AN: Hellooo, hope everyone had a good weekened. I Had a nice week - Can't complain. I'd like to thank to Foxtrot1702, i'm glad to you liked the last chapter! Naruhina1519, I'm sorry you've been ill, I hope you feel you better. Thank you everyone else, for reading. Follow/Fav/Review
Working on the swelling solution, Mortimer once again found himself working alone. He didn't mind of course and Professor Snape never really enforced the rule on him. In a small sense, the professor seemed to trust his abilities enough to allow him to work without a partner.
If he didn't know any better, Mortimer might start suspecting that the good professor was starting to not overly hate him. At least not like Potter, the man cursed the name. Hating the very sight of the-boy-who-lived infuriated him, you could see the viens forming on his head.
A collection of ingrediants, he adds one bat spleen into his cauldron. Mortimer glanced to his blonde cousin throwing puffer-fish eyes by his desk. Taunting Potter and Weasley, they glared in response. They couldn't very well retaliate due Snape's hateful nature towards the gryffidor's, they were left to endure Draco's infantile behavior.
Professor Snape appeared to be pacing through classroom, checking every student's cauldron, making snide remarks and pointing out their mistakes, which mostly meant him insulting and demining the student.
Aware that his potion would be the last to be checked, he lowers the heat on his cauldron. Near to completion, it was slowly turning into it's proper yellow-ish color. He ruffles his hair as he begins to collect his supplies.
Passing Potter's work, Mortimer could hear Neville squeaking ton as Professor Snape began to talk down on his failing potion.
It was nothing out of the ordinary – It was routine at this point that he didn't think it was worth paying any attention to.
Stirring the pot a few times, he was happy to see it come together. Mortimer jumped when he hears a loud explosion. A smile turned into a frown, his desk virbarates, almost knocked down the cauldron thus nearly ruining the potion.
Following, a small shower of swelling solution had the whole class yelling and shrieking. Covering himself, he avoides getting wet, though, he was more worried for his potion that he uses his arms as a shield.
Studying the class, it was Goyle's potion that caused panic to spread. Draco, being close to him, was gravely effected. The potion causing his nose to grow twice its size, Goyle's hand began to swell. Children were shrilling over the fact that some had been hit.
"Quiet!" Professor Snape shouts. "I said silence!" He roared, his eyes flashing dangerously.
"Black!" Snape shouted. "Assist me with the antidote before I start removing points." Clearly not amused, he stomps to his desk.
Mortimer, scared to death, approaches him and starts dividing the solution. Handing out vials to every student that came lining up. Draco, being one of them, he couldn't help but chuckle.
His voice sounded nasally. "Shut up!" Draco snarled, snatching it from his hands, he was not impressed by his humor.
Laughing weakly, he hands a vial to Dean Thomas, whilst shaming Draco. "Serves you right for choosing Goyle as a partner. You're better of with Longbottom at this point."
Draco drank the liquid in one drop, "I rather go through that again then sit with a squib." He grumpily said as he walked back.
By the time the class had died down from the excitement, Professor Snape had found a used firework, the source of the mayhem. The children, including Mortimer, felt nervous when he vowed expulsion for anyone responsible.
As he threatened everyone, his eyes remained glued to Potter, knowing he was somehow involved, but has yet to prove it.
Mortimer was inclined to agree.
"Mortimer! Guess what!" Draco ran, his voice echoing when he shouts from the downside of the hill.
The two were currently outside, near the forest grounds. It was cold and rather crisp. Setting aside the hard weather, Mortimer was doing his best to meditate, while wanting to get away from everyone else. Talks about the chamber and Colin Creevey being attacked had every known student in a frenzy.
It was all he could think about, let alone the voice, it's been quiet for sometime. His pet snake Tobey seem to believe it was out there, waiting to hurt someone else. The danger remaining while he sits here and pretend that everything was fine had him on edge. Unsure whether to believe the rumors of the chamber being indeed opened, he still couldn't help but feel remotely guilty.
"What?" He yells back.
Using his hands to amplify his voice. "Come down from there so I can tell you."
Treading down the hill, Mortimer was careful not to miss a step. Afraid to fall and roll faceward, he took baby steps until he made it all the way to Draco.
"What's going on?" He asks, wiping his nose.
"I read, they're having a dueling club! They're starting a dueling club, tonight! – We should go." His eyes filled with excitement.
"Mmm –" Thinking about it more, learning spells to defend and attack, it sounded appeasing. "Alright."
Now that it was settled, Draco wondered. "What were you doing here alone?"
Letting the wind brush his hair, he speaks. "Meditating. Professor Snape said I have to keep up with meditations for our lessons."
"How's that working?"
"Well enough – I suppose."
"And the nightmares?" Draco asked somewhat hesistant.
There was a short pause. "It's a working progress. . . But it's helping." Watching Draco, he didn't reply but gave a small nod.
Expecting him to probe further, Mortimer was surprised when he didn't. Rather, set about to move his legs in the opposite direction, heading back to the school grounds.
Accompanying Draco, Mortimer follows him back inside the castle. Walking pass the crowd of gathered children, they too must have heard the news of tonight's exciting event.
Fortunately for them, the rest of the day had gone astonishingly fast. And before they knew it, every student had rushed straight to the Great Hall.
Gone with the dining tables and in with a golden stage. The many candle lights that lit the ceiling, conveyed the enthusiasm of every student.
Standing alongside Theo and Draco, other of his slytherin peers had shown up.
Energetic, Mortimer wondered who'd be teaching them. He hoped Professor Flitwick would be the one to learn from, finding out he was dueling champion, he was the easy choice.
"Oh – No!" Whined Draco, pointing at non other than Gilderoy Lockhart. "Why on earth did they think he'd be a good fit."
Hiding his face beneath his hand, Mortimer let out a harsh breath. Why indeed. . . Although, seeing Professor Snape standing on the side of the stage made him rethink. Maybe it won't be so bad, if Gilderoy taunts him enough, hopefully Snape will give him a what-for, probably get a good laugh out of it.
Trying to get the crowd of talkative children to quiet, Lockhart speak out loud. " – Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club –"
"Five sickles, Lockhart goes down." Theo whispers.
"Deal." Mortimer says in agreement.
High and mighty, Lockhart teased. "Now I don't want any of you youngsters to worry – you'll have your potion's master when I'm through with him."
Facing each other, both Snape and Lockhart bowed. At least, Lockhart did, flashing his pearly-white teeth, waving his arm in glamor. Observing Snape, he merely flicked his head in annoyance.
Counting to three, the professors waved their hands above their head, ready to aim. Once Lockhart finished counting, Snape quickly attacked. "Expelliarmus!"
It was here that every student watches as Gilderoy was forced back out of the stage, only stopping when his body hit the wall.
Draco laughs, at the same time, Mortimer digs in his pocket, paying Theo. With a look of satisfaction, Theo folds his arms, smirking when Lockhart stumbles from his feet.
Recovering from Snape's fierce attack, the pompous defense teacher brushes off the dust, fixing his wavy golden locks, he makes his way back onto the center stage.
"Alright children! As you can see, that was Disarming Charm. An excellent idea indeed – Let us applaud Professor Snape for that wonderful demonstration. Of course, it was an obvious move, I could have stopped – mind you – BUT I thought it imperative to show you children firsthand – I mean, how else will you learn?" He laughs, then stops realizing not everyone found it humorous. "Right. . . Now, I will be putting you children into pairs. Uh – Professor Snape? A little assistance…"
Moving around, Lockhart began partnering up students one by one. Professor Snape might of seen this as an opportunity to cause misery, including those from his very own house.
"Black." Snape, grabbing his shoulder, Mortimer looks up; a little nervous. "Longbottom." He calls out.
A wide eyed Neville stands in the crowd, his voice was strained and squeaky. "Wh-What!?"
Practically shaking in endless fear, Neville couldn't seem to find his legs that Finnagan had to literally push him to them.
"You're doing this on purpose." Faintly, he tells Snape. The fact that he was smiling told him he was doing this intentionally.
Sneering in sarcasm, the professor continues to stare down at the boy. "Brilliant, bright, Black, you've figured it all out – Now, go."
Neville, having been carried, stands before the two snakes in resurfacing fright.
Having let go of his shoulder, Mortimer paces towards Longbottom. His forehead furrowed when Snape left to split up the trio. With Weasley pairing him with Finnigan, Granger was left with Bulstrode. Unsurprisingly, Potter was joined with Draco.
"Wands ready?" Lockhart shouted from a distance. "When I count to three, you will disarm your opponents – disarm only – We wouldn't want any accidents now, do we? Right anyways – On my count..."
Mortimer didn't speak, only bowing his head when positioning in a stance. Neville's hands trembled as he brings out his wand, eyeing him nervously for a minute before lowering his gaze to the floor.
"One… Two... Three – "
"Rictusemora!" Hearing to his right, Mortimer abruptly turns his head to find Potter pointing his wand at Draco.
Here, he watches as Draco was hit straight in the gut. Falling to his knees, Mortimer tries getting to Malfoy, only to find himself suddenly hitting the floor.
"Locomotor Mortis!" Neville yelled the leg-locker curse.
Growling in anger, Mortimer's eyes flashed grimly, close to threatening. "I don't need a wand to beat you." He gritted just as he muttered the counter-curse.
In pure horror, Neville was to slow to react when Mortimer had tossed his wand to the side and charges him, throwing him down on to the floor.
They could hear Lockhart trying to stop the commotion of various students, failing successfully so that Snape took it upon himself to bring order.
The potion master manage to stop both Potter and Malfoy from killing each other. "Black! Let go Longbottom's leg! He'll need them to walk himself to the hospital wing."
Mortimer had locked Neville's leg as he laid on the floor, twisting around each other for a few minutes.
Finally letting go, they didn't speak, or dared to look at one another, simply went off as nothing had happened. A simple fact because, they weren't sure how to feel. Should Neville hate him? Should Mortimer want to murder him? Why? Because his mother ruined their lives? Because now, Neville's parents will live the rest of their days in a psych ward? It was confusing and frankly, sad. He felt terrible for him, but could Neville say the same? Probably not.
It was best to leave it and not dwell on it so much.
"Um – Can somebody please get Miss Bulstrode to let go of Miss Granger?" Lockhart said weakly.
The big girl known as Millicent, had Hermione in a head lock that required more than just Potter to get her off. Forgetting Longbottom, Mortimer walks pass the crowd and draws near Bulstrode.
"Milli let go of Granger, will you?" He requests. Millicent pauses for a few seconds, reluctantly she let's go; she grumbles under her breath.
Rubbing her neck, Hermione mutters. "Thanks. . ."
"How about instead I teach you how to block friendly spells?" Lockhart suggested, somewhat nervous now that things had gone a little rocky. "Any volunteers? Oh! How about Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley?"
"I wouldn't recommend it Professor Lockhart…" Once again Snape belittles Neville, turning pink with shame. "How about. . ." He pretends to think about it, smiling a second later. "How about Malfoy and Potter."
"Wonderful!" Gilderoy exclaims, pushing both boys towards the center of the stage.
Watching from the sides, Mortimer had a terrible feeling that was crawling in his stomach. It didn't sit right. Theo felt his concern, approaching him Theo had a worried expression, knowing how reckless Draco can be when it came to Potter. A silent share in look, Theo's mouth was set in a hard line. Meanwhile, Mortimer had cracked his neck in nervousness. He didn't want Draco to get hurt, nor did he want him to hurt anyone.
It didn't help that Snape was bending down and whispering something to Draco. If anything, it made him feel even more anxious than previously stated. What on earth were they up to?
"Three… Two… One – "
Mortimer wants to be wrong in this one.
"Serpensorita!" The spell coming out of Malfoy's wand, a long, dark, terrifying snake appears. It slams hard on the stage floor.
The crowd lets out a gasp. Eyeing it's surroundings, it raises itself, more than ready to attack.
Professor Snape, clearly enjoying Potter's shocking expression, takes his wand out. "Don't move Potter, I'll get rid of it –"
What goes through the defense Professor's mind is anyone's guess. Perhaps Lockhart was so full of himself he actaully believed in his own lies. In a moment of sheer stupidity, Lockhart attempts to 'help' the situation, but Mortimer observes him making it ten times worse. Foolishly blasting the Snake up into the air, it smacks harshly on the floor.
Angering it even more it quickly moves to its closest target, Justin Finch-Fletchley.
The boy stands there, alarmed, all while everyone watches in shock.
As if time moved slowed, part of Mortimer was telling him to do something. Having the power to do so, he could honestly tell, command it to stop. At what cost? Should he intervene, his secret will be out, everyone will know that the truth. He'd be condemned, in ruins, Forget being a Black, they'd murder him for being a Slytherin. The cause for all this panic and fear that has spread throughout the entire school. For what happened to Mrs. Norris, to Creevey.
The Black name will no longer mean anything, for Slytherin would overshadow any title he might ever inherit.
This overwhelming confusion, there wasn't enough time to think. If he wanted to save Finch-Fletchley from painful death, he had to act fast. Despite instincts screaming at the top of their lungs to stop, Mortimer ignores them, slowly drifting to the horrid scene.
His mouth opening to speak were cut soon with the clear voice of Potter's very own words. "Leave him alone!"
At that precise point, Mortimer froze. Do his hears deceive him? Did Potter just speak in parseltongue? Disbelief and unexpected shock covered his dark orbs. Mortimer swears he could hear his own heart beat, thinking it might come out of his chest. Unable to move – to say anything, he goes regid.
"What do you think you're playing at?" Shouted the ungrateful boy. Justin, in fury, runs away, leaving potter – and the crowd of children – stunned beyond comprehension.
Ron pushes himself out of the gathered audience, hurriedly grabs Harry and swiftly races out of the doors.
Impossible… There was no way Potter could be a parseltongue. His extended reading had told him there wasn't a single member left that could remotely duplicate the language. No way!
Mortimer refused to believe Potter was somehow related to him or Tom. His father… there had to be a connection. It didn't sit well with him, to think how or what may have given Potter the ability to speak such a rare, dead language.
Arguing back and forth with himself. He wanted to go after Potter, shake him into confessing how he was able to do that. Questions upon question kept building up and he was nowhere near answering any of them. It made absolutely no sense at all!
Draco, tugging his shoulder in urgency, he wakes Mortimer out of his brief startling trance. "Come on." He hissed.
Again, Mortimer couldn't say anything in return, staring at door where the trio had escaped to.
Letting Draco take him out of the great hall and right down to the dungeons, they both practically ran there. When they made it to the dorms, the two needed a good minute to catch their breathes.
Mortimer's back against the door, gradually slipping down on the floor. Draco was bending down, his hands rested on his knees, huffing and trying to regain composure.
"A parseltongue. . . Potter's a bloody Pareseltongue!" Draco said in an accusing tone – You'd think Potter had stolen it.
Glaring, Draco looks over at Mortimer. "Did you know?"
Staring at the ceiling, Mortimer was completely lost within his own thoughts. By pure luck, he manages to respond, somewhat numbly. "No. . ."
"You've got to do something!" His face hardened. "Don't tell me you're going to let him get away with it."
Slipping his fingers through his already messy hair, he sat there. "What exactly do you want me to do? It's not like I can suck out the language right out of his tongue – Don't you think I'm just as surprised as you?" Gleaming at the cold floor in frustration, he shakes his head. "I don't understand."
Draco watches the stress seeping through his body, unable to help his cousin. "Do you think he did it?" Referring to the attacks.
"No. He's too much of goodie…" A moment to think, his forehead furrows. "I think. . . It has something to do with my father."
Worried, Draco's pale eyes widened. "How do you know?"
"I've done the blood test – last year. No where in that line ever showed Potter being related to Slytherin, if he is, then it's probably buried deep. It couldn't have been his mother, considering he's a half-blood. It's the only conclusion I could come up with as of now." More thought poured over his head. "Potter supposedly defeated him - Maybe something happened there… Still, I don't know how."
Thumping his forehead with his fist, Mortimer searches for the, sorely needed, answers. Anything that could explain the unforeseeable occurrence with Potter.
"What are you going to do?" Aware of his uncertainty, Draco tries helping him up from the floor. "And what about the chamber?"
Taking his hand, Mortimer rises from his position. "Forget the chamber. I need to know where Potter learned to speak parseltongue. It can't be a coincidence that he happens to know just as the attacks had started. One thing I do know, it's not him."
He was skeptical, thinking maybe Mortimer was in denial. "How do you know?"
The little hunch in his head was starting to think it was true, considering the following silence that lingered between him and Mortimer.
Pacing around in a circle, he sought out a plan. And yet, couldn't find the bridge to it. At this rate, he was no better than Tobey if he kept going this way.
Wait a minute…
Tobey.
Mortimer may not be able to follow them undetected but he was very confident that Tobey could.
Suddenly remembering he had the slipperiest serpent in the school, he halts.
Draco, questioning his train of thought, watches as his cousin approaches his snake companion.
It was bizarre, the way Mortimer spoke to the creature. It was an adjustment. However, there were times where he'd feel a slight shiver going down his spine. The language sounded aggressive, malicious, you'd believe he was telling it to attack on his orders. Still, Mortimer had often insisted that their conversations were mere casual, and at times, argumentative; never serious.
Goosebumps appeared over his arms when Mortimer speaks. Grabbing the glass cage, he observes Black as he commences to shake the little coop. "What are you doing?"
He's ignored, still puzzling over his actions, hearing how he hissed at the snake, sounding angry. Draco could see the aggravation forming in his face as he provokes it – to snap off the entrance snake. It was working once Draco jumps at the loud slithering reptile, sounding close to yelling, it bares its coned sharp teeth.
Until finally, Mortimer lets out a small sigh of relief. Placing Tobey's glass box down, he opens the cage and right comes out the serpent.
It crawls around his arm until it turns its body to slither under Mortimer's neck.
A perfect plan in his eyes. Mortimer's lips tug to form a small smile. "Tobey's going to help."
Draco's nose crinkled, feeling slightly left out. "Doing what exactly?"
"Spying." Mortimer tells him with a tone of fulfilment. "I'll have Tobey follow them and have him report to me."
A small line appears between his eyebrows. The plan sounded preposterous. "You can not be serious…"
Mortimer was more than serious. "But I am. If it were you and me, we'd be caught. No one will ever suspect Tobey. He'll hide and follow them without being seen. Once that's over, he can tell me what he's seen, heard. A perfect job – Besides, he's always rambling, to prove himself. . . So, why not?"
Draco shifts to his bed post. "You're going to trust a snake to track and report on Potter?"
"Of course." Mortimer addresses. "No one would ever expect a snake to wander the grounds, all Tobey has to do is stay hidden. It's better than doing nothing."
"I don't know about this…"
"Well it's good thing I'm here then. I don't fancy getting detention just because I was caught sneaking." Moving over, he goes and grabs his pajamas.
He speaks in a rather anger tone. "They're going to say he's the heir."
Slipping on his night shirt, Mortimer isn't sure why it was bothering him. "Who cares, as long as no one finds out. – Let them think it it's Potter."
"But it's your right as Heir to claim the title."
Jumping on top of his bed, he relaxes and Tobey moves around. "I have better things to worry about than just stupid titles – Never cared for them."
Loud pounding on the door, Theo and Blaise were on the other side trying to get in. "Hey! Some of us would like to sleep!" Shouted Blaise.
With nothing more to say, Mortimer hides underneath his covers. Still bothered, Draco heads to the door, letting both boys to enter.
"Thanks a lot Malfoy." Blaise grumbled, tired bags underneath them.
Theo chuckles and shakes his head. "Everything alright?"
Draco only bops his head. "Yeah." The inside was telling another story that couldn't be bothered with at the moment. It was late, and truthfully, today's event has tired him.
Grabbing his own night clothes, he quickly changes. A look of concern when eyeing Mortimer's sleeping body, he drifts away until the morning rises.
"Now, remember Mr. Black," Professor Sprout instructed. "Swift but gentle, it's important you do not break these Mandrakes – Should Mr. Creevey and Mrs. Norris ever be cured, we'll need them to survive the winter, understand?"
Grabbing a pair of cozy scarves, the professor hands him small pairs of socks.
Assisting the herbology professor once more, the professor did not trust lightly with this task. So it became a surprise when she asked him to help her fit winter wear on the mandrakes.
Tobey was roaming the greenhouse, waiting for his master's orders.
Putting on earmuffs, he grabs the mandrake by its head. Feeling the vibrations of its screeching calls, Mortimer places the socks where he assumed was its feet, if it had any… Regardless, he repeats it on a few others, as Professor Sprout does the same.
"That should be the last – " Setting the bundled mandrake down, she wipes her brow. "Alright dearie, you're free at last – Now let me think. . . ten points to slytherin."
Taking off his gloves, "Thanks Professor Sprout." he hands her the earmuffs.
It was short but still effective when he walks out of the greenhouse. With Tobey nearby, Mortimer decides to go find Potter. Hoping he wasn't in the gryffindor common room, he leaves and scouts the first-floor corridor.
Checking the entrance hall, Harry was no where to be seen.
Though, it wasn't until he came to the library that he had to stop in his tracks.
Spotting Harry, he was standing behind a set of bookshelves, doing his best to hear. Mortimer follows his eye view. Since Harry has yet to notice him, he draws near.
A group of hufflepuffs were studying in the back of the library. Being quiet, they whispered among themselves that Mortimer got closer just to get a glimpse of the gossip.
A boy by the name Ernie began speaking about Potter being a parseltongue. A language that only dark wizards held, or so he says.
Hannah Abbott was somewhere in the middle, reluctant to agree. "He destroyed you-know-who, surely, he can't be all that bad..."
" – probably why you-know-who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn't want another dark lord competing with him – "
Clenching his hands together, he disliked the mention of the dark lord, for it was him who had caused this mess, somehow. It might not have been Mortimer that they were talking about and yet, he knew how it felt. To be talked about in a way the that portrays you as a villain, a bad person who deserves what ever he gets.
It seems however, Potter felt the same way. Deciding to come out of hiding, Harry confronts Ernie and the hufflepuffs.
It didn't take long for them to show their disdain and anxiousness towards him. You could see the frustration in Harry's features the more he tries to convince them.
It's something Mortimer has pathetically done in the pass, to seek the approval from those who will never understand, or simply don't want to.
"Tobey, as soon as Potter leaves the library – Start trailing him." He whispers inside his sleeve before kneeling down to the ground.
"Yes, Master." Tobey hisses in determination, leaving the comfort of his bare arm, he slithers outside and rests on the side of the bookshelves; he waits.
Watching Potter debate Ernie was rather entertaining. For once, Mortimer was not the target. He wasn't being called names, or being glared at. It was Potter they were after. It felt nice. Although, it didn't stop the guilt that was building inside him.
Slytherin's so-called heir was only standing a few feet away. Observing as Potter takes the blame for his burdens, the burdens of being related to a pureblood fanatic.
"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with." Ernie said suddenly.
Now that was a surpise.
Mortimer wasn't aware of his home life. Not that he wanted to know. Nonetheless, he found it curious. What kind of life did the boy-who-lived have exactly. Was it luxurious like Malfoy? Or was he suffering from poverty like the Weasley's?
"You'd hate them too if you were to live with them – I'd like to see you try it." Harry retorts in a harsh tone, leaving the library, he storms off.
Looking around the library, Mortimer steps away, to avoid being seen. He goes to another bookshelf, hiding his face beneath a random book.
Outraged and hurt, Harry swiftly leaves the library, heading to the corridor.
Smirking when catching sight of Tobey following him. What was left for him to do now was to wait. Maybe then, he'd get an explanation. For now, Mortimer had to get away, he couldn't afford to be seen, least he wished to be caught and questioned for snooping around.