Whispers in Her Hair

by Indygodusk


Chapter 19: Second Year - Waking up


Harry woke up to the sound of angry voices and a woman's shrill diatribe. Confused and groggy, he fell back on instincts. His muscles instantly clenched as if his entire body was cramping all at once. It took painful effort not to jump up with a gasp, but he managed to keep his breathing soft and even as if he was still asleep.

What had he done to set off Aunt Petunia now? Or more likely, what was he going to be blamed for? His thoughts felt slow and sluggish. He couldn't remember, not that knowing would make a difference anyway. Fighting back always had consequences. Sometimes it was worth it, but most of the time it wasn't. His pulse thudded in his ears, filling his body with the urge to run and hide. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to hide in his bedroom and no way to escape with the bars over his window.

Cautiously opening his eyes to slits, he glanced around through his lashes. If Aunt Petunia was distracted in Dudley's room he might be able to sneak down the stairs and out the door to hide until she calmed down. It was frustrating that he couldn't see much without his glasses on. What he could see didn't make any sense.

Harry froze. There was someone sitting nearby on another bed, but Dudley's spare bedroom (where he was allowed to sleep during the summers) only had one bed, not two. His cupboard didn't have a bed at all. His thoughts felt dragging and thick, like trying to wade through cold mud. He squinted at the figure. Things stayed frustratingly blurry, but that dark profile radiating danger and disdain was unmistakable. He knew that nose—Valeria.

Harry's muscles started to relax until he had a realization. Valeria shouldn't be here, not in his Aunt's house. It wasn't safe here. He couldn't keep her safe here, especially since she couldn't hold her temper. Harry lost control of his breathing and his eyes slammed shut. He started to hyperventilate, scared and confused. This was wrong. Valeria had never been in his room, none of his friends had. She didn't even know where he lived!

What was she doing here? Had his relatives trapped her? Locked her in with him for the summer or something worse? She'd never stand for their petty orders and insults, and if she did magic in front of them she'd be expelled from Hogwarts, though if they'd locked her in here with him that had to mean she didn't have her wand because otherwise she'd have stopped them, and without her wand… what if they hurt her just like they'd hurt him so many times? What if they hurt her worse?

Please, no. Just… no. He couldn't bear it, wouldn't allow it. No. He had to get up and do something, but he had to be smart and Slytherin about it if there was going to be any chance of at least Valeria getting out of this unscathed.

Pulse thundering and hands shaking, Harry slid his arm stealthily under the covers until he could dart his hand over to the nightstand and snag his glasses. The pitch of voices in the room didn't change, so no one seemed to have noticed he was awake yet. Maybe they hadn't noticed Valeria either. It was possible. He couldn't panic. Maybe they could both escape before the Dursleys noticed anything. Or maybe he could be the diversion while Valeria got away safely. He didn't mind taking a beating if it was for her. At least his pain would have a purpose for once.

Though if they'd harmed a single hair on Valeria's head (never mind that it was all stubble), he was going to make them regret it (even if Valeria could probably protect herself better than he could). It was one thing to push around a worthless kid like him, he was used to it, could take it, but no one got to hurt his friends, especially not the Dursleys. Not the way they hurt him. Aunt Petunia wielded large wooden spoons like they were cricket bats and acted like if she just hit Harry often enough she'd get a medal and advance to the World Cup, and both Vernon and Dudley were so much bigger and heavier with fists the size of dinner plates that they had no compunction with using on the much smaller Harry.

Valeria knew how to protect herself, but that was using magic. Harry knew how to passively take cruel words or a beating, but he couldn't see Valeria ever going along with that, at least not with his relatives (though he fretted sometimes about what her home life was really like and if she lived with family who was just as cruel if not even crueler than the Dursleys). What would happen to Valeria if she couldn't use her magic? How would she protect herself? What if the Dursleys caught her by surprise and she failed to dodge their fists? To them she was just a freak, without even the slight protection of being a blood relative who the neighbors knew about.

Would she blame Harry for what they did? Would she hate him? Or worse?

Harry felt sick.

No. Just no.

Now that he knew what he could do, now that he knew he wasn't completely powerless, well, if they tried to hurt her, he would let his magic (and temper) explode and damn the consequences. Valeria wasn't perfect, but she was his. She'd become the sister of his heart and he would not allow anyone to hurt her, not if he could stop it.

He had to stop it.

Gulping in a breath, Harry shoved on his glasses, wincing as the frames scraped across his cheek. He looked towards the door of his room, trying to see how many of his relatives they'd be facing and take stock of their current tempers and if they were paying him any attention, scrambling to think of a plan to—

To….

Huh?

Harry felt a moment of vertigo. There was no bedroom, no barred window, and no door. No Dursleys.

Instead, he was in a large stone room with high, vaulted ceilings and a multitude of pale, floating curtains partitioning the beds and room into more private spaces. Rows of identical beds stood against the walls not hidden by curtains. They were familiar beds in a familiar room.

Mouth falling open, Harry looked around a second time to make sure he wasn't imagining things. A shaky sigh escaped him. He rubbed his chest and started to calm down. This was the infirmary at Hogwarts. He wasn't in his room in Surrey at all. The shrill voice belonged to an older, plump, red-headed woman half-hidden by a curtain on the far side of the room, not Aunt Petunia. The Dursleys weren't here. There was no danger. Valeria was safe. He was fine.

Well, mostly fine. Harry felt both utterly relieved and terribly stupid. He wasn't able to completely relax as the recent events in the Chamber of Secrets started bobbing to the surface of his mind in fits and starts. It was a lot to take in. Harry had survived, but he'd almost died—had expected to die. He wasn't even thirteen years old and the Basilisk had to have been around for a thousand years. It was crazy, almost inconceivable. He had to blink rapidly to keep from either bursting into tears or breaking into hysterical laughter, though nothing felt funny except his unexpected survival.

How had he gotten up here? Last thing he remembered was the Chamber of Secrets. Now he and Valeria were in the infirmary. He'd somehow killed the Basilisk with the flag. Gotten a fang in his arm. Painful. The venom had spread and was killing him. More pain. Myrtle had warned them about Tom. Hermione had stabbed the diary with the fang. Tom had gone splat. Myrtle had said goodbye. Harry's body had started shutting down. He'd been dying. And Hermione had—on his lips she had—but her hair had—

Shivering involuntarily, he ran a hand over his head, fisting the hair at his nape and tugging hard, hoping the sting would help clear his head. His memories near the end were almost too strange to believe. He didn't know what was real and what was a hallucination. How had he survived the Basilisk venom? What had Hermione done? He was almost afraid to ask.

The angry woman's voice finally went quiet, replaced by a girls' piping tones and a man's gentle rumble. The placating voice that responded next sounded like Headmaster Dumbledore, though wasn't he still exiled from the castle? It hadn't been long enough for him to have come back, had it? Harry glanced over, but the curtains cut off his view of anyone but the upset redhead. She looked older and dumpier than Aunt Petunia. Heavy stress lines that might be laugh lines in better circumstances cut around her mouth and fanned from the corners of her eyes. She crossed her arms and huffed at someone he couldn't see. She looked vaguely familiar, but he was too out of sorts to figure out where he'd seen her before. Half of his mind was still stuck down in the Chamber of Secrets worrying if Hermione had or hadn't done… that.

Looking down at his crisp white cuffs and clean hands, Harry felt a disconnect. Last time he'd looked down his cuffs had been soaking wet from jumping in the lake, torn ragged from multiple impacts with the ground, and stained reddish-brown. The lines and whorls of his hands had been embedded with blood, dirt, and bits of gravel. He'd been filthy. Someone—probably (hopefully) Madame Pomfrey—must've washed off all of the grime and changed him into a clean set of pajamas.

What about everyone else?

Harry found Halle Harper laying across the aisle with the curtain left open. She was still petrified, but the mud had been cleaned off. She looked dry and had a sheet neatly tucked up to her frozen chest. He was glad she'd been found, but hated that she still hadn't woken up even with the Basilisk now dead. It didn't seem fair, especially not after Myrtle's sacrifice.

That feeling of bitterness eased a bit when he focused on Valeria in the bed next to him. She was sitting against the headboard reading a book on her lap. The purse of her lips was more irritated than wary, so things couldn't be too bad. A stranger might think her too absorbed to notice the ruckus on the far side of the room, but from this angle Harry could see that her wand was held flush beneath the cover of the book where it couldn't easily be seen, with the tip pointed at the source of the noise and ready to cast at a moment's notice. It probably wasn't a coincidence that she was in the bed between them and Harry. The thought made him feel warm.

Harry was finally awake enough to realize that the redheaded woman was probably Ginny Weasley's mother. He vaguely remembered seeing her on the train platform at the beginning of the school year, but hadn't paid her much attention. Usually he was too busy warily watching her horde of redheaded Gryffindors and trying to avoid getting pranked by the twins, scolded by a snooty Percy, or forced to argue with a blustering Ron.

Mrs. Weasley cried something about her "baby girl" before abruptly cutting off as the curtain got caught on her waving arm and wrenched open wide, almost toppling her.

Harry caught his first sight of Ginny Weasley. The girl looked fine, red cheeked and curled in on herself as if she wanted to disappear, but who could blame her with the way her mother was carrying on? A hand-knitted blanket covered her bed and the side table was overflowing with a pot of flowers, handmade cards, and tins of sweets. Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey were talking to the frazzled-looking father, who was sitting on the bed with Ginny's hand held to his chest.

Freeing her arm from the curtain, Mrs. Weasley huffed and plopped down on the bed. She took Ginny's face in her hands, pressed a kiss to her brow, and gently moved her face from side to side in a thorough examination. Harry felt a sharp pang of envy that made his chest hurt. Then Mrs. Weasley took a deep breath and started talking (screeching) again in a confusing and strident mishmash that went up and down in volume and emotional tone as she switched targets without warning between cooing at Ginny, ordering about her husband, and berating the two Professors. The whole area was a riot of color and sound focused on Ginny Weasley.

In contrast, no one seemed to be paying attention to or caring about the injured Slytherins. They'd been lumped together in a dim corner on the far side of the room with empty nightstands and standard-issue blankets, versus Ginny who had been separated from them in a bed placed conveniently near both a sunny window and the door to the toilet and showered with gifts. There were no concerned adults and family around Harry and his fellow Slytherins. Harry had always woken up alone when he was here. To be honest, he hadn't even known parents could come and visit if a kid got hurt. Maybe that only applied if you were in Gryffindor—the favored house of both Headmaster Dumbledore and Deputy Headmistress McGonagall (it hadn't escaped Slytherin's notice that the top two spots in the school belonged to former Gryffindors who blatantly favored their old House and treated most Slytherins with suspicion).

Though if he had to be fair, Hermione's parents were Muggles and the school was covered in Muggle aversion charms, so that might explain their absence even though she was a favored Gryffindor. As for Harry, the Dursleys wouldn't care if he got hurt or died except to gloat, and even that they'd prefer to do from a distance. Valeria's mother was long gone, her half-siblings all much older than her, and her father, well, she never said much of anything about him one way or the other, but Harry got the feeling that he was a source of fear, not comfort. Though for the sake of appearances alone considering their social standing, he'd expect Valeria's family to send someone to check in on her or at least send flowers to be seen and envied by others. That there was no sign of such implied that their families hadn't been notified about what had happened or even given the option.

Which made Valeria staying by his side up until she physically couldn't stand anymore all the more valuable. Harry could never thank her enough for her loyalty and care. She'd stuck with him through his frustrating search for Hermione's clue and all of the way down to the Chamber of Secrets. Valeria hadn't liked it or agreed with him, but she'd done it anyway. She'd been so brave and fierce. So amazing. Harry had no doubts that he'd have died if Valeria hadn't been there to blind the Basilisk, fighting to protect him and the others. She was a hero, though he had a feeling she wouldn't thank him for telling other people the details of how and why in case it made them less fearful.

A lot of things had happened down there that he probably shouldn't tell other people about. Especially if Hermione really was—really had—

Thoughts twisting away, breaking into static, his mind jumped back to the relatively safer subject of Valeria. He looked her over surreptitiously. He couldn't see any evidence that she had been injured in the Chamber or knocked unconscious, thank goodness. Her head looked fine. Harry was probably one of the only people in the school who knew that she wasn't invulnerable, who knew what she looked like when hurt or scared. He'd seen her flinch from the Basilisk, seen the whites of her eyes and her shoulders jumping up around her ears, watched her vomit after that head injury, and even seen her knocked out and helpless, bleeding on the floor.

Of course, he couldn't ever admit to any of that out loud. If Valeria thought about it and realized that he'd seen her so vulnerable, she'd make Harry's life a living hell. Considering how coldly she'd treated Flint when all he'd noticed was her tensing up and going still when he'd touched her hair, and considering how rough she could be with Harry even after admitting to actively liking him, well, he might not survive it if she thought he'd tell anyone about what had happened. Protecting herself like that was a habit for Valeria. Being feared instead of fearful made her feel safe. He could understand that, even if he'd rejected that way of life for himself.

Better not to risk it. Harry had probably used up his luck for the next ten years just surviving the Basilisk and the spirit of Tom Riddle down there. That he'd succeeded in rescuing Hermione was practically a miracle. Along with saving Halle Harper and Ginny Weasley too, of course. That Valeria had only gotten a head wound and not a broken skull was a gift from magic herself. He never would've forgiven himself if she'd died because of him.

A cynical part of Harry wondered if he would've been willing to risk himself and Valeria at all if Hermione hadn't been down there too, if it had only been Halle Harper and Ginny Weasley, or even worse, only Ginny, a girl he'd never even talked to and whose brothers he actively disliked. He wanted to think of himself as principled, heroic, and kind with a healthy smattering of ambition, wanted to think he'd have fought just as hard for any other student abandoned by adults and needing rescue… but the tightness in his stomach told him he might be lying to himself, that he might've been guided by more selfish motives.

Flattening his lips, he shook away his dark thoughts. It was a moot point. He didn't need to feel any shame. He had gone down there and saved people. Results mattered more than motives. He'd find a way to better spin it when he could think more clearly.

For now, he should celebrate the fact that at the end of the day his best had been good enough. That it was a team effort didn't diminish the victory. In fact, that made it even more special because it proved that he didn't have to do everything alone.

Thoughts turning to Hermione, he glanced to the side where he vaguely remembered seeing her. Hadn't he'd woken up once and seen both her and Valeria sleeping safely before he'd fallen back to sleep? However, the bed she'd been sleeping in was empty, the blankets bunched messily and covering the entire mattress.

Hermione was gone.

Or perhaps… never there? Had he only imagined waking up and seeing her? What if saving Hermione in the Chamber—and her hair and that kiss—really had been a hallucination? While she could be safe somewhere else in the castle, she could also still be down in the Chamber.

She could be dead.

Feeling like he'd been stabbed with a splintered broomstick in the gut while having a heart attack, Harry bolted upright. She couldn't be dead. Please no. Please. He couldn't catch his breath and was about to burst into tears, but it didn't matter. He had to find Hermione. He had to—he had to.

Valeria jumped at his abrupt movement, book flying as her wand snapped up into the air. Eyes narrowing, her head darted from side to side, canvassing the room looking for the threat.

Harry swung his feet over the side, about to fling himself up out of bed and start demanding answers from the adults on the far side of the room, when the new position made him notice a strange lump under the bed covers where Hermione should be. It was too big to be a pillow and the lump moved rhythmically, as if breathing. No, it was breathing. Near the top of the bed the blanket was mounded in a pattern, the kind that would form if a blanket was laying over shoulders and a head of roping curls—curls like Hermione's.

Harry sat back, feeling lightheaded. Hermione wasn't gone, she was hiding under the covers on her bed, probably just trying to sleep through the noisy Weasleys. He felt stupid again. His ears burned and he put his hands over his face and breathed into the dark, damp space, trying to force himself to calm down and stop reacting so emotionally to every dark thought that swam to the surface. He was a Slytherin. He should start acting like it.

Hermione was here. He hadn't hallucinated saving her. Everything was fine. She was fine.

In fact, by the end of things in the Chamber, he'd been the one flat on his back and dying down there, not anyone else. Not Hermione. She'd been sitting up and talking just fine. She'd forgiven him and even—even kissed him. Hadn't she? If she was well enough to be hiding under her covers instead of being flat on her back and statue-stiff like Halle, then his memory of her not being petrified anymore was probably real too, so maybe that kiss hadn't been a hallucination either. Which meant…

SHE'D KISSED HIM.

Harry's lungs stopped working as the memory of her closed lips moving across his face and pressing against his lips—HIS LIPS—exploded into the forefront of his mind like a firework. He felt like he was zipping straight up into the sun on a racing broom and his cheeks were turning fire-red. He wanted to dance a jig and grin like a loon and hug himself in glee. She'd kissed him! He'd finally touched her hair!

And then Hot Medusa—

Everything screeched to a halt. Wait… Hot Medusa?

Oh no. No…. His blood turned to ice, his joy doused, and it felt like he had fallen off his broom in a blizzard and was plummeting to the ground far far below. Only one thing could explain that. It must've been a hallucination after all. Hot Medusa was from the tapestry in the common room. She wasn't alive or here, meaning there'd been no kiss and no forgiveness.

Except… Harry rubbed calloused fingers over his mouth, eyes going unfocused as his thoughts raced. He hadn't seen Hot Medusa until the very end. He distinctly remembered, even through the pain, apologizing to Hermione and hearing her say she forgave him. The lovely feel of her chapped lips brushing against his skin and the almost overwhelming, burning taste of tears and blood on her fingertips was too vivid even for his imagination. Wasn't it? Why would he even imagine tasting her blood? Harry had never had any interest in vampires—muggle or magical—much less drinking someone else's blood. That was just gross and freakish, though it hadn't felt weird at the time. He was fine that it had happened, and would happily repeat it if it got him another kiss from Hermione, but he wouldn't have wanted it to happen… so maybe that was evidence that it wasn't a hallucination and that she really had kissed him?

Maybe he could just ask her...?

NO. Definitely not. He couldn't ask her if she'd kissed him because if she hadn't it would be mortifying. And even if she had she might not want him bringing it up since it had been a life and death situation and she might be regretting it. He didn't want to give her another reason to keep avoiding him. Harry slumped. Even if he couldn't ask, he still wanted to believe that she had kissed him, that she really cared about him that much in that way, possibly even as much as he cared about her…?

Maybe he'd only started hallucinating right before he'd passed out. The Medusa thing might be hard to believe in, but the earlier kisses weren't even that related. It was only logical then to believe that the kiss had happened. It had! Harry bit his bottom lip to keep from beaming.

And even though it was a stretch… what if Hot Medusa wasn't a hallucination either? The urge to smile faded. Hadn't there been something in Hermione's notes about the Basilisk that mentioned a Medusa? What had it said? He couldn't quite remember. He'd been too worried and it hadn't seemed relevant at the time.

Harry hit himself in the head, trying to jog the memory loose. It didn't work. And now his head hurt.

"Harry, are you having a fit? What is your problem?" Valeria snarled quietly. "Do I need to call for Madame Pomfrey? Or a straight jacket laced with calming spells?" She glared at him and tapped her wand against her palm. "You keep twitching like an idiot."

Shoulders going up and back going straight, Harry sent her a sheepish look and ruffled the back of his hair. "Sorry, I'm just trying to remember what all happened."

The lump under Hermione's covers jerked at his voice. He stared at it hopefully, but nothing else moved. Disappointed, he turned back to Valeria and shrugged. "My memory's a bit fuzzy near the end." For some reason saying that made him suddenly think of pancakes dripping with syrup. Weird.

On the edge of his hearing Harry heard a faint susurration. It could just be the wind slithering in through the cracks in the tower walls, but for a moment it almost sounded like his name being excitedly whispered by a group of gossiping girls before dissolving into a panicked shushing sound that blended into the sound of Valeria huffing. When he looked around he couldn't see anyone paying attention to him but Valeria, and she looked more irritated at him than anything else.

Under the covers Hermione shifted in a way that looked like she was wrapping her arms around her head, probably to drown out the shouting on the other side of the room. The whispers were gone. Maybe he had imagined it? Hermione didn't move more or come out from under the blankets, despite his hopes.

Lips going thin, Valeria looked him up and down. "Why? Did you get hit on the head too?" She grimaced. "One second I'm seeing double and about to kill Granger or get killed by the Basilisk, and the next thing I know I'm waking up in here." The skin around her eyes looked tight. "They wouldn't tell me what I'd missed, just that everyone was rescued and should be fine, the Basilisk was dead, and that Professor Snape and—" her cheeks went pink "—and Flint came after us on brooms and brought us back here to recover."

That made sense. Harry hummed in acknowledgement and chewed on his bottom lip, still watching Hermione's bed covers from the corner of his eye, hoping they'd twitch again.

"Well?" Valeria snapped, making him jump. "Did you get a head wound too?"

"Nope, no head wound!" Harry sent her a quick, reassuring smile.

Valeria looked skeptical. "Then what did the Basilisk do to you? And why were you unconscious for so long? Explain. Now." She scowled.

Harry didn't know the answer to her second question and didn't think she'd like the answer to the first. He decided to say something vague so as not to worry her, but as soon as he opened his mouth she gave him a sharp, threatening look that made him fold like a metal chair. "I got bit in the arm," he blurted out quickly.

Her expression went dark.

"Just a little!"

Her frown deepened.

He waved a hand dismissively through the air. "Only a single tooth broke off in my arm, that's it."

A muscle started ticking in her jaw like a flashing red alarm.

"It wouldn't even have been that bad if it hadn't been a fang filled with deadly venom—"

Her cheeks went pale and she tossed off her blanket and swung her legs over the side of her bed in a rush (even odds on whether she wanted to assure herself of his good health or whack him over the head for being an idiot and scaring her), so he scooted farther away back towards the far side of his bed.

"—but I'm fine now!" He gulped a quick breath. "Look, here's what happened. I got bit when I killed the Basilisk by stabbing it through the roof of the mouth with Hermione's flag, and then Hermione stabbed the cursed diary with the Basilisk fang, the one that broke off in my arm, to stop Tom Riddle from regaining a body and coming back, but everything's fine now. The bad guys are all dead."

Valeria lunged at him with hands shooting out in the shape of claws.

Harry scrambled away frantically, "And I'm not! I'm fi—"

In his haste to escape her, he forgot the narrowness of the infirmary beds. His bum scooted out into open air when the mattress abruptly ended. He toppled backwards, his arms windmilling. The sheets trapped his feet on the bed as he landed on his shoulders, his head barely missing hitting the side of Hermione's bed. "Totally fine!" he wheezed. He tried to jerk free, but he couldn't get any leverage since his legs were awkwardly bent up and over the mattress with his feet still tangled in the covers. The top of his head scraped against the bottom edge of Hermione's bed frame and something wrenched in his knee. Ouch.

Wincing, he went limp, feeling like a clumsy idiot. HIs cheeks burned with embarrassment. He was lucky there wasn't anyone else watching this. It would definitely hurt his already precarious reputation. Thank goodness Madame Pomfrey had also dressed him in pajamas with bottoms this time instead of a long nightshirt like when he'd had to regrow his arm last fall. At least he could retain a little (very little) bit of dignity and not flash his bony knees or underwear for all to see, though if Dobby showed up in the infirmary again to help Harry would probably end up even worse. He really didn't want to deal with Dobby's "help" right now.

Valeria snorted derisively and somehow managed to make crawling over his bed after him look like an elegant glide instead of ungainly scramble. Before he could untangle himself and wiggle underneath Hermione's bed to hide, Valeria unceremoniously sat on his feet, trapping him awkwardly on the floor.

"Ouch," he grumbled under his breath, neither expecting nor getting a reaction to his complaint. "Hey, what about you? How's your head? Maybe you should lie back down."

"I'm perfectly fine," she said crisply, obviously unwilling to talk about any personal weaknesses.

"Great, then why don't you let me up?" he said, raising his brows with a wheedling smile.

Valeria ignored him. Harry sighed. Reaching down, she grabbed his wrists and yanked them up, bending over to examine his arms one at a time. It was awkward and uncomfortable as she stretched and rotated them at angles his limbs weren't really meant to go. Sighing again, Harry went limp and cooperated, hoping it would get him through this faster.

He loved Valeria, but it would be nice if her preferred method of showing him affection wasn't always so rough. To an outside observer it probably didn't look like affection at all. Maybe that was the point. If they didn't know she cared, they couldn't use him against her. The thought made him flush hot and then go ice cold. He would cut anyone who tried.

"Not that one," he said evenly as she ran her fingers over the skin on his uninjured arm, "the other one. The fang hit closer to the elbow than the wrist."

He didn't know what the wound looked like now, but it wasn't hurting and he was still alive, so he wasn't sure he even cared. However, Valeria obviously did and wouldn't stop until she got her way. She unexpectedly dropped his uninjured arm to thud against the floor, ignoring his unhappy grunt. She pushed back his sleeve on the other, rotating his forearm to get a better look at where the Basilisk fang had pierced his flesh. She twitched and her eyebrows went up.

Harry craned his neck to look too. "Huh," he said, surprised to see only a round, pinkish-white scar that looked old.

Last time he'd seen his forearm, there had been an alarmingly large hole in the torn flesh slimed with cloudy yellow streaks of venom and dripping with a disturbing amount of red blood. He didn't mention that to Valeria, nor about the agony and fear (or the hopefully-not-a-hallucination Hermione) as the venom had killed him—had almost killed him. Most of what had happened in that chamber had been terrifying and awful and weird. He didn't really want to think about any of it, except for the words and actions of the hopefully-not-a-hallucination Hermione. He'd been a useless mess for most of it, but maybe by tomorrow he would be able to see that the important thing was that he'd triumphed in the end and somehow survived.

Impossibly.

Laying back and staring up at the ceiling, he felt very small all of a sudden. His eyes went hot, his stomach sour, and his lungs tight. He was still only twelve—technically not even a teenager yet, not for a few more months. He remembered being terrified in the Chamber of Secrets, doing his best to be persuasive, running for his life, and knowing he wasn't good enough, getting hurt and then finding out over and over again that the previous pain hadn't actually been that bad because each subsequent injury felt so much worse, seeing his friends fall and realizing that it was his fault, that he'd been so arrogant to think he could just walk in and save everyone.

Harry swallowed and blinked hard. He had saved them, but not without a lot of help and even then, he'd come so close to failing and getting everyone killed. He really had thought he was going to die. He'd expected it as his injured body failed and started shutting down on him. His vision blurred. He blinked and two hot tears escaped, dripping wet down his temples and soaking into his hair.

Pressing his lips tight, Harry made himself focus on the feel of Valeria's cool fingers on his skin and her warm weight on his ankles as they tingled and went numb, using her to anchor himself in where he was now instead of wallowing in the trauma of before.

Too distracted to notice, Valeria's breath whistled softly through her teeth as she examined his arm and traced her fingers around his scar. "You're lucky you didn't lose the entire arm. His teeth were huge, not to mention the venom…." She pressed her thumb down on the pink scar. "Does it still hurt?"

"No." Harry was proud of how normal his voice sounded. Blinking and swallowing, he breathed in and out. He didn't want or need to cry. His arm was completely healed. There was nothing left to whine about. He was fine.

Head tilting, she traced around the edges of the scar with her fingernails. His arm twitched. "Stop it, that tickles."

She grunted, but stopped, pressing her hand flat over the wound. Her eyes went unfocused. "When a magical creature gets as old and dangerous as that Basilisk, there usually isn't a cure for the venom at all, you know. At least, nothing short of something stupidly rare like phoenix tears, and even that doesn't always work because the venom just works too fast. The rare few who survive often have permanent, crippling damage, losing their minds or their magic in exchange for their lives." Her voice sounded low and tight. "You're lucky they were able to heal you at all. You're lucky you're not an insane amputee living in the spell damage ward for the rest of your life."

"Yeah." Harry was trying not to think about it. On the edge of his hearing he could hear concerned and comforting-sounding whispers.

"We both got lucky," Valeria said, distracting him from the sounds. The hand on his arm squeezed. Harry twisted his wrist and grabbed her forearm, squeezing back.

Harry released a slow breath and tipped his head back on the floor. The new angle allowed him to see up through a gap in the blankets on the bed up above him. Harry blinked in surprise. Familiar dark eyes were peeking out over the edge of the mattress, watching him from the shadows under the covers.

Brow wrinkling, Harry tilted his head to the side to see her better. A small smile slowly curved his lips. Just seeing her made him feel better.

Hermione met his eyes and, after a second, tilted her head too. The world suddenly felt brighter and less overwhelming. Harry's smile came easier and some of the tension in his shoulders disappeared. Even though he couldn't see the rest of her face, he could tell that Hermione was smiling back at him because the corners of her eyes crinkled. He wished she'd stop hiding and come out so he could see her smile in full light.

"You're sure you're okay?" Valeria asked.

"I'm fine," Harry said firmly, not taking his eyes away from Hermione. He wanted her to know he was speaking to her too. "Thank you for helping me with—with everything." He waved his free hand in a circle, trying to find words to describe the magnitude of his feelings and failing.

"Are you sure?" Valeria's grip tightened. She didn't seem convinced. That wouldn't do.

"Well, there is one thing…" Harry frowned and paused to let the tension build. "My feet are falling asleep beneath your big butt."

"My butt is perfectly proportioned and made of pure muscle." Valeria bounced on top of his feet. One of his ankles twinged sharply in protest and the tingles got worse. "And you wouldn't have survived for more than a minute without my butt and me."

"You were a big help, but I wouldn't say only a minute." Harry looked at her and widened his eyes. "I'd give myself a solid three to four minutes at least, maybe even a whole five considering how much Tom liked to hear himself talk and how good I've gotten at faking respect for upperclassmen."

The corner of her mouth quivered before she brought it back into a flat line. One brow arched and she gave him an unamused expression, but it was too late. He'd seen her almost smile. She looked down at the arm still in her grip with calculation and he felt a spike of worry before she let it go with a fond pat. "It's a miracle you're still alive." Shaking her head, she stood up, restoring circulation to his feet. He pulled them down to the floor before she could change her mind, flexing them to get past the painful tingles faster.

"I wouldn't be without you." Swallowing, Harry looked away and found himself making eye contact with Hermione again. "Not to mention Hermione," he said intently. "She saved us down there and she's the one who figured out the Basilisk in the first place. It's thanks to her that we're both still alive." Hermione turned away self-consciously, hiding her eyes in shadow.

"No, we're alive thanks to me and you," Valeria snapped back huffily. "We wouldn't have even been down there in danger if it hadn't been for her." Stepping over his legs, Valeria stomped back to her bed and bent to pick up the book that had fallen to the floor, muttering under her breath, "I don't owe her anything."

Harry pursed his lips. "Uh huh, sure."

"I don't," she repeated mulishly, rubbing a hand over the back of her head before dropping the hand like she'd been scalded, perhaps finally thinking about the fact that she'd only hit her head instead of dying like a squashed bug when the column fell because of Hermione's timely intervention. Or that the Basilisk would've been a problem at Hogwarts with or without Hermione.

Slamming the book onto the side table with a bang, she stared down at it and rolled her shoulders unhappily before letting out a gruff exhalation. "Okay look, forget about her." She waved her fingers as if flicking the idea of Hermione off a cliff.

Valeria looked down at Harry, face stubborn and intent. "You're the heroic leader here, Harry. I—we all followed you. Be proud of what you did. You stepped up like a true Slytherin and manipulated events and people to your will until you achieved your goal, no matter how short-sighted and stupid it was. That is an epic triumph. You saw an opportunity, pointed the way, forced us to see, and people followed. You dared to care and refused to give up when it wasn't easy. At the end of the day, Hogwarts was saved thanks to your efforts. The lives of two girls were saved because of you. Not the Ministry, Parents, or Professors, nor the prodigies, Prefects, or Head Girl and Boy. Not even really me." Her expression went strange and her voice unexpectedly became thick, "I can't save people. Even when I try, they still—" her words choked off. Her lips pursed so tight they looked lavender and she inhaled hard through her nose.

"Valeria…?" Harry said, feeling overwhelmed by the praise and concerned when she didn't say anything else.

"You," she barked, making him jump. She jabbed a finger down at him, eyes burning fiercely. "Harry Potter, you were amazing. Accept it. You did this. Be proud of yourself, because I am."

Despite what she'd already said, that shocked and delighted him. Harry's face felt hot and bright red. He squirmed. He bit his lip to try and contain the giddy laugh bubbling in his chest at her praise. What she was saying about him seemed so over the top, but then again, it was Valeria saying it, without even an insult or threat included. That just made it sweeter.

Clearing her throat, cheeks gone dark, Valeria ducked her chin and turned away. "Everyone owes you a debt of gratitude." She started to straighten her sheets. "And they owe me of course. I was extremely impressive," she said in a lighter tone of voice. "Not to mention the much more minor but still valid contributions from the rest of Slytherin that led to our victory. Hogwarts owes us and we're going to collect." She clenched her fist in the air. "I just dare the Headmaster to try and steal the House cup from us again at the eleventh hour this year with another flimsy excuse. Him giving you and your friends points for saving the day and then "oh so regretfully" taking them away again and deducting even more because you guys broke some stupid school rules in the process was complete garbage. He just didn't want Slytherin to win and McGonagall to pout and refuse to do his paperwork. That cup should've been ours."

Her expression abruptly went flat as her head shot up. "Wait, the Weasley girl didn't do anything heroic to steal our thunder while I was unconscious, did she? You know they'd take any excuse because we're scary Slytherins and she's a do-gooder Gryffindor."

Harry searched his memory. Although he hadn't seen Ginny wake up, he vaguely remembered hearing her talking to Hermione before he passed out. Maybe? Or had that just been the sound of roosters? "Not that I remember," he said slowly. "I'm pretty sure that she was out of it until everything was already over."

Though had she forgotten that Hermione had been very heroic and was a Gryffindor? Best not to mention it if she had. If Harry had his way, they'd all come to see Hermione as an ally, not an obstacle or enemy.

"Well good," Valeria huffed and tossed her head. "We're coming out on top this time." She smirked at him over her shoulder, "Go Slytherin," before turning back to adjust the position of the pillow and fold down and smooth the top of the covers. "Go snakes."

"Snakes are the best," Harry said proudly as he glanced back up at Hermione. She was looking at him again. He noted that the expression in her eyes was complex but happy before she slithered back out of view, causing the gap in the covers to disappear in a whisper of sound. For just a moment the whispers swelled and he caught a gleam as something moved before the blanket went flat. It could've been the gleam of a stray curl catching a beam of light.

It could've been, but it wasn't. Harry would swear under oath that it wasn't. In that moment, he'd seen the light gleam off scales of brown, copper, and gold surrounding a snake's slit pupil. He'd see the dark flash of a forked tongue over freckled skin. That wasn't his imagination or a coil of hair. That was real.

"Go snakes," he breathed, no longer thinking of Slytherin House at all, or rather, thinking of a very particular tapestry hung in the common room of Slytherin. Maybe he hadn't been hallucinating Hot Medusa after all. Maybe Hermione was more like Hot Medusa than he'd ever guessed. No more maybes. He'd seen it twice now: Hermione had snakes for hair.

Harry had so many questions. Unfortunately, he still didn't think he should say anything about it to anyone just yet, including Hermione considering how she was currently doing her best to hide under the covers. However, from now on he was going to trust himself more.

Somehow, Hermione was a Medusa. He had to be smart about this secret. Slytherins knew all about how secrets had power, especially shared secrets. Harry wanted Hermione to trust him enough to tell him, but if it better served their relationship and improved her opinion of him, he could let her know he'd figured it out later and that he supported her.

Thinking about it, it might be in her best interest to hide it from everyone else. Having a trick up your sleeve was always a good thing. It could make her an invaluable ally. Having her by his side during a fight would give him a huge advantage in shock if nothing else. However, he wasn't sure if hiding it was even an option for Hermione anymore. She might be stuck with the snake hair for good.

Depending on how it was presented to his House, Hermione's heritage and powers could be an asset or a hindrance. The wizarding world and Slytherin House was often unkind towards people with non-human Heritage or less than supposedly "pure" blood. He was going to have to work even harder to change that culture so that when Hermione felt comfortable sharing it, everyone was supportive and kind to her. She deserved the best.

He'd also have to do a lot of research on Medusa to figure out how to understand her better and how to sell it in the best way to everyone else. He had to hope that the library actually had accurate and useful books about Medusa. Their Basilisk selection had left a lot to be desired, as this most recent conflict had highlighted.

Harry had the sad feeling that it might be a long time before he got answers. Not just answers about Hermione's snake hair, but also about Voldemort and even what was going on with himself. Some of Tom's questions had stuck in his head, things he'd thought he'd come to terms with not knowing. How had baby Harry survived the Killing Curse? Why only him and not his parents or anyone else? A few times Harry had gotten the feeling that Dumbledore and Snape knew more than they were saying about his past. A lot more. Then again, most people seemed to know more about his past and his parents than Harry did. It wasn't fair.

Right now, Harry didn't have the power to demand answers. Not yet. He was going to have to be patient and sneaky, working hard to amass more power and influence. And no matter how irritable the thought made him, he should probably work harder to cultivate more powerful allies and relationships with people in authority. That meant the leaders in Slytherin as well as in other Houses, which would be a challenge considering how suspicious most other students were of Slytherins. Perhaps it would be wise to court some of the talented loners in other Houses instead of going straight for the Prefects, popular kids, and sport captains. Obviously there was no one else quite like Hermione, much less Valeria, but if the other Houses were hiding anyone even half as competent, they could be a great resource for Harry in the future. He knew how to treasure allies and friends. He'd also have to work harder on getting adults like Dumbledore and Snape on his side. At least he'd somehow gotten some traction this year with Snape. Maybe saving the school (again) would give him an in with Dumbledore and some of the other Professors.

Last year he hadn't known how to leverage his social capital from defending the Sorcerer's Stone from the shade of Voldemort and Quirrell. This year he had to do better. Harry had to be smart about this. He'd lost a lot of standing over the summer and been faced with unexpected opposition from people he'd assumed were allies or at least neutral parties. It had made everything this year harder and more miserable. He didn't want to have to face that all over again.

Being lucky wasn't enough. He needed to work harder and make better plans, including finding a way to keep the Dursleys from isolating him from everything in the wizarding world this summer. Although he'd miss Hedwig desperately, maybe he should have her stay with a friend over the summer so she didn't get locked up again. She could still deliver his mail, just to a box hidden in a tree somewhere near the Dursley's house instead of to him personally.

Though even that might not be enough with the way he was treated by his relatives during the summer. He wanted to avoid them as much as possible. He'd have to convince Dudley to spend more time over at his friends' houses, maybe make him think being at home made his friends look down on him as a momma's boy. Uncle Vernon could take up a hobby requiring him to be out of the house on the weekends or be led to think that a new promotion was coming if he just worked longer hours. And maybe Harry could encourage Aunt Petunia to question the quality of goods found in local shops and make her think that the neighbors would envy her for taking the time to shop in far away towns.

That might work.

He just had to make sure his friends and allies didn't realize how bad it really was at the Dursleys. They wouldn't understand. It would make them dislike Muggles even more and lose respect for him. They might pity or look down on him.

That or they'd overreact and find a way to kill his relatives. He didn't want his friends getting arrested or losing their wands because of him, assuming they actually got caught. Though no matter what the Dursleys had done to him, they were still the only family he remembered ever having. Harry didn't want them dead. He just wanted to never have to see them ever again.

Maybe one day he'd be strong enough to make that happen. He wouldn't be a powerless kid forever. Harry was doing his best to make sure of that. He wouldn't just wait around hoping for the best.

Once again, he felt grateful that the Sorting Hat had put him in Slytherin House instead of somewhere bombastic and naive like Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. Who would he even be if he wasn't a snake? Being in Slytherin taught him how to view the world and gave him the training and tools he needed to protect his friends and shift people and events in his favor. Slytherin gave him power and allies. For the first time in his life, he had hope for his future. He wouldn't let anything take that away from him.

Harry had risked a lot this year in putting himself and his ideas forward as a different kind of leader in Slytherin. He'd faced opposition from both friends and foes. So far, those risks had paid off. There'd been set-backs and mistakes, but he'd also gained powerful allies and a spot on the Quidditch team. He'd turned Snape from an enemy into an ally. He'd mostly wooed Draco back to his side despite the opposition of his father. Under Harry's influence and direction, both direct and behind-the-scenes, younger Slytherins had dominated in Defense Against the Dark Arts, his House had supported Hermione during a Quidditch game despite her being a Gryffindor, and they'd broken into and pranked the Gryffindor locker room. They'd found and interpreted Hermione's clues to uncover the identity of the Basilisk, evacuated and protected the student body with mirrors and transfigured roosters when the teachers were squabbling amongst themselves and being useless, and defeated the Basilisk to save their fellow students from the Chamber of Secrets. Slytherin House (and Harry) was on track to dominate Hogwarts completely.

And if Hermione did have head snakes that she'd had the cunning to conceal from everybody for almost two years (because let's face it, if a Gryffindor had known they'd have spilled the beans and the gossip would've been everywhere already), then really, she was practically an honorary Slytherin already. He'd make sure of it. Snakes belonged with snakes.

And Hermione belonged with Harry.

Thinking about how possessive that sounded made Harry want to blush and squirm. He changed the thought to something safer. Hermione belonged with Harry as friends. Very good and close friends who studied and went flying together and maybe held hands sometimes when no one was looking and if he was really really lucky kissed every once in a while, though he'd probably have to build up to that as they rebuilt their friendship and went through puberty. As long as they were together, it would be fine. He could be patient. There was nothing wrong with having long-term goals.

It wasn't like he was planning on marrying her or anything… though he wasn't against the idea now that he'd thought of it. Maybe after they graduated? Unless she just wanted to be roommates. That would be cool too as long as they were together. Either way he'd have to get a job that paid enough to keep the pantry always stocked with food and he'd need to buy his own house first, one good for both owls and cats, since Hermione loved her cat and obviously he loved Hedwig just as much. It would also need to be somewhere warm enough to be comfortable for Hermione's head snakes and big enough so Valeria and his other Slytherin friends could have rooms if they wanted to live there too. Yeah, that would be awesome! And they'd all live together happily ever after and anyone who tried to mess with them would be utterly destroyed.

Yes. Good plan. "Go snakes," he repeated breathlessly, smiling to himself dreamily as he finally rolled over and started to get up off of the floor.

Just as Harry regained his feet, his attention was caught by Mrs. Weasley's voice suddenly climbing in pitch and volume. "And why was that, I ask you?! My baby was tricked! In this school! Where she should be safe! Taken! By a monster!"

Surprised that the windows hadn't shattered at her voice, Harry looked over and found Headmaster Dumbledore staring straight at him. Harry jumped. It wasn't a comfortable or comforting look. Dumbledore's eyes were narrow and hard. Probing. Harry felt like an egg that Dumbledore wanted to crack and peel open to get at all of his secrets, even if he was undercooked and the process left his guts spilled out across the floor. The powerful old wizard might regret the waste, but he'd still have no problem wiping up the yolk and shells and throwing them all into the trash before walking away, mind already on the next dozen eggs on his list.

Harry blinked and the look was gone as if it'd never existed, replaced by a wise and kind expression. Perhaps he'd only imagined it? Harry might've brushed the moment aside if he hadn't just recently decided to trust in himself more… but he had decided to trust in himself more.

Harry fought to keep his eyes from narrowing. If Dumbledore really had looked at Harry like that, what did it mean? A chill went up his spine. How much could he safely tell the Headmaster? How many secrets should he share? How long would he seem useful enough to stay safe if he shared all of them? And what about his friends? Harry had thought the Headmaster cared about him… but what if he was wrong? Could he survive being wrong?

[To be continued…]


AN: Thank you for reading! And to my wonderful Beta and cheerleader dizzysappedweak!

Random non-story related musings: I got flowers and a box of chocolates for Valentines, which was very happy. I like good cliches. Unfortunately, the artwork I commissioned from a family member of my husband's favorite things never arrived, so the only gift I had for him was a pair of last minute hot chocolate bombs full of heart sprinkles I made that morning.

Dentist Adventures! My mouth has been hurting lately, making it even harder to focus on writing. It was really wonderful (*sarcasm*) when the dentist went to replace an ancient filling of mine that was threatening to crack only to keep exclaiming in surprise and shock that the old silver filling had been blocking the x-ray from seeing a bunch of decay, and then the dentist got to be even more shocked and impressed when the old crown he replaced (I've never been happy with the fit) revealed another hidden cavity that started out looking really small but as he dug just got bigger and deeper until he figured out that it had infected my jaw and destroyed a large area of bone. Now we don't know what other surprises are hiding in my mouth since it seems really good at tricking the x-rays. They've been telling me for years that the gum pain problems I've had in that area were because I wasn't flossing well enough around the old crown. I've been paying extra to go in every 3 months for a cleaning instead of every 6. Now we all know it was a huge bone infection that kept getting worse and worse. Somehow their x-ray (or the dentist) never saw it until they did a new type of 3D x-ray that showed the huge shadowed damage up high. Joy of joys. There's not enough tooth left to put in a new crown with confidence so he's now recommending an implant, though first he wants to do surgery to pack the area with bone shards to try and get some of the jawbone to grow back for 3 months first. Then the implant post and another 3 months of healing before they put the new tooth on, meaning at least SIX MONTHS with no tooth. UGH. There's also another area of shadow on the tip of another tooth root that has been around for five years without disappearing or healing that I'm wondering if I need to get cleaned out too or not. The dentist said it wouldn't be a bad idea, but he also makes a ton of money from this so I'm afraid he's biased. I'd rather not, but I don't want more problems down the road so I worry that I should. Bah humbug.

And the drama over the Olympic Women's Single Figure Skating and doping! Ay yi yi! Though the skating exhibition was a lot of fun to watch.

I hope you all had lovely Valentines / Gal-entines / Chocolate Sale Days and are enjoying good health and positive attitudes. Best wishes to y'all!

Thank you for reading and supporting me with comments, kudos, and bookmarks. The fight to write goes better when I have you cheering me on. I really appreciate it!