AN: No Beta again because I feel bad bothering them. I edited this sucker at least ten times and it just kept getting longer without finishing the scene I wanted to finish, but nevertheless, I finally think it's where I want it to (mostly) be or at least at a place where I won't die of shame. Hopefully. I always find things to change so I just have to stop at some point. Thank you for your support and interest! I'm really behind with responding to comments, but I read and cherish every single one. Please enjoy this roughly polished but earnest offering from my heart to yours.

Parseltongue dialogue is written with a ល symbol before and after now. The previous looped symbol I used is showing up blue now and I don't like the way that pops against the black text.

TW: Bullying (not of Harry) and Harry has a PTSD flashback of the Chamber


Whispers in Her Hair

by Indygodusk


Chapter 23: Second Year - Challenge in the Slytherin Common Room


"Hey, you over by the door, knock it off!" The sound of fighting faltered and something clattered to the floor in front of the cabinet Harry was hiding behind.

"Idiots," said a female voice that cut through the noise like a knife through butter. "If you're going to fight, at least make sure you've picked a side first and have a reason. We haven't even finished hearing their arguments! Indiscriminate brawling is so Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," the girl spat with disgust. "Have some Slytherin self-respect."

Muttering filled the air like waves rising and falling to batter against the seashore even as the sound of things breaking and spells flying died down to a few groans and muted thumps.

"Gross, gross," whined someone just before a shhlick splatt sounded, like something wet and sticky was peeled off and flung onto the floor. "So gross. Why does this always happen to me?"

Harry cautiously poked his head out to look around. There was a group of boys nearby that had obviously been fighting. They were slinking out from behind pieces of furniture and unmoving classmates who'd fallen victim to the Full Body-Bind Curse. One of the fifth years was going around waking the frozen victims with a very judgemental look on her face. The brawlers along with the surrounding walls and tables were covered in splatters of mysterious substances. One boy was still shaking his hips and tapping his feet, obviously the victim of a Dancing Feet spell. As soon as he stopped dancing, he immediately collapsed to the floor with a whine of exhaustion.

On the edge of the group stood Theo—Harry's traitorous roommate and caster of the Spaghetti Catapult spell. Their eyes met like clashing swords. Looking Harry up and down with a sneer, Theo's eyes paused on the state of Harry's head—still sporting a stripe of floppy white spaghetti noodles tipped in bright red sauce—and his eyes lit up in glee. Pointing, Theo clutched at his stomach and broke into loud guffaws.

Harry snarled and cast a Wormy Nostril jinx. Still laughing, Theo ducked. Harry's spell hit the lamp behind Theo's head. Before Harry could cast again, Theo dived behind the nearest sofa and disappeared. The coward. Harry turned from side to side to look and even went up on his tiptoes, but he couldn't find Theo again. Slapping his thigh in frustration, Harry scowled.

His scalp tingled as the magic wore off and his hair finally changed back from limp noodles. Unfortunately, the sauce was a lot more stubborn and clingy. As long as the smell of marinara lingered in his hair, so too would Harry's burning need for vengeance. Theo was going down.

The boys who'd been fighting nearby had all dispersed, leaving the rest of the room only on the cusp of violence and not actually trying to hex each other into troll snot. For now at least. The Slytherin common room was unusually full of people, with lots of folded arms, disdainful eyebrows, and scowling faces. Most wands were still tucked away, but hands hovered near pockets ready to draw as needed. Not every Slytherin was there, but almost everyone who was a power in Slytherin seemed to be present.

Flint was lounging near the top of one of the staircases in the back, looking powerful and dangerous with his robes hanging open, tie missing, and white shirt streaked with blood stains and dirt. Neither he nor Wood had pulled their punches during their earlier fight, leaving Flint at less than top condition with split knuckles, bruises shadowing his jaw, and swollen lips bisected by a wicked-looking cut. His skin was shiny with potion, but obviously it hadn't had time to fully absorb and heal him much yet. He must've looked even worse earlier. His eyes were heavy-lidded but watchful, like a scarred junkyard dog who might bite if you came too close.

In contrast to the violent aura Flint so palpably radiated, Halle sat just a couple of steps down with her head tucked up against his leg and her hands wrapped around his ankle like a sleepy and overwhelmed puppy. The other first years occupied the rest of the steps lower down. Despite it being warm in the room, Halle was wrapped up in a soft and fluffy-looking green and purple blanket that matched the new pillows Flint had added to the common room last week. When the blanket slid off her shoulders, Flint immediately reached down and pulled it back up, tucking it up around her neck and running a gentle hand over her hair. She looked up at him with an adoring smile. Battered expression softening, he patted her head.

Glass shattered, cutting through the hum of conversation around the room. Head snapping up, Flint bared his teeth. His eyes went back to being cold and vicious.

Searching for the source of the noise, Harry saw that it was only a broken lamp. Hooting and catcalls soon followed, almost drowning out the sound of someone casting a Reparo to fix it. As if reminded, several other students started repairing other pieces of broken fixtures and casting Finite Incantatem on messes near the front door. Every piece of furniture in the room had probably been broken and repaired by magic at least fifty times—and that was just counting since Harry had started school here.

Harry was distracted from his thoughts when the shoulder of sixth-year Carmen Reynaldo knocked against him as she pushed past like a woman on a mission. She didn't bother apologizing. For a moment the strong scent of her perfume overwhelmed the smell of marinara in his hair.

If pressed, Harry might call Carmen superficially pretty. She had sharp cheekbones, freckled light brown skin, large dark eyes behind thin-framed rectangular glasses, and brown hair artificially highlighted with ash blond that fell in perfectly smooth waves down to her waist that had to be spelled against tangles (especially considering how easily Harry's hair got tangled despite being only a fraction as long). Carmen cut through the crowd, tossing the waves of her hair behind one shoulder with a flick of her wrist as she paused at the base of the staircase where Flint was sitting at the top with Halle.

Harry had never really talked to Carmen. The closest they'd gotten was when she'd been hanging around with William Manic when the older boy had tried to befriend Harry earlier that year. Since Manic was a torturer of helpless puffskeins and one of the few people excited instead of disturbed at the thought of Harry being the Heir of Slytherin who indiscriminately targeted and killed muggle-borns, Harry had done his best to avoid him. Anyone voluntarily enjoying the company of someone like Manic was someone Harry was wary of, especially since Carmen had a reputation for being two-faced and casually cruel unless she wanted something from you.

She and Valeria casually disdained each other, or at least it was casual on Valeria's side. Carmen, who'd roomed with Valeria in first year until Valeria beat her out for a private room the following year and then been stuck sharing classes with and losing out in rankings to Valeria ever since, might feel closer to loathing than disdain if the rumors were true. Harry hadn't cared enough about Carmen to ask.

Eyes locked on Flint, Carmen climbed up the stairs and kicked her way past the first years occupying the lower steps as if they were stray dogs in her way, making them flinch back and reinforcing Harry's bad opinion of her. She didn't pause until she reached where Halle curled up against Flint's leg. Halle's feet were half blocking the stairs going up, though they looked easy enough to step over.

Flint completely ignored Carmen, keeping his attention locked on something happening over by the main fireplace. The taller students crowding the area made it hard for Harry to see what had Flint so interested.

Nostrils flaring and lips going thin, Carmen tossed her hair behind her shoulder with a flick of her fingers. She kicked at Halle's feet and glared. Halle pursed her lips but lowered her eyes. Letting go of Flint's ankle, Halle shifted to drag her feet out of the way. Carmen sneered. Stepping past Halle, eyes flashing with calculation and disdain, Carmen's hand darted out. It looked like Carmen intended to shove Halle down the staircase like a bowling ball into the students below while Flint was distracted.

However, Flint wasn't that distracted.

With a BANG that Harry could hear even across the room, Flint's leg shot out and slammed into the wall only millimeters in front of Carmen's face just before she could grab Halle, almost taking out Carmen's nose and knocking her glasses crooked. The force of his kick made the nearest portrait bounce hard against the wall. It so frightened the painted witch inside that she leaped to her feet with a squeal and fled out of the frame with the book she'd been reading clutched to her chest, her yowling cat hot on her heels. Terror froze Carmen stiff, not moving, breathing, or even dropping her outstretched arm.

Not bothering to even glance over at Carmen, Flint merely barked a single word, "No."

Carmen's pale, wide-eyed, and bespeckled face reflected off Flint's highly polished boot which pressed against the wall just in front of her nose. After several seconds of paralysis, she finally gasped and released a shaky exhale. The mist of her breath across Flint's boot coated her reflection in a silvery veil, making her see herself as a ghost until the breath bounced back and fogged over her glasses. Her fingers began trembling like dead leaves in the wind where they still hovered in the air over Halle's shoulder, neither advancing nor retreating.

Flint slowly turned his head to look at Carmen, eyes moving between her face and outstretched fingers with deadly intent. It was clear that if she'd actually dared to touch Halle, those fingers would've already been broken and turned into pretzels with pulverized bone as a sea salt garnish. Flint didn't drop his leg. His glare returned to her face and darkened like a rumbling thundercloud, obviously becoming heavier and harder to bear with each passing moment.

What little color remained in Carmen's face drained away like blood from a gaping wound. Sweat beaded on her skin and dripped down her cheeks and off her chin. Swaying back to balance on the edge of the stair she stood on, she finally dropped her trembling fingers to her side.

Jerking her head away to escape Flint's stare, she took three stumbling steps down the stairs, eyes darting about like a trapped bird until her gaze slammed up against someone out in the crowd. Carmen flinched. Dropped her head. Gulped and jerked her chin back up, stopping her flight. Weight shifting from foot to foot, hands rubbing up and down her thighs, she took several hitching breaths, but—Harry was surprised to note—didn't keep retreating despite her obvious desire to.

In fact, she nodded shakily and firmed the tremble of her lips, straightening to her full height. Taking a deep breath in through her nose, she tucked the waves of her blond-streaked hair behind her ears with almost steady fingers. She nodded again at the mysterious person in the crowd and moved up two steps until she was looking down on Halle but still a step away from where Flint's foot hadn't dropped from the wall.

Adjusting her glasses until they sat straight on her face, Carmen took a quick breath and looked Halle up and down with overt contempt, curling her lip as her eyes flicked over the green and purple blanket and saying something scathing. Harry was too far away to hear what, but Carmen—seemingly ignoring Flint's increasingly violent expression and the threat of the leg still blocking her way—kept her eyes locked on Halle as she rediscovered her bravery and brazenly leaned forward to croon insults at the already traumatized first year.

Halle's expression crumpled. She started blinking rapidly, barely moving her lips as she replied haltingly.

Expression twisting with false solicitude, Carmen cupped a hand around her ear, leaned closer, and spoke again, lips curling around each word she spoke with cruel relish. "What was that? Basilisk got your tongue?"

Halle's hands fisted and pressed against her belly as her lower lip visibly trembled…but she didn't turn to Flint for help.

That was important.

Flint knew it too. He was almost shaking with the need to protect but he didn't let himself intervene—not yet. It would be better for Halle in the long term if she learned to stand up for herself, especially in public and when it was only a verbal assault. If she could just show a little more spine that would gain her some respect from the other members of their house and protect her in the future from others thinking to try the same thing. Unable to keep himself still, Flint shifted to press his leg against Halle's back but otherwise didn't react, though the struggle was obvious on his face.

Carmen tensed up when Flint moved, giving him a wary glance. She relaxed when he didn't do anything else and turned back to Halle, speaking what was probably another insult.

Two fat teardrops overflowed Halle's eyes and rolled down her cheeks in glistening lines. Harry winced, feeling sympathetic but knowing that was like blood in the water to a bully. Halle brushed the tears away with frustrated, clumsy hands, obviously knowing it too. Hidden from Carmen, Halle's hand dropped to her far side and grabbed onto the toe of Flint's boot for comfort.

A sly, crooked smile flashed across Carmen's face as she spoke. Halle took a quick breath and finally found the courage to firm her lips and lift her chin, saying something back at Carmen. Harry sent Halle a silent cheer.

The corners of Carmen's mouth went tight. She tilted her head minutely to glance at the unmoving Flint from beneath her lashes and then huffed with what looked like impatience and nerves. Smoothing her expression, she crossed her arms and shifted forward so her weight rested mostly on one leg before speaking again. However, instead of focusing on Halle's reaction to the taunt, Carmen kept flicking her eyes between Flint and someone in the crowd below. Her hands clenched white around her elbows. Her toe tapped faster and faster. She tossed her hair and taunted Halle again.

Carmen's actions didn't make any sense to Harry. She had to know Flint was a hair's breadth away from smashing her flat like a bug on a windshield, never mind that she was a girl, didn't she? Did she have some deep, personal reason to target Halle? Unlikely, especially since she'd never gone out of her way to speak to or even bully Halle in the past. Perhaps this was a dare? Maybe she was being blackmailed? Or was she really just that arrogant, mean, and stupid that she couldn't walk away from the inconvenience of a blocked stair?

Flint caught Carmen's eye on her next pass and dropped his chin to send her a look of such barely leashed violence that it made even Harry lean back despite not being the recipient. Carmen swallowed hard, her eyes flinching away before coming back to his face, though she didn't seem able to lift her eyes higher than his chin. There was barely leashed terror in her expression, but strangely enough also relief.

What? Did she want Flint to hurt her?

Carmen licked the corner of her mouth, head turned towards Halle but eyes staying focused on Flint. Face growing smug with anticipation, she spoke another taunt. Every muscle in Flint's body went taut.

In that moment of inattention, a switch unexpectedly flipped inside of Halle. Her expression flipped from hurt to rage. Maybe she'd finally had enough of Carmen's bullying or maybe Carmen had made the mistake of insulting Flint instead and Halle had discovered the strength to stand up for and protect a friend where she couldn't or wouldn't protect herself.

Face still wet with tears, Halle bared her teeth, surged up onto her knees, and slapped the older girl across the face. The angle wasn't great to get much force, but Carmen's head still jerked to the side. Her glasses tumbled off her face, bounced off the wall, and skittered down the stairs like a rat fleeing a hungry cat.

Cupping her cheek, Carmen looked at Halle with an open mouth and wide eyes, as if seeing her for the first time. Hopefully, the slap would teach her a lesson even if it was a mere tap compared to the hammer blows exchanged by Flint and Wood during their brawl. It probably wouldn't even leave much of a bruise.

Too bad, Harry thought, feeling proud of Halle but also sorry that she'd been forced to it. Bullying and cruelty were the last things Halle needed after just waking up from being petrified by the Basilisk. She deserved coddling and to feel safe, not persecuted. It wasn't fair and it made him seethe. Halle deserved better from their house. She deserved more people like Flint and Myrtle and fewer bullies like Carmen, Derrick, and Bole.

Getting over her shock at being hit, Carmen's eyes narrowed with outrage as she focused on Halle to the exclusion of all else. If she'd been smart, she would've cut her losses at that point and flounced off. Instead, she huffed and reached into her robes for her wand to retaliate. Halle would have little defense against a sixth-year's spells considering the age and skill disparity.

However, Flint had finally had enough. Eyes narrowed and teeth bared, Flint let himself off the leash, slamming his palm down onto the fist Carmen had wrapped around her wand hilt like it was the head of a nail and he the hammer, jamming her wand so deep and hard back into her robe pocket that it probably tore itself a new hole and gouged a line down her thigh. Her cry of shock and pain was drowned out by Flint snarling directly into her face fierce enough to echo around the room, the split in his lip reopening in a bright crimson line.

Carmen cringed back from Flint with a sob, finally turning tail and running down the stairs, almost tumbling head over heels as she desperately shoved and tripped her way through the first years in her way. Magic shot from Flint's wand, hitting her back just as she fell off the bottom step, making her perfect hair frizz up into tangled clumps and strange wiggling lumps sprout beneath her robes. She gagged, spitting out something that smoked a bright pink as she staggered. A second spell from Halle's wand hit her in the bum—a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Carmen's next step went wobbly and sent her sprawling. She barely caught herself on her hands and knees before her chin hit the ground. Someone hit her with a third spell. Little white mushrooms sprouted from her chin and cheeks into a knobbly beard. Not bothering to get up, Carmen scurried away on wobbly knees, crawling away like a rat between the legs of the crowd and underneath a study table until she was out of sight.

Harry wanted to join Halle and Flint on the staircase, maybe give Halle a high-five and Flint a fist bump, but his way was blocked by a full couch and several students who didn't like him very much considering the looks on their faces the first time he tried. It didn't seem safe to test that with the current atmosphere in the room. Just moving closer had earned him glares and drawn wands. The era of treating Harry well to keep the current PR push going seemed to have ended. Shifting back and not seeing any other good options to move around and get closer, Harry sighed gustily and glanced around the room for his other friends to join.

Narrow-eyed with distemper, Flint finally lowered his leg from the wall but didn't put away his wand. Before Flint had a chance to calm down, another student paused at the base of the staircase, arms wrapped tightly around her waist as she shifted from side to side. Harry couldn't see the girl's face from this angle, just that she was shaking. Head lowered in either respect or fear, the girl said or did something that made the first years sitting lower down on the staircase fall into a nervous tizzy. They clutched at each other dramatically and one of the smallest boys rubbed his leaky nose and looked like he was about to cry. Not waiting for any other response, the girl melted back into the crowd and disappeared.

Weird, Harry thought. He'd thought he'd seen her hanging around Carmen and Manic too, but wasn't sure. What was going on?

Flint pressed his lips together and scowled, sending a trickle of bright red blood down his chin from the broken scab as he looked over toward the center of the room. Two boys were arguing loudly over there but Harry was too short to see who they were from his current position. Nevertheless, their voices were getting louder and more vicious with every exchange. Nostrils flaring, Flint slapped his thighs as if he'd made a decision and stood up. He cracked his neck from side to side before swiping a hand over his face to clean away the blood and wipe it off down the front of his white shirt, adding a new red streak to the already blood-stained fabric.

Brow creasing and eyebrows angled down, Halle chewed her lip as she looked up at him. She tugged at his pant leg and tilted her head. Flint sent her a small, crooked smile and shook his head as he patted her.

Sighing, Flint gently pulled Halle to her feet, putting his arm around the first-year's back and the trailing green and purple blanket. He picked up the hand she'd used to slap Carmen and made her fist it for him, checking for injuries. She shrugged and smiled up at him. He nodded in satisfaction and grinned. Looking down the staircase, he barked something in a firm voice and the other first-years scrambled to their feet. Then, like a sheepdog, Flint herded Halle and her friends down the stairs and out of the crowded and volatile common room towards the hallway that led to the first-year dorm rooms.

That was a good idea. None of those kids needed to be here since so far, none of the first-years had done anything to really distinguish themselves (if you didn't count Halle befriending Flint and getting petrified). None of them were (in)famous like Harry or from extremely rich and influential families like Draco. They wouldn't be much use in a fight and didn't have the status to influence the upcoming debate or brawl. They'd be much safer out of the way in their rooms.

Some of the other students, seeing what Flint was doing and evaluating their own power and status against the building potential for violence, oh-so-casually got up and followed his example, slinking away down the hallways or up the staircases.

Harry had no intention of leaving. Despite his young age, he had become a power in Slytherin House with powerful friends. He felt curious about what direction his House would choose to go next. He'd like to influence that, but was well aware that many of the older students still saw him more as a useful tool for advancing their own agendas rather than someone to be listened to and followed. He was working on changing that.

Nevertheless, with the mood currently churning in the air, standing alone in this crowd felt unwise. Status challenges could happen at any time and there were too many who'd enjoy seeing him brought low or using him against his friends.

Valeria was probably in one of the corners or holding up a wall. She didn't like having her back to open spaces and possible ambush. It could make her twitchy, especially if it looked like a fight was about to break out. A twitchy Valeria was a violent Valeria.

Moving around as he searched for a friendly face, he finally saw Draco. Draco's friend status was still up in the air. Maybe the current conflict could turn into an opportunity to completely mend fences and improve their relationship. One could hope. Harry was sick of being at odds with Draco this year. Their last interaction with the borrowed tie had reminded him of how nice it was to have Draco as a friend.

Despite there now being fewer people in the room, the tension seemed to be ratcheting even higher. Harry's stomach swooped. As he threaded his way through the edge of the remaining crowd, feeling some pride at getting a couple of lower-ranked third years and even a fourth-year to make room for him, he heard a throat clear loudly. Conversations around the room hushed as a new voice spoke up. It made his skin prickle. Something big was coming. He pushed faster to reach Draco.

As several people chose to sit down on newly open couches and chairs, the sight lines in the room improved. Harry could see an open circle of space forming in front of the large, central fireplace. Two figures stood facing each other, the crowd shifting back respectfully to give them more room as Harry watched.

The couches and chairs that usually sat there had all been pushed back to make more room and the fireplace danced with huge red-gold flames that reached through the gaps in the tall, three-paneled sculpted bronze fireplace screen with hungry fingers. The central panel of the fireplace screen was sculpted to look like a vase holding giant ferns in what an older student had mentioned was an Art Deco style. Each of the side panels showcased an intricately sculpted snake. Everyone called the metal snakes the Bronze Bros.

Harry had always really liked the Bronze Bros on the fireplace screen, even before he realized he was a parseltongue. Being magical, the snakes could move around their screen and make noise. Sometimes they'd hide in the ferns and be lost for days, only to burst into view and scare any student who dared get too close or tried to trick the fireplace into allowing an outgoing floo call despite the school rules forbidding it. Sometimes the snakes moved their mouths and flicked their tongues as if talking, but Harry had always been too far away to hear anything specific. His first year he'd been too low status to spend much time near the central fireplace. He'd appreciated the Bronze Bros' elegant appearance and hypnotic movements from a distance, but not much else.

After Harry's confrontation with Professor Quirrell and the shade of Voldemort at the end of his first year, and then getting on the Quidditch team and associating with powerful people like Valeria and Flint this year, he'd gone up enough in status to sit only a few couches away from the central fireplace. For a long time, he'd been too wrapped up in his own problems to remember his curiosity about the Snake Bros, but then he'd learned he was a parselmouth and everyone had gotten weird about it, so one night he'd been wandering around the common room in the middle of the night brooding when the snake on the left had opened its mouth and hissed "Hello, kid," echoed by the snake on the right.

"S-snake Bros! H-hello!" He'd stuttered back in surprise, grateful he was alone and hoping he was speaking to them in parseltongue and not English, only to be greeted by twin hisses of irritation.

"We're not bros-s-s," Left had hissed. "Can't you s-s-see how gorgeous-s-s we are? We're obviously s-s-snake s-sis-sters-s!"

"Oh, s-s-sorry!" Harry had apologized. He had no idea how to tell boy and girl snakes apart, but the bronze carvings were very nice looking either way.

"Humans-s-s are s-stupid. It's-s to be ex-s-s-pected." Left flicked her tongue.

"What are your names then?" Harry asked, looking between them.

Right shook her head at him. "S-silly s-speaker. As-s if we'd just tell you that for merely as-s-king?"

"Can I guess-s?ល"

"You can try.ល" Left laughed at him as she coiled up with her bronze head resting on her top coil. "Though I don't ex-s-spect much. Humans-s are quite s-stupid, es-specially young ones-s.ល"

Right opened her mouth in a snakey grin, "Though even if you do guess-s right, we might lie and s-say you're s-still wrong. You'll have to learn how to tell the difference."

"If you can," said Left doubtfully.

"That's-s not very nice," Harry frowned.

Left tilted her head and gave him a beady-eyed stare. "Nice? This is S-s-slytherin, kid. Learn to adapt or become a mouse and get eaten alive."

"Yum," Right said dreamily, tongue flicking through the air like a yo-yo as if tasting something delicious. "I love the feeling of unhinging my jaw and s-s-swallowing mice whole."

"And other things," Left added slyly.

Harry opened his mouth to ask if they ate metal mice or real ones, and what Left meant by "other things," only to close his mouth with a click and swallow hard, deciding that he was probably better off not knowing considering that their mouths were almost big enough to fit over his head when unhinged. If he was ever feeling really bored and really brave, he might check to see if the records showed any small, first-year Slytherin students ever disappearing without a trace. Some of them could've dropped out during the last few wars, but the Snake Sisters could've just as easily taken advantage of recruiting Dark Lords to snag themselves a large meal. Maybe it was better not to go looking. Harry already had enough nightmares.

So far this year, he'd had no luck guessing the Snake Sisters' names. At least, as far as he could tell. Bronze snakes didn't have any obvious tells when lying. Still, he had five more years to figure it out before graduation. If guessing completely failed, maybe he could get Hermione to help him research in the library to find some clues. She'd enjoy that.

It wasn't long before the Snake Sisters became second only to Aglaia's tapestry as his favorite decoration in the Slytherin common room. Sometimes when he got stuck on a homework question and they were bored and feeling generous, they'd even give him hints. When they got really bored they liked to compose sonnets about the superior beauty of gleaming scales and forked tongues and hiss disparaging comments about the gross hair and stupid clothing sported by ugly humans.

Left Sister in particular seemed offended by human hair. When Right Sister was feeling particularly silly and wanted to tease her sibling, she'd slide over to the fronds in the central vase, rise up so the strands hung around her face like a wig, and pretend to be a Slytherin student until Left went crazy. On those days it was all Harry could do to bite his tongue and press a hand over his mouth to hold back his howls of laughter as the Snake Sisters mimicked and mocked some of the most powerful people in Slytherin.

They'd only mocked Valeria once. She'd seen their tongues flicking out of the corner of her eye and, even if unable to understand it, had somehow just known. She'd strolled close with a calm, absent expression on her face that had even fooled Harry into thinking her innocently oblivious until she turned on a dime, whipped out her wand with a snarl, and cast a spell that temporarily turned the bronze Snake Sisters into snake icicles. Ice in front of a roaring fire melts very quickly. Just before the panicked puddles of charmed water evaporated completely, Valeria had reversed the spell and returned them to bronze, letting them run away to the upper corners of their fireplace screen to hide and sulk. The Snake Sisters took care not to move too quickly or get caught mocking Valeria after that.

Perhaps Harry should have connected the sound of the bronze Snake Sisters speaking parseltongue to the sound of the Basilisk in the walls, but it was always clear when the Snake Sisters were speaking. If they condescended to speak to or around him, they made it obvious in their faces and movements because they expected him to understand and appreciate his privilege and their cleverness. No one expected to hear voices coming from inside the walls, and even if you did, you wouldn't admit it in public because then everyone would think you crazy and mock you for it endlessly.

The crowd finally stopped shuffling and Harry could finally make out the people in the open space in front of the fireplace. Prefect Reyansh Ahuja was facing off against William Manic. They were mid-argument. As people settled it became easier to hear their words and see the way the crowd shifted around them as allies pressed close or distanced themselves. For some reason, Reyansh's usual posse looked to be mostly absent or distancing themselves.

Harry frowned and tilted his head in confusion. What was a guy like Manic doing facing off publicly against a power like Reyansh? And what was happening with Reyansh's allies? Sure, Manic was scary and no one liked to cross him, but he wasn't a big political player in their house. He seemed to be connected to a lot of people and events tonight, but that was probably a coincidence. After all, Manic was a simple bully.

Chewing on his cheek, Harry turned sideways, sucked in his belly, and squeezed between two students to finally reach Draco's side. "Hey," Harry said breathlessly as he resettled his twisted robes. "What's going on?"

He'd decided to ignore the confusing state of their current relationship and take the tact of pretending that they were friends again and everything was fine. Half the time Draco seemed just as eager to pretend as Harry was. The other boy just needed an excuse to forget about his pride, especially when he was in the wrong. Like earlier in their room when Harry had asked for help and he'd been nice and lent Harry his tie. Not that Harry was always in the right, though he'd argue that he was right much more often than Draco and was willing to poll their friends to prove it.

Thinking of the borrowed tie led to Harry thinking about seeing Hermione earlier that night. She'd liked the tie on him—he could tell by her smile. It was wonderful being friends again, like he'd removed a boulder from his back and was so light he could now fly without a broom. Harry sighed happily. There'd been no hesitation when she'd taken his arm and walked with him to the broom shed or when she'd flown by his side. And when she'd defended him from Lavender—wow—she'd been positively glorious. Racing with her and being silly up in the sky had been awesome too. Their friendship was back—stronger than ever—and Hermione was beautiful and delightful and his again. Life was great.

Draco shifted to look him up and down. Examining Harry's tangled hair, loose tie, wind-chapped cheeks, and dreamy expression, Draco's lips twisted. He gave a gusty sigh. "You look disgustingly happy." His nose wrinkled.

Harry wasn't surprised by Draco's insult, though he was surprised that Draco didn't actually sound all that disgusted. "I am happy," Harry confirmed with a nod. He purposely widened his eyes and added super earnestly, "Thanks for noticing, mate, and for letting me borrow the tie. You're a really great friend."

Draco rolled his eyes and huffed, but didn't respond with anything worse, not even an insult at Harry's windblown (and sauce-smeared) hair. He even looked rather pleased with the compliment.

Feeling chuffed, Harry's grin turned genuine, only to find his mood dampened seconds later by the sound of Manic's raised voice. "What's going on over there?" He jerked his thumb toward the central fireplace and lowered his voice, "And why's a guy like Manic involved?"

Bumping shoulders with Harry, Draco leaned close and kept his voice low too. "They're arguing over how not-nice we should be going forward to best position ourselves for the end of the year. Manic, being true to form, wants to restore Slytherin's reputation as a House not to cross by capturing random firsties and stringing them up by their ankles in the Forbidden Forest until they squeal like pigs and pee their pants. Ahuja is arguing for a more nuanced approach where we remind the school we're still dangerous without destroying the goodwill and adulation we've recently acquired, perhaps by baiting someone with status but still generally unliked into attacking us first, and then publically decimating them and everyone and everything they care about until they're rocking back and forth in a corner drooling all over themselves."

Harry bobbed his head from side to side, seeing the possible benefits of Reyansh's approach over Manic's. "How's the rest of the House taking it?"

"So far Ahuja is winning the debate, though Manic's more simple, blunt force approach and push for petty and widespread cruelty is popular with a small but vocal minority. Unfortunately, Ahuja's argument is starting to descend into repetition, his allies seem to be disappearing, and he keeps getting distracted by something or someone behind Manic—I haven't figured out what yet—" Draco's mouth took on a petulant slant, "making Ahuja lose his train of thought. Meanwhile, Manic is focused and a lot more eloquent and charismatic than usual, as if he's been practicing for this. It's surprised a lot of people and gotten him more positive attention than I would've expected based on his reputation and current position in the House leadership hierarchy. More people are backing him up than I would've expected. He seems to be building up to something, though I'm not sure if it's just that people implement his plan or something more. It's got a lot of Slytherins off-balance and uneasy."

Focusing on Draco, hoping the tone of his words meant he was more with Ahuja than Manic, Harry was happy to notice Draco looking more friendly, energized, and engaged than he had been in weeks. Harry opened his mouth to say something to that effect, only to abruptly realize that everyone was turning to look at him. Draco's elbow dug into Harry's side. Mouth clicking shut, Harry frantically tried to figure out what had just been said and how he should respond.

"Well, Potter?" Manic said as the crowd pulled back until they were facing each other across the room. "Are you ready to stop being so stupid, selfish, and cowardly?"

"What?" Caught off guard, Harry stared at Manic in wide-eyed confusion for several beats too long.

Not waiting for him to catch up, Manic gave a shark-tooth smile. "Are you going to stop hiding from us what really happened in Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets? As Slytherins, we more than anyone else deserve to know." He took a deliberate step forward and held out his hands. "Well? What's the real reason why you turned our noble House into a dirty little mockery of itself? You may act like a bloody shameful Gryffindor half the time, but you're supposed to be loyal to us—to Slytherin." Mouth open in a cruel smile of anticipation, Manic wagged his eyebrows and tilted his head. Manic always got more animated when he was about to hurt someone. Harry really wished he didn't know that—and that he wasn't the current target.

Staring Harry down, Manic shifted position and then stopped again as if posing for the crowd. His eyes reflected flickering orange flames from the fire, making him look demonic and powerful. Had the older boy chosen that spot to stand for this confrontation for that very reason? But no, that would take too much planning and forethought. Manic wasn't capable of that.

Or was he?

Muscles all over his body tightening, Harry swallowed and tried not to acknowledge the discomfort bubbling up from his middle. Manic looked really intimidating.

He's just a simple bully and not that bright, Harry told himself. Besides, the more someone tried to stare Harry down, the more stubbornly determined he was not to drop his gaze and give them the satisfaction. It might look bad for him now, but Harry had survived worse odds. He was smart and at least he wasn't without allies in this room. There had to be a way to turn this around to his advantage.

Didn't there?

Harry's abundant life experience with being a punching bag mocked his newfound optimism.

Eyes locked on Harry, Manic gave a condescending little smirk as if reading Harry's thoughts and tutted, arching one brow. "Well, brat? We're waiting."

The crowd rumbled like the belly of a hungry beast. Harry hated being surrounded by a crowd of bullies. It always led to pain for him. Something inside him started going numb in preparation for what he was about to endure.

"Yeah, Potter, start talking!"

"What happened down there, huh?"

"Well?"

"We deserve answers!"

"Spill!"

Hands shoved at Harry, making him feel small and hemmed in. It sparked his temper. He would not be made to feel powerless anymore. He wasn't powerless. Fingers twisted in his robes, trying to drag him forward. Harry planted his feet with a growl and slapped the hands away as his breath started coming faster.

He felt grateful for the familiar warmth and shield of Draco pressing against his side and pushing away the hands reaching for Harry. The other boy could've stepped back and abandoned him to the crowd, but he hadn't. Maybe they were finally friends again and Draco was over his snit?

Well, good.

Harry needed something good to hold on to right now to keep him from feeling washed away. He had a feeling things were only going to get worse. The look on Manic's face promised the same. Meeting Manic's eyes over the shoulders of the crowd, Harry thinned his lips and lifted his chin. He would not let the older boy think he was intimidated or cowed. Harry wouldn't give him that.

Harry's mind whirled frantically, trying to figure out a winning strategy or even something with minimal loss. He wished Reyansh would continue arguing with Manic and maybe distract everyone away from Harry, but the Prefect was silent, a wary, detached, and calculating look on his face as he watched events unfold around Harry. Great. There'd be no help from that direction unless Harry could do something to show himself as acting from a position of power strong enough to win.

Fake it until you make it, he told himself. Shoulders bowing up, Harry widened his stance, cast his eyes around at the crowd, and projected his voice. "You know, now that no one is petrified or stuck in the infirmary anymore, I was feeling better about telling my House all about what happened in the Chamber of Secrets. I was planning on sharing with you what I couldn't tell the reporters and even answering your questions."

"Now, though," he paused and narrowed his eyes at Manic before looking out around the room, "if this is your spokesman," he flicked his fingers disdainfully at Manic and curled his lip, "I'm not feeling quite so generous. I don't bow to bullies and I don't break under pressure. In fact, I'd rather keep quiet out of spite. As Slytherins yourselves, I'm sure you understand the impulse." He bared his teeth in an unamused smile.

Manic scowled and voices in the crowd grumbled in offense, though several of the louder voices previously baying at Harry became quiet and eased back with glimmers of understanding and grudging respect in their eyes.

Looking irritated, Manic said, "I think I'd like to test that assertion, Potter. I bet I can make you talk."

"Back. Off." Valeria's voice rose above the mob like a whiplash, making the hands still grasping Harry's robes fly off as everyone flinched away from him in instinctive fear at the tone of her voice. Harry would've fallen over if it hadn't been for Draco steadying him. "He'll talk when he wants to," Valeria said, her voice promising violence for anyone stupid enough to disagree.

The crowd parted enough for Harry to finally see Valeria. She was leaning a shoulder against the wall by the central fireplace, legs crossed in almost an indolent position. The large, ornately carved mantel and Snake Sister fireplace screen dwarfed her slight figure, casting half her body into shadow and making her look small and delicate by comparison. The fire flared and danced as she stepped forward, sending sparks through the air and casting shadows from the fireplace screen across her body, making Valeria look like she was crawling with shadowy snakes. It was extremely intimidating.

Instead of looking worried, Manic's expression went gleeful, though he didn't turn to face Valeria. If Harry didn't know better, he would think that Manic was pleased that Valeria had interrupted him with the threat of violence. Valeria stared at the back of Manic's head with hot disdain, like he was a rat she was thinking of swallowing and then vomiting out again.

Broad chest rising as he took a deep breath, Manic threw out his arms and boomed, "When he wants?" He spun around to face Valeria, arms dropping to his hips, elbows wide as he straightened to his full height. He looked large and brutish compared to Valeria's petite figure. His red lips curled up into a sneer. "You sure about that? What about what we want? His betters? If he knows what's good for him, the little half-blood should want to start talking before I rearrange his face."

"Touch him and I'll rearrange yours," Valeria said softly, the corner of her mouth twitching as her eyes went heavy-lidded.

The potential for violence filled the air with a sharp, metallic taste. Reyansh, standing between the two, tried to keep his expression calm but couldn't hide the white edging his too-wide eyes. He carefully shuffled back out of the crossfire until he hit a wall and there was no more room for him to retreat. His wand slid into his hand, half hidden by his robes as his eyes flicked between Manic, Valeria, and the crowd. He slid sideways towards a clump of his supporters.

Scoffing, Manic turned away from Valeria to gaze around the room and pause on several faces in the crowd, many of whom started pushing forward to join his side. There were more people supporting Manic than Harry had expected. A lot more. Harry swallowed hard.

Manic nodded at a few of the students on one side of the room who usually stayed neutral. He jerked his chin to the side. They should've been too dominant to listen to him or too self-involved, but instead, they bowed their heads and peeled off from the crowd—obviously not neutral anymore. Watching them with wary confusion, Harry realized that they were headed back toward where Flint had disappeared with the firsties.

He recognized several of them from Quidditch tryouts. There had been a lot of hard feelings about two second-years making the team. Adrian Pucey in particular had been noisy in his anger. He'd been a Chaser on the team last year, but after a subpar tryout, he had been pushed aside to make room for Draco and Harry. The group of angry boys was no match for Flint one on one, but if they ambushed him in a group they might be able to take the Quidditch Captain out.

Where were Terrence and Miles? Or Dulcina and Artemis? Where were the rest of Harry's friends? Looking around, he couldn't find any of his allies. Somehow they were all missing. All of them except for Draco, who'd been irritable and sullen with everyone lately. That couldn't just be bad luck or random chance. This had the stench of planning.

A sick feeling twisted Harry's stomach. His eyes darted around the room again, looking with new eyes, seeing the positioning of certain groups and rearranged furniture and realizing that the way certain hallways and sightlines had been blocked and movement through the room made more difficult wasn't due to random chance…but to strategy.

This was bad.

He'd stepped into a steaming pile of dragon dung and not even noticed. Stupid Harry, so blind and stupid. You didn't feel the warm squelch underfoot or smell its stench unless the dung was fresh and the dragon was still nearby and dangerous. Stepping in it meant you'd allowed someone who wanted you hurt or even killed to trick you. The metaphorical stench in the room was now obvious and overpowering. Harry might not survive this without getting mauled.

This was very bad. How had he been so stupid? Hadn't Terrence said that Manic had been the one who'd goaded Flint into brawling with Wood earlier? What if that had been an attempt to weaken or injure Flint ahead of time for tonight's meeting? He'd certainly looked battered. Was the purpose to isolate Harry in some sort of convoluted scheme? But Manic was too dimwitted and straightforward for something complicated like that… wasn't he?

Or had Harry in his self-absorption somehow overlooked the simple fact that Manic was also a Slytherin? Had Harry only been seeing what the older boy wanted him to see—a simple bully—instead of the truth? Harry felt cold. Just how dangerous was Manic? Was he a vicious and cunning mastermind springing a trap when it was too late to escape?

Right now Manic seemed to be targeting Harry. Unfortunately, Manic wasn't the type to be content with exchanging only words. The older boy certainly knew and could cast more painful spells and he had bigger fists. With the way the room had been rearranged, running away wouldn't be easy either. Harry tried not to panic.

What was Manic's actual agenda here? Was it really about Harry himself? It seemed like a lot of trouble when Manic could have just cornered him in the hallway or a bathroom with less than half the trouble. Perhaps he was overcome with a dislike of Harry and his secrets? Revenge for Harry not accepting Manic's previous overtures of friendship? Had Harry accidentally kicked his pet or eaten the last treacle tart that Manic had been eyeing? Could it be something so simple and obvious? Or was Harry missing something deeper?

Prowling back and forth in front of the mantel where Valeria stood, Manic's voice boomed as he addressed the room. "Slytherins, we have been more than patient with Potter's squishy little feelings. We need to remember who we are. If he can't stand on his own then he doesn't deserve to stand at all." Manic's lips twisted. "He should stop wasting our time and fall down on his knees with the rest of the small and weak people to bleed in the mud like his little mudblood friend."

It was only too obvious who Manic was talking about. The words hit Harry like the jolt of an electric cattle prod, making him jump and hiss. Seeing red, Harry drew his wand and lunged. He was so focused he didn't even notice Draco wrapping an arm around Harry's body and jerking him sideways and almost off his feet, just keeping him from launching a spell at Manic's stupid face. Even as his feet scrambled for purchase on the floor, Harry tried to bring his wand around to aim, only to have Draco jerk him again, making Harry almost bite his tongue.

"Think," Draco hissed in his ear. "He's trying to goad you into blindly attacking first so he has an excuse for himself and his friends to hurt you worse. Everyone's watching. Don't be so stupid!"

Grinding his teeth, Harry elbowed Draco. He didn't hit too hard though, because Draco was right. If Harry attacked now he'd be hit from several sides by Manic's allies and taken down humiliatingly fast. Harry couldn't afford a hasty mistake. He needed to be strategic. Manic's lip curled as Harry pulled himself free of Draco's hold without any further actions.

Turning away from Harry dismissively, Manic paused for a second to look down and adjust his robes, took a quick breath, and then lifted his head and pivoted to face Valeria. Red tongue darting out to wet the corner of his mouth, he stepped towards her, looked down from his impressive height, and said with relish, "You're also included in the small and weak people who belong down on their knees." Several people gasped loudly and it felt like half the room took a step back.

Grinning, Manic eagerly watched for Valeria's reaction, showing more animation even than he'd shown when insulting Harry—

—and suddenly it clicked. Harry realized that all of this wasn't about him at all…not really. He'd started to believe his own press and think everything was about him all of the time. He felt slow and stupid. More stupid. Maybe he'd been too focused on his problems with the press or with straightforward Gryffindors like Hermione, Lavender, or even the Weasleys to remember what Slytherins were actually like. That had been dumb. The most dangerous Slytherins didn't charge at things head-on. Like a snake, they slithered in from side to side, catching you off-guard and rendering you powerless until you were out of any options besides venom, bite, or constriction.

It was obvious now. This was as simple and as complicated as a social dominance challenge. Manic was trying to take over in true Slytherin fashion and maneuver his way to the top of the school hierarchy. Harry was just a tool in Manic's power play. They all were. He felt stupid for not seeing it earlier. He'd completely underestimated the older boy. There was nothing simple about Manic and Harry had fallen for his misdirections hook, line, and sinker.

Manic hadn't gone about this directly and no Slytherin would've respected him or let him stay in power if he had. He'd taken advantage of the fact that so many Slytherins were feeling vulnerable after the Basilisk reveal and outside of their comfort zone due to the PR experiment to launch his campaign. He'd injured and weakened Flint by tricking him into fighting Wood and then gotten Carmen to threaten Halle to manipulate Flint into leaving the room and going into an isolated hallway where he'd be out of the way, alone except for canon fodder first years, and easier to ambush. Manic had also somehow gotten under Reyansh's skin and drawn away the Prefect's allies to keep Reyansh distracted during the debate, and then made Reyansh fear becoming collateral damage or being betrayed if Manic fought Harry or Valeria so Reyansh would hang back from the upcoming fight instead of teaming up with them against Manic.

With just a few words, Manic had twisted Harry from House hero to selfishly secretive and used his housemates' curiosity and ambition to turn them against him. At the same time, he'd used Harry to draw out and maneuver Valeria into a confrontation, a previously untouchable dark horse who preferred to hang back in the shadows and avoid dominance plots while still managing to maintain her own personal power, and he did it in a way and place that wouldn't play to her strengths or let her retreat without damaging her reputation and casting doubt on both Flint and Harry by association, all the while enhancing Manic's status. Defeating Valeria publicly or even just making her retreat would net Manic a huge reputation boost. It made Harry feel simultaneously impressed and sick to his stomach. Even worse, Manic might just pull it all off and achieve victory.

Lips thinning to a white slash, Valeria straightened up from the wall, cracking her neck from side to side with faint but audible pops. Despite the bad odds and her precarious situation, she didn't look cowed. "You really want to do this? Now? With me, little boy?" Her nostrils flared. The tip of her wand twirled in a tight figure eight by her thigh.

Eyes glittering and mean, Manic looked Valeria up and down before glancing around to play up to the crowd again (though Harry noticed he never took his gaze completely off of Valeria, nor let his wand become blocked by the bulk of his body, more evidence that he was a lot more cunning than Harry had ever noticed). He scoffed and leaned forward to loom over her. "I'm not the little one here," he sneered down at Valeria.

Everyone around Manic laughed. Harry's stomach lurched as he realized it really was everyone laughing in the half-circle boxing in Valeria because the crowd had rapidly shifted and suddenly everyone up front was Manic's friend. Allies were non-existent and even the neutrals had pulled back. Valeria had never had many friends. Now she was surrounded by enemies.

Harry was shocked that Valeria hadn't hexed Manic already, though maybe he shouldn't be. Yes, Valeria had a temper, a lot of pride, and a twisted psyche, but she wasn't stupid. She wouldn't have survived this long in Slytherin if she was. Valeria was a cunning fighter who relied on intimidation, ambush, and an insanely fast casting speed. Yet right now she was surrounded by too many enemies and without any cover. Even Valeria could only do so much in this situation. Next to Manic, she looked so small….

Still, it was Valeria! She had to be just biding her time, figuring out the best way to smack Manic down. Harry swallowed hard, his chest and stomach burning. She could still win. Sure, there were a lot of enemies and Manic was known to be violent and sadistic, but Valeria wouldn't get hurt. She wasn't weak like Harry. People feared and respected her. She couldn't get hurt (he suppressed thoughts of any recent evidence to the contrary). No way. Not Valeria. She would win. She had to. Sure, this conflict didn't play to her strengths, but she was still strong.

Winning had to be possible, didn't it?

Didn't it?

Harry's mental voice was sounding younger and weaker by the second. His chest felt tight and the tips of his fingers lost feeling. He didn't know what to do. He had no illusions about being able to protect himself, but at least he should try to protect his friends. But how? He didn't think he could stop this.

Even winning wasn't a guarantee. He and his friends had barely survived their last victory against the Basilisk. Despite his best efforts, they'd all gotten hurt. Myrtle had even been so weakened that she'd passed over to the other side. He'd thought she'd been at peace with going, but what if he'd been wrong? From a certain point of view, her having to leave was his fault. Harry had failed to protect her and it had gotten her killed (again).

He could picture the Chamber of Secrets so easily, like a slick brand burned against the inside of his eyelids, forcing him to see it and be there each time he blinked. There'd been so much blood dripping down Valeria's face. She'd fallen limply to the floor, eyes shut and face so still and wax pale. He'd been terrified that she was dead. It had been a horrible feeling, like he was dying himself. He blinked his eyes open and remembered that he had almost died himself.

A log popped in the fireplace, sending up sparks and drawing his eyes. It was getting hard to focus. He felt confused. Behind the bronze screen of the Snake Sisters, the fire flared high, filling the fireplace. Flames pushed out through the gaps in the screen like hungry tongues seeking prey. For a second the red light reflected off Valeria's skin like the red of blood—like a wound he was helpless to stop or prevent. His fault. His failure.

Dark thoughts filled his head and spilled down his throat like brackish water. The scar on his forehead abruptly burst into agony, like someone was unzipping the skin with rough, careless jerks to expose the underlying muscle and bone. Harry couldn't…breathe. He felt…like he was falling…through the air…out of control. Hadn't his feet…been on solid ground…just a moment ago? Or was that a lie? The room darkened around the edges, everything going fuzzy. A fog of shadows and danger pressed in on every side. What was real?

No one was safe.

Harry could hear the faint lapping of water on stone. Muddy grit and cloying blood coated his teeth. The menacing sound of scales scraping over stone echoed from all sides. Breathing hurt. He blinked and the Chamber of Secrets bloomed in front of his eyes like a poisonous flower.

Valeria's body lay crumpled on the ground—pale, limp, and bleeding. Hermione was sobbing and screaming as the Basilisk's coils tightened—hair knotted, robes torn, and skin gouged with bloody furrows. Even Ginny Weasley was so still she was barely breathing.

They were all helpless. Vulnerable. His fault. His failure. Everything hurt—his body, head, and heart. He had to save his friends, but he was too slow and weak. Useless.

No.

Harry shook his head and gritted his teeth. He'd conquered this. Survived this. It was over. Done.

Please.

(Not again.)

Please.

Forcing his eyes to open, he gasped for air to keep from passing out and looked around frantically, trying to grasp onto the reality he wanted. Needed. He should be standing in the Common Room. The Chamber was his past, not his present. Wasn't it? He did not want to be down there again. No.

For a moment of sweet reprieve he saw familiar tapestries and portraits on Slytherin green walls, but his eyes had always been his weakest sense. They refused to focus for long and the room dissolved, its familiar walls melting like chocolate hidden in fisted fingers. All he was left with was smears of brown and gray—the brown and gray of rock walls and crumbling stone pillars topped by bowls of fitfully burning flames that anemically pushed back the shadows.

Harry gripped his robes in fists, winding the fabric tightly around his half-numb fingers and trying to focus on how dry they felt. Dry. His robes weren't wet because he wasn't still in the Chamber of Secrets. He hadn't jumped into the lake to pull out Halle and then gotten splashed repeatedly while dodging the Basilisk's attacks. He didn't need to be scared because he was dry in the Slytherin Common Room. He was safe. Safe.

Angry voices rumbled distantly in his ears, their meaning just out of reach.

Well, he was mostly safe. Better bullies than being in the Chamber facing off against a thousand-year-old Basilisk. He'd take fists and hexes over venomous fangs and killer eyes any day.

Why was this so hard?

Harry panted, trying to catch his breath and stop feeling so confused. He was trying, he was trying so hard, but his hands were going numb and it was hard to feel anything anymore—dry or wet. He felt so alone. His heart raced and his chest hurt. If he was safe, why did it hurt? Was it the broken ribs that he was pretending weren't broken?

No, he wasn't down there anymore, he told himself with a stubbornness that was fast becoming more desperate hope than actual belief. It was over. He was safe.

Harry wanted to be safe.

(But was he really safe? Was it really over? Were his friends safe? Did he have a single memory of ever really feeling safe?)

Fear jolted through his body and it was getting harder to stay standing. Harry wanted his brain to stop. Please. He didn't want to think about being terrified and hunted by the Basilisk, didn't want to be in that moment again of having to choose fight over flight over and over again, yet each time he blinked he was pulled further into the past and pain of the Chamber. Everything ached, especially his forehead. He blinked blood and sweat out of his eyes. His knees felt bruised and wobbly. He felt too weak to keep his feet. He was going to fall. He was going to die alone.

A warm arm slid around his back, guiding him blindly forward until he bumped against a stone pillar, though the stone felt like fabric and padding over wood. He leaned against it. It felt like a piece of furniture, maybe it was a piece of furniture. He trembled, chilled and confused. Fingers poked him roughly even as the arm around his back shifted to take more of his weight.

"Potter, what are you doing? Now is not the time to go barmy." Draco's voice sounded like it was shouting down a tunnel from far away, yet Harry could feel the damp heat of Draco's breath ruffling the hair behind Harry's ear as Draco spoke. It tickled. He should throw an elbow at Draco, but couldn't find the strength or, honestly, the will.

(Draco was here with him!)

Harry tried to focus on the sound and feel of his friend, but Tom Riddle's voice and the Basilisk's shrieking hurt his head, bouncing echoes off the stone and over the water, drowning Draco out. Drowning Harry. It was hard to breathe and hard to think.

Draco should be careful. Harry didn't want him to get hurt too. Protecting Draco was important. He gripped Draco's arm and pulled him close, swallowing to wet his mouth enough to speak. Panting was drying out his throat. "Draco, get away…while you still can. I'll distract…the Basilisk for you. Run." Harry's eyes fell shut again as he tried to dig up the strength needed to run out and throw himself in front of death again. It felt almost impossible, but he had to do it for Draco—for his friend.

Except Draco wasn't moving.

Why wasn't Draco moving? Stupid Draco. His stupid pureblood pride was going to get him killed.

Well, not on Harry's watch. "Please, run," Harry said, not above begging if it would keep his friend safe.

"What? Don't be stupid. The Basilisk's already dead, you nutter."

Offended and frustrated, Harry felt his expression go tight. It made his head hurt worse.

"I'm certainly not leaving you alone like this." Draco sighed heavily just as Harry inhaled to speak. The surprisingly supportive words when Harry was at his lowest along with the connectedness of a shared breath pushed Harry off-balance. It was strange, weird, and almost too intimate. It felt like too much.

"You don't need to save me, Potter," Draco grumbled irritably as he knocked against Harry, pushing him against the piece of furniture that might be a pillar. Draco adjusted his arms and shifted Harry again until Draco was pressed against his side in a better position to support Harry's weight.

The movement forced Harry's eyes to open. Immediately he was caught by Draco's pale gray eyes mere centimeters away from his own. It was too much, too close. Draco felt like the only thing that was real, his silvery-blond head framed by the Tapestry of Aglaia and the Gorgons, though she paled against the intensity of Draco's sharp and challenging gaze. Harry felt sliced open and peeled of all his layers, as if Draco was digging underneath to expose the parts of himself Harry most wanted to hide and judging him for them.

Harry swallowed but refused to cower. Let him look. Let him see, he thought defiantly. (He thought hopefully.)

And Draco did. His probing look faded, replaced by a complex slideshow of recognition, gratitude, grief, acceptance, and resolution, the emotions flashing across his face almost too fast to track. His mouth opened and then closed without speaking. He looked away. Finally he said quietly, "You already did."

Harry blinked and tried to stay focused on Draco. He felt confused.

Draco's eyes darted to him and away, focusing on the wingback chair (not a pillar!) they huddled behind. After a moment he clarified, "You already saved me." His cheeks went pink to the tips of his ears, "Saved everyone, I reckon."

"Oh." Harry's answering blush came on so hot and fast it made him dizzy. It was too much. Draco was just—just too much. Harry had to look away, but in looking away he lost sight of Draco and Aglaia and the chair. His eyes slid over Valeria's frowning face and caught on the fire, the flickering flames and smoke making him feel dizzy and overwhelmed again.

Something scraped behind him with quiet menace, the sound making him go small and still and forget what he'd been thinking. His scar throbbed and he couldn't breathe. Everything darkened like he was drowning in a well of black ink. On the edge of his vision stone columns overlayed Slytherin's tall windows and in front of his eyes the roaring fireplace became a bowl of enchanted flame on the shore of an underwater lake. His head was stuck below the surface and he couldn't breathe. There was no Valeria to save him. There was no one. The distorted shape of the Basilisk's head appeared in the dark water up above, mouth gaping and eyes starting to slide open.

Harry swallowed hard, hand clenching on fabric. Expensive and familiar. Draco's sleeve. The fabric always felt thicker and softer than the standard robes Harry wore. Harry took a breath. "It's coming. Get going, Draco," Harry whispered. "Run." He wanted to huddle closer to his friend and clutch even tighter, but he forced himself to let go. He didn't have so many friends that he could afford to lose any—not even one as difficult as Draco could be. Harry had to protect him. He had to.

"Potter, whatever it is you're seeing, snap out of it." Fingers pinched Harry's waist and twisted, making Harry jolt with the sharp pain. "You're freaking me out. Stop going crazy. You're lucky Granger isn't here to see you like this," Draco said sharply.

Wait, Hermione isn't here…?

Wait—what?

Draco pinched him again. It felt like the part in a seafaring story when the wind finally filled the sails after days stuck drifting on becalmed seas. The pain fogging his thoughts became swamped by the throbbing of his poor waist, the burst of irritation and ire at Draco allowing him to focus for a moment on what was actually happening and what had just been said about Hermione.

Hermione being down here was the whole reason Harry had been willing to risk his life going into the Chamber in the first place. Valeria would save Harry and Halle, Harry would save Hermione from the dark tunnel and kill the Basilisk (saving everyone else but poisoning himself), and Hermione would save Valeria from the falling pillar, everyone from Tom's diary, along with Myrtle's and Harry's help, and save Harry from (he was pretty sure) death by venom and—and—

"Being so pale and pasty is a very ugly look on you, especially with Theo's gross red sauce in your hair." Draco's face was hard to keep in focus in the dimly lit Chamber of Secrets, but there was no mistaking his presence, which begged the question—what was Draco doing in the Chamber of Secrets?

"Even purebloods aren't safe from Tom and the—the Basilisk. Go! Run!" Harry said, trying and failing to push Draco away. Why was he such a prideful idiot? Where was his self-preservation? Did they breed it out of purebloods like him?

Draco grimaced and slapped away Harry's hands with insulting ease. "Stop it. You're hallucinating and embarrassing yourself. There is no Basilisk here, especially not in the Slytherin Common Room."

"Draco," Harry growled with aggravation, tempted to stomp his foot. Why wasn't Draco running? And what was he thinking just standing there out in the open? How was that tactical? Valeria was going to yell at Draco and Harry both when this was over and make their training even more vicious until she was satisfied that they'd learned some basic survival instincts. Maybe if he mentioned that…?

"Even if we survive this," Harry hissed, leaning close, "Valeria—not to mention your parents—are going to be so mad at you for…" he blinked and trailed off, shaking his head as confusion knocked him sideways again. He pushed past the throbbing in his scar again to focus. Pain wasn't important.

Think, Harry. Think!

Draco wouldn't—hadn't—gone against his parents to follow Harry of all people. Draco practically worshiped his father, or at least he had, though that devotion had been showing cracks as the danger in the school escalated. That had only gotten worse when his father had vented his temper on Draco after Harry had tricked the man into releasing Dobby. Draco's devastated reaction made Harry think he wasn't used to being physically hurt by his father like that. Draco had pulled away from everyone in response, including both of his parents.

So how was it that Draco was here in the Chamber with Harry and the Basilisk now? Mr. Malfoy hadn't freed Dobby or slapped Draco until after the Basilisk was dead and Tom's diary broken. This didn't make sense. Draco hadn't come down with Harry and Valeria. Draco hadn't been there in the Chamber. Yet Draco was here with Harry.

Harry's head hurt, switching from slicing to grinding. He called on habits forged over years of ignoring pain to keep on going. This was too important. Harry focused on Draco until he could see his face clearly despite his confusion.

Eyes and brow creasing, Draco cleared his throat and gave Harry a deep frown. "You're embarrassing me." He patted Harry's back in a clumsy attempt to soothe that contradicted his mean words. "Find some British fortitude and pull yourself together, man. We can only hide behind this chair for so long. Chin up."

Harry blinked and forced his eyes to stay focused despite their urge to either close or wander. It felt like his brain was trying to move through mud. Hermione isn't here. Draco hadn't been there. Draco was here. Meaning….

"You smell like stale spaghetti," Draco said. "It's rank and gross. I can't believe you let Theo hex you in public. It's shameful. No one's going to respect you if you keep acting like this. Soon you'll be ranked lower than Theo—no—lower than Crabbe and Goyle. We'll make you sleep out in the hall for people to step over on their way to the toilet. You'll be so low-ranked that I'd be ashamed to be seen with you even as a minion. Forget being friends—and you know you want to be my friend—so seriously, snap out of it, Potter. Right now."

Hermione was safe and not here. Harry was here…with Draco…in the Slytherin dungeons. Not in the Chamber of Secrets. Draco was here and holding Harry up while insulting him behind a wingback chair so he didn't fall down and embarrass himself in front of everyone else in the room—the Slytherin Common Room.

"Ple-a-se?" Draco said, voice cracking midword. "Please, Potter." Draco pressed closer, still holding up and supporting Harry.

Harry tried to anchor himself with Draco's voice, ignoring anything that shouldn't be real. He reminded himself again that he was in his Common Room—not the Chamber of Secrets. The painful pull radiating from his scar trying to drag him down into the dark bowels of the castle wasn't real either, so it could shut the hell up.

Draco had narrow features and a face pinched ugly with worry versus his other unattractive expressions like petulance, boredom, and arrogance. Harry would have to make sure to mention that to him later. Who knew what Pansy saw in him that made her so obsessed? Perhaps puberty would be kind and fix his face. That or he'd cheat and somehow use magic to make himself look passable. The supportive press of his body against Harry's back and side felt too warm and slightly sweaty. In contrast to the rough upholstery fabric on the chair they leaned against, the luxurious fabric of Draco's bespoke robes slid softly against Harry's bare wrists, carrying with it the scent of amber, leather, and sandalwood that Draco lied and told everyone was his natural scent and not a ridiculously expensive cologne he imported from a small boutique in France and put on secretly in the shower stall so no one could prove he used something. The scent of the not-so-secret cologne didn't mix well with the lingering aroma of tomato sauce in Harry's hair. The sickening combination wasn't something he'd have ever thought to imagine, helping remind Harry what was real and where and when he actually was.

Harry forced his breathing to go slow and deep, trying to distance himself from what were only traumatic memories. He could do this. He was going to snap out of it, stop freaking out Draco, and be fine. He knew where and when he was now. The Chamber was just a memory. Memories didn't have power unless you surrendered to them. Harry was not the kind of person who surrendered. He wouldn't have survived the Dursleys if he was.

Even Tom Marvolo Riddle had just been a memory, albeit one trapped in a diary with a few magical tricks up his sleeves—or pages as it were. Tom had been powerless until he managed to trick someone gullible and weak-minded into reading his pages and doing his dirty work of releasing the Basilisk, killing the roosters, and kidnapping students. Harry mentally sent a glare and middle finger in Ginny Weasley's direction, not caring at the moment if it was fair or not. She should've chucked that diary into the fire instead of trying to flush it in the girls' toilet. Who even tries to flush a book? You only have to clog a toilet once to know better than that!

Harry would conquer this. He would not be made weak because of a few bad memories. What were a few more in a life already full of trauma? He had his Slytherin training. He had his pride. Acting like this was just embarrassing. Whether he wanted it or not, he was known as The Boy Who Lived. Harry would own that. He'd live through this too and come out even stronger.

"I'm…" Harry's voice trailed off into a cough. He swallowed to wet his throat. "I'm fine." Harry flexed the muscles in his legs, trying to straighten up and stop leaning so heavily on Draco. Draco ignored his attempts, hands tightening at Harry's waist. "Don't pinch me again. I'm fine."

"Sure you are," Draco said with a skeptical look as he adjusted his grip, obviously not about to let go until Harry was strong enough to make him. "Luckily, I don't think anyone but me noticed anything off with you," he said quietly. "At least, not anything new. You're normally a bit cracked, so that can't be helped." He shrugged insultingly.

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes weakly.

Draco gave a pleased little smile at eliciting the reaction. "Look, you need to suck it up and get your head screwed on straight for the battle barrelling hard in our direction. However, for the moment everyone is distracted in the middle of the room arguing and no one's cursed anyone yet, so…," Draco took a deep breath and said with unexpected gentleness, "take a moment more if you need to. I've got your back, Potter." He paused, gave a full-body twitch, and swallowed as if steeling himself before correcting—"Harry. I've got you. From now on you…you can depend on me, even when you're being mental." He raised his chin and looked down his pointed nose at Harry. "Though I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't make a habit out of it."

Meeting Draco's eyes, Harry saw the earnest sincerity buried beneath Draco's natural arsehole-ish tendencies. He felt his spurt of irritation drowned by an even larger swell of fondness. Draco smirked at Harry derisively even as he gently patted his back again like Harry was a colicky baby. This was the reason he'd never been able to quite give up on Draco's friendship. Deep down inside—really deep down—Draco was a good person who really did care about Harry.

Or maybe Harry was just wired wrong. After all, he'd come to love Valeria like a sister even with all of the sadistic things she put him through in the name of training. Being a guy like Draco's friend wasn't such a big stretch after that.

"Okay…sure. And…thanks, Draco." Harry sent Draco a crooked smile and gave himself permission to lean against his friend just a bit. In a minute he'd pull away, put on a confident mask, and go out and join the fight. He'd help Valeria win and ruin Manic.

In a minute.

Thankfully, Draco didn't seem to be in any rush as Harry tipped his head back and just let himself breathe in and out deep and slow. Harry's eyes moved across the walls until they came to rest on his favorite tapestry: Aglaia the Unforgiving Bargains with the Gorgons and Creates the Draught of Living Death. It made him feel more settled seeing it. Medusa and Aglaia looked powerful, confident, and dangerous. Aglaia triumphed over her enemies and got family, fame, fortune, and a happily ever after where she never had to be alone again unless she wanted to. With a little bit of work, Harry could be like that too. Looking at Aglaia's story illustrated on the tapestry banished the lingering cold from his flashback and made him feel warm inside.

Hot Medusa being so hot helped with that too.

Harry felt a half-guilty spurt of amusement. Not saying that he expected it to ever happen, but it wouldn't be a tragedy if Hermione really did grow up to look like Hot Medusa one day. Maybe he'd buy her a Greek dress like Medusa's as a present in a few years, just in case she ever wanted to wear it and have a picture taken so he could frame it and hang it up on his wall.

That wasn't weird, right? Didn't friends do things like that? Blaise snuck fashionable clothes into Harry's wardrobe, after all. Of course, Blaise didn't take pictures of Harry wearing those clothes and then hang them up on his wall, but Harry lived in the same room with him and wasn't anywhere near as cute as Hermione, so that was to be expected.

In fact, when Harry got his house, he was totally putting up pictures of all of his friends on the walls, even the ones who lived with him in the spare rooms. Lots of group shots and individual poses. That would just be homey. He'd even put up a picture of Draco somewhere, even make it pretentious like Draco pretended to be, but hang it in the center of the ceiling in the hallway outside the toilet or something so it could startle visitors when they looked up and they'd all have a laugh.

Though even if Hermione grew up to look nothing like Hot Medusa, he'd still want pictures of her everywhere. In fact, Hermione should have a picture on every wall of the house so he could see her all of the time no matter what else was going on. That was just practical, because otherwise he might miss her while she was away at work or the bookstore or hanging out with stupid Weasleys, and he probably wouldn't be able to help but feel all sad and mopey until she came home, and that wouldn't do because he had a reputation to maintain as a stoic and self-confident Slytherin, after all. So lots of Hermione pictures were necessary and would make him happy.

And maybe a replica of Aglaia's tapestry for his living room because he'd miss her once he graduated. Over the last two years, Aglaia and Hot Medusa had come to mean home to Harry. Maybe a bronze fireplace cover decorated with snakes too, though it would be hard to compete with the Snake Sisters. Maybe they'd like to leave the castle to come and live with him? He'd have to research if that was allowed. Or just steal them and swear any and all visitors to secrecy. Though if he was stealing the Snake Sisters he might as well just steal Aglaia and Hot Medusa's tapestry too.

Hmm…. He'd figure out the logistics later. He had time, not to mention scarily intelligent friends with flexible morals.

Right now, there was a fight brewing in the Slytherin Common room and Harry was smack dab in the middle of it. Manic and Valeria were slinging insults and accusations back and forth up front, keeping everyone distracted from Harry's little episode, but at some point someone would probably remember Harry was still here and hadn't really answered Manic's questions.

Break time was over. Besides, he couldn't let people think they could get away with pushing him around and insulting his friends. He wasn't that ignorant and abused little boy raised by muggles anymore. He was the wizard who went down to get his friends back from a thousand-year-old Basilisk and won.

Harry had this.

"Draco," Pansy cried, unexpectedly pushing her way in next to them, "there you are!" She threw her arms around Draco and, consequently, Harry, hugging them tightly. "And Harry," she added, leaning back to ruffle his hair only to jerk away her hand with a grimace at the tacky texture of dried spaghetti sauce. Blaise, Millie, and Daphne tumbled after her, joining the huddle of friends and completing Valeria's Vipers.

"Why are you hiding behind this big ol' chair?" Blaise said, slapping them on the shoulders in greeting.

"You guys," Millie said fiercely as she leaned close and looked around to meet all of their eyes, "we can't let Manic and his friends ambush Valeria like this. She's all alone and that's not right." Her hair bounced around her face with the force of her emotion.

"No, it's not," Pansy said, releasing Draco and Harry from the hug to look around. "We have to help her by attacking Manic and his friends first." She smacked her fist into her palm.

Draco casually let go of Harry and leaned back. "Hold on, let's think about this for a moment." He wrinkled his nose. "Do we really have to? Really?" He cocked his head to the side, thinned his lips, and hummed doubtfully.

In response, Pansy thwacked his chest with her fist. Draco flinched back and gingerly pressed a hand to his chest while mouthing, Ouch.

"He's got a point," Daphne said, hands twisting together fitfully as she looked out over at the crowd, head bobbing as she silently counted Manic's allies. "There's a lot of them and only a few of us and we're just second-years."

"Hey!" Pansy scowled and lifted a finger to poke Daphne. Shifting quickly, Daphne was careful to stay out of her reach.

Blaise looked at Harry and cocked an eyebrow in question. Harry lifted his chin in response. Obviously he was with Pansy and Mille on this. They had to help Valeria. Harry was going with or without their support. However, he'd really appreciate their support. Harry raised his eyebrows at Blaise hopefully.

Blaise gave a wry smile, looked to the sky, and released a long sigh. Rolling his head, he cracked his neck. Then he squared his shoulders and spoke. "Alright, as much as I hate to admit it, we do owe Valeria our support and respect." Daphne drooped. "Besides which, our little Viper School isn't as secret as it could be, and though it may sound mercenary, if she gets thrashed and our association with her comes out later, it could damage our reputations too."

Blaise paused a moment to let that sink in before adding, "Not only is helping her out now the kind and honorable thing to do," Draco screwed up his face like he smelled something bad, "but it would also make her owe us one," Blaise met Draco's eyes and tilted his head, "and you know she'd absolutely hate that." Draco's face brightened in response.

"So we're helping her," Pansy said, sending Daphne and Draco hard looks.

"Oh, fine," Draco said petulantly. "But we can't be stupid about it or we'll get tossed about like garden gnomes. We need a good strategy." He paused for a moment before turning deliberately to look at Harry with challenge (and badly hidden faith) in his eyes. "So, Harry, what's the plan?"

The rest of them looked to him for answers too. It felt good. Heavy, but good. His head ached and he felt wrung out like a wet sock from getting stuck in bad memories, but having the support and trust of his friends was more important than all of that. He'd felt worse than this before and still managed to work. He could this time too. At least he didn't have to deal with Voldemort or the Dursleys today.

Under the weight of his friends' expectant looks, Harry took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders back, and rose to the challenge. He couldn't afford to lose, so he'd just pretend that he couldn't until and unless reality rose up to smack him in the face, and if it did, he'd roll with the punches. "Right. Well, we've practiced brawling and ambushes in Viper School, like in Myrtle's bathroom, but no one else knows that. They'll underestimate us. We should begin with subtle jinxes directed at their backs while they're distracted by Valeria so they don't know where the attacks are coming from. Then, just like we practiced, we need to stick together as a team, find cover behind the furniture and other students when spells start flying, and remember that everyone else is an enemy or obstacle to be neutralized unless they prove themselves an ally and—even then—we let them attack from the front and take the heaviest fire instead of trusting them at our backs."

He waited for everyone to nod, feeling better as he met each of their eyes and saw determination and competence reflected back at him. They could do this. "I want Daphne and Blaise focusing on defense, Millie and Draco on offense, and Pansy and I switching back and forth as needed like midfielders. We can start with the spells we practiced together with Valeria and see how they react to those before getting more creative. If we start to get separated, make sure you stick to your primary partner."

"Right," Blaise nodded, tugging his robes straight as everyone pulled out their wands.

Draco peeled off the hand Pansy was trying to slip around him and quickly moved to the other side of Millie. "Okay, if we're doing this we should start making our way to the front using the furniture for cover," he said.

"Let's focus on taking out the biggest threats amongst Manic's allies first," Daphne said, taking a quick breath before casting a spell to secure her hair back out of her face.

"Yeah and don't forget to use physical attacks to throw off their ability to cast," Millie nodded, following her example.

Pansy tucked her braid down the back of her shirt. "Right, it doesn't matter if they're older and know more spells if you've removed their ability to cast by shoving their tie in their mouth and winding their robes over their eyes."

"Or by knocking them to the ground and stomping on their wand hand," Millie added.

"Or by putting them in a headlock," Harry said with a half-nod in Millie's direction.

"Or a headlock." Millie grinned back at him toothily.

Harry smiled and looked each of them in the eye. They were his people. The rest of Slytherin didn't know what was about to hit them. "C'mon, Vipers, time to show them our bite."

[To be continued]


AN: Thank you for reading! What did you think of Halle and Flint? Did Harry's PTSD feel realistic? Hopefully? Was my Draco okay? Sometimes I want to slap him and other times squish his cheeks. What did you like? Please leave me a review to keep me going. I need it! I cherish every single review, even when I don't manage to respond. Thank you very much!

Also, as a random PSA: remember to wear sunscreen when swimming outside! I went to the beach in Florida on vacation with my kids and we only applied once and very sloppily. I'm very pale and got burned horribly. We were red, blistered, and peeling for over two weeks! Though the warm waves were lovely to play in. At Universal Studios Orlando the Harry Potter rides and streets were awesome! I particularly loved Hogwarts and the Forbidden Journey ride. I wasn't able to do the Hagrid ride, but maybe another time. Riding the Hogwarts Express in both directions was a good choice, as it had fun differences. Finding the entrance to Diagon Alley was tricky too, which felt very fitting. I was sad the dragon on Gringotts didn't spout flame while we were there, but it was still awesome to see. I was worried about standing in long hot lines and the crazy rides affecting blood sugars considering my son is a Type 1 Diabetic (we're now just over 1 year post diagnosis). Luckily we did fine, though we were able to get a special pass and took off the pump before rides just in case. The one bad moment was that he accidentally stabbed his finger with the needle from his pump when he was rushing to put it back on and the only bandaid we had was a breathe right nasal strip from his abuela's purse, which didn't work great, but does make me laugh in retrospect. He was a real trooper about it. Overall it was fun and we definitely want to go back someday. I hope you all get to visit at some point too!