occurred to him. "-be that to gloat, or-"

"Or for the prophecy," Harry said quietly. McGonagall made a soft, questioning noise, and Dumbledore shook his head at her.

"Perhaps." The word hung in the office, blunt, but not as terrifying as Harry would once have found it. He swallowed, and nodded. "I know, Harry, that you have made promises to Sirius-" Harry arched an eyebrow, and Dumbledore only smiled knowingly. "-that you will tell him about any developments or danger. I ask for the same, and, if I have been displaced by the Board, that you go to Minerva."

"And then what?" Harry asked. "Sit by?"

"I suspect, that in these coming weeks, with these rumours, and the knowledge of the Heir's identity, you may feel very alone, and very responsible-" Dumbledore's eyes were sad. "-but you are not alone in this, Harry, and it is not solely your responsibility-"

"I've never said that," Harry protested.

"Sirius did," Dumbledore said. His beard moved with the faintest smile.

"He told you that?" Harry asked, doubtful. He had thought things between Padfoot and Dumbledore were still- well, he hadn't thought Padfoot would tell Dumbledore that sort of thing.

"I think, Harry, that you underestimate how far Sirius is willing to go to keep you safe. The more eyes, the better, were his choice of words, I believe." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "If you learn or suspect something, I would like to know, because," he said, lifting a finger, "I want my students safe, Harry. All of them." Dumbledore caught Harry's eyes with his own, and Harry did his best to hold the contact, until it became too much.

"Yes, sir," Harry said finally.

"Very good. Now, I believe you said you had an essay to do."

"Yes, sir," Harry said again.

"Run along then," Dumbledore said, smiling. Harry left the office, and nearly bowled Draco over as he stepped off the staircase; he only stopped in time because Draco leaped out the way, and pulled off the cloak.

"You took your time," he said, tucking the cloak into his robes.

"You nearly got yourself crushed," Harry retorted, arching an eyebrow at him.

"I- did- Who told you that?"

"Dumbledore," Harry said, and Draco scowled.

"I knew he saw," Draco said. "No clue how, given we were under the cloak, but I just had a feeling-"

"Ron still at the library?" Harry asked.

"Of course; someone's got to keep an eye on Granger until we sort out this Chamber rubbish. Did you want to go meet them, or-"

"Common room," Harry said, shaking his head. "I don't really fancy having books thrown at me, for being the Heir." He rolled his eyes and Draco's expression tightened. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Harry didn't mind the silence. His talk with Dumbledore had given him lots to think about.

"So what did they want?" Draco asked finally, as they climbed through the portrait hole.

"Hmm?" Harry's eyes were on the stairs; at least a third of the people in the common room had headed upstairs when Harry and Draco arrived, and Harry didn't think it had anything to do with Draco. Only Percy and a few older students remained, too deep in study to have noticed him, and Ginny, who was frowning into the fire.

"Dumbledore, Potter. I don't imagine he had you there to ask what you had for dinner… Which wasn't much," he added disapprovingly.

"He just wanted to talk about yesterday, make sure I still wanted to be here, offer me support… the usual. He thinks we're right, though. That maybe it could be parseltongue that's letting the Heir get into the Chamber, and control the monster."

"Did you ask him why you've got it?" Draco asked, as they sat – by unspoken agreement – in the armchairs in the far corner. Gloomily, Harry supposed that was a bonus of everyone being afraid of him; that he'd never have to worry about finding empty seats.

"His guess was from Voldemort," Harry said in a low voice, though Ginny was the only one in earshot, and she was still frowning at the fire. "That the night he died, he- I dunno, gave me some of his powers or something." Harry grimaced. "In a sense, I am the Heir, because I inherited those powers from someone from the bloodline-"

"But only magically," Draco said, as Dumbledore had. "It's not actually by blood."

"If we're right, though, and the whole key to the chamber and the monster is parseltongue, what does blood matter?"

"But you haven't been attacking people," Draco said. "You do know that, right?"

"I know that," Harry said, kicking him.

"Good," Draco sniffed. "Now, what are my chances of getting you to explain that Transfiguration essay to me?"

"Isn't that what Ron's working on with Hermione? You could have gone with them, instead of waiting-"

"I think Transfiguration will be the last thing on Granger's mind," Draco said smoothly, but Harry smelled evasion. "Besides, you're better at it."

"Right," Harry said. Draco looked pleased, and trotted upstairs to get his things, while Harry leaned back in his chair and tried to think if he'd been left alone since he'd revealed it was Voldemort behind everything. His eyes narrowed on Draco – who was at the top of the stairs – when he reached the realisation that no, he hadn't been. Draco and Ron – and possibly Hermione – were tag-teaming to keep him company and keep him safe, the same way he and Ron and Draco had been looking after Hermione.

"What are you smiling at?" Draco asked.

"I'm not smiling," Harry said, scowling at once.

"Right," Draco said after a pause. "Well, look at this, would you?"

"Gently, Ginny," Tom admonished, as he adjusted the mindscape he'd created in Ginny's mind; one of the armchairs was wobbling, and his own visage wavered for a moment.

"Sorry," she said, sitting very still, in her own armchair. She looked unsettled, but Tom was too focused on other things to try to find whatever was unsettling her. "So how did you say you were doing this?"

"I don't know," Tom lied. "I just thought, instead of you only hearing my voice, that I could try to create our own little place in your head, where you can see me, and I can see you. Like being in the diary, without having to be." Ginny's mind was about as good; as empty as the pages of his diary, and very much open to him.

"But how?" Ginny asked, looking impatient.

"The same way I did with the diary, I suppose," Tom said, shrugging. "Or perhaps I only created myself, and your own mind's done the rest." It hadn't, of course, but it couldn't hurt to let Ginny think that. "It wouldn't surprise me," he said softly, sitting down on the arm of the chair in her mind. "You are truly incredible." He combed his fingers through her long hair, and was surprised to find it felt the same here, in her head, as it did in the diary. She made a quiet, pleased sound, but her frown didn't fade.

"But I have to vanish when I visit the diary," she said, much more calmly. Tom made a sound to show he agreed. "But right now, I'm still in the common room."

"Yes."

"But then, won't people notice? I must be sitting awfully still, and I'm not really doing anything, so-"

How was it that she was so aware of some things, yet so completely and utterly oblivious to everything else? I'm trying to help Harry Potter find the Heir of Slytherin, Tom, you don't know who that could be, do you? but then she'd turn around and wonder what people would think if she sat too still and too quietly. Tom was just glad she'd be dead in a few weeks.

He reconsidered her question. He could tell her the truth; that he was managing it. That she was moving around every few minutes – scratching her nose, crossing her legs and the like – and that he was vaguely aware of who was around – mostly through listening, rather than seeing – but he suspected Ginny might panic at that, and there was no telling what damage that might do to Tom's delicate mindscape, and he really didn't think now was the time to test his control over her body and mind, to see if he could supress her while she was awake and alert. What if she won?

"I- I hadn't thought of that." Tom let his fingers fall out of her hair. "I was just so eager to try this, that-"

"Maybe not here," she said. Her mental self climbed out of its chair, and looked around the mindscape. "How do I get out of this?" she asked.

"Just ask," he said, and let the mindscape melt away. He felt Ginny's mind taking control of her eyes and ears and arms and legs again, pushing him away as it did so. He didn't think she even noticed he was there, but then, she wouldn't have known what to look for. Tom let himself sink back into the corner of her mind that was starting to resemble his favourite corner of the Slytherin common room.

Harry and Draco are back, she said.

Are they? Tom asked, though he knew perfectly well that they were. He'd heard them come in, through her ears, while she chattered away in his mindscape. I wonder what the Headmaster wanted to talk to him about. He really did. In all likelihood, Dumbledore was probably just concerned for the boy, but Harry Potter troubled Tom. He was nosey, but apparently quite resourceful – he had, after all, managed to trace Tom's family back to Slytherin, something that had taken Tom himself almost a year – and Tom could just tell he would do his best to interfere as soon as he got the chance.

And, for all that he was he was twelve, thought Quidditch was the best thing ever, and chose Weasleys and mudbloods and bloodtraitors to be his friends, Tom wasn't going to underestimate him. He wasn't as clever as Tom had been at the same age, but he was getting decent grades (if his responses to Granger's pestering about results were anything to go by) and had defeated Tom's older self twice.

Harry Potter needed to be dealt with, or at least distracted until Tom was strong enough to get rid of him permanently. It really was a shame that he knew it was Tom behind it, or Tom might have tried his Hagrid story again.

Do you think they talked about yesterday? About his- about snakes? Ginny was still clearly unnerved about that. Tom couldn't see why; it was a very valuable, very impressive gift to have. It was just a bit of a shame that she'd ended up with it. Hydrus Malfoy, for all that he was a pretentious little thing, would have made much better use of it. It would have made things very interesting in his duel against Potter yesterday.

And that was another thing; how Potter had managed to get that particular gift was beyond Tom. Parselmouth – in every case that he'd ever heard of (and there weren't many) – was only inherited through blood. Tom was even beginning to fear that his older self might have- that he and Harry Potter might be- related.

"-I am the Heir," Harry Potter said in a low voice, from just within earshot, "because I inherited those powers from someone from the bloodline-"

"But only magically," Malfoy said. "It's not actually by blood."

Now that was interesting.

Do you think I got mine magically? Ginny asked. Tom could feel her chewing her lip.

I don't know, Ginny, he said, and tried not to sound impatient. Now hush; maybe they'll explain more. Thankfully, she didn't argue with him, or talk back. Tom strained Ginny's ears. He'd missed part of the conversation, thanks to her interruption.

"But you haven't been attacking people," Malfoy said. "You do know that, right?"

"I know that."

Tom had never been overly fond of Christmas, but he imagined he was experiencing the feeling one might get if Christmas came early. He made his excuses to Ginny about feeling tired, and fled back to the diary. He had an idea.

Hi everyone,

I'm sorry for worrying you all, and I really appreciate all the concern I've had from you in reviews and PMs. I did put up an author's note at the end of chapter 20 last week, but I don't think many people have seen it. :S

Long story short, my laptop died a few weeks back and I lost everything on it, and I have been moving houses so internet has been scarce at home.

Here is Chapter 21, three weeks late - again, sorry! and thanks for your patience! - and I hope you enjoy it.

The next update should be up Tuesday, as usual. :)

MarauderLover7.