Chapter 13 - Revelations
The familiar, comforting sight of the Room of Requirement's ancient door materialised in the stone wall of the seventh floor corridor, offering Daphne a small respite from her turbulent emotions. As she neared the door, she could feel the cold stone of the castle beneath her feet through her thin school shoes. Her heart thudded rhythmically in her chest, echoing her nervousness, while Jingles' comforting weight in her arms provided a welcome distraction.
Pushing open the door, a cacophony of familiar scents wafted towards her; the musty aroma of old parchment, the faint scent of lingering magic, the subtle hints of her friends' individual fragrances all blended together, instantly soothing her frayed nerves. The Room of Requirement was bathed in the soft glow of numerous candle flames, their flickering light casting long, wavering shadows on the tall bookshelves.
Harry, Hermione, and Tracey were seated together in a cosy arrangement of plush chairs, their faces brightening at her entrance. Their eyes, alight with curiosity and concern, scanned her form, as if attempting to decipher her meeting with Dumbledore without uttering a word.
"Well?" Harry's voice sliced through the comfortable silence. His green eyes, normally vibrant with warmth, held an intense stare. His lips were pressed together, and his fingers twined together in his lap, betraying his anxiety. "How did it go, Daphne?"
Sighing heavily, Daphne sank into a nearby armchair, its velvety softness offering a cushion to her rattled senses. Jingles sprung from her arms to curl by her feet, a black and blue furred sentinel. "I messed up," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. Heat bloomed across her cheeks as she met their startled gazes. "I revealed too much about Jingles."
Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a gasp escaping her lips before she pressed them together in a firm line. She leaned forward, hands tightly clasped in her lap. "What exactly did you reveal?" Hermione asked, her voice barely audible. Her brow was creased in worry, her fingers knotting together in silent anxiety.
Closing her eyes momentarily, Daphne drew in a slow, calming breath. Her hands idly sought the comforting warmth of Jingles, her fingers absently stroking through his soft fur. Her eyes flicked from Hermione's worried brown ones, to Harry's apprehensive green ones, and then to Tracey's wide brown eyes. "I let slip about Jingles' eye colour... and the lock that had been placed on him," Daphne admitted, her words hanging in the air, heavy with implications.
A stunned silence fell over the room, a palpable sense of worry weaving its way amongst them. The soft crackle of the burning candles and the distant echo of the castle were the only sounds that accompanied their shared concern. But then, Daphne added, "But... there was something else. Hagrid retrieved both Harry and Jingles from Godric's Hollow that night in 1981."
The newly revealed information settled heavily within the room. Their faces, previously filled with shock and concern, transitioned into expressions of deep thought, each one contemplating the now confirmed connection between Harry and Jingles. The comfort they drew from each other was palpable, a beacon of camaraderie amongst the confusion.
Her voice cut through their shared contemplation, "And, well... Dumbledore looked genuinely surprised about the information I revealed about Jingles. It was like he really didn't know." Her blue eyes searched their faces earnestly, almost pleading for them to believe her. "I think... I think his surprise was genuine."
As the weight of Daphne's confession hung in the air, Hermione was the first to break the silence. She shook her head slightly, causing her frizzy hair to catch the flickering candlelight. Her eyes, the colour of aged parchment, softened in understanding. "Daphne," she began, her voice measured and soothing, "you shouldn't stress too much about what you've told Dumbledore. If anything, it's a victory that we now know he wasn't involved with the lock on Jingles."
Daphne turned to Hermione, her blue eyes shimmering with a glimmer of relief, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly. The faint scent of Hermione's calming rosemary and cedarwood perfume wafted over, offering a comforting familiarity.
Just as the heaviness was beginning to lighten, Tracey broke in, her voice full of vim and verve, bringing a welcomed change of topic. The usual spark in her brown eyes was ignited as she said, "We need to do something about Malfoy and his pureblood supremacist nonsense. It's about time he learnt a lesson."
Tracey's hand waved dramatically as she spoke, her eyes alight with mischief. Her suggestion hung in the air, causing the room to fall silent again as the suggestion sunk in. A silent moment passed before a smirk crept onto Daphne's face, her eyebrows arching in intrigue.
"You know what, Trace? That sounds like a brilliant idea. Pranking Malfoy would serve him right," Daphne agreed, her tone enthusiastic. "The only issue is... we have absolutely no experience in that field." She tilted her head slightly, a smirk playing on her lips. "Perhaps we could ask the Weasley twins for help?"
The air in the room seemed to hum with a newfound sense of anticipation, a palpable thrill sparking across the gathered group. Harry couldn't help but respond with a quiet chuckle, the idea tickling a streak of mischief that had grown in him over the years. His green eyes sparkled with amusement, his black hair ruffling slightly as he nodded in agreement.
"All right," he affirmed, his grin wide and slightly devilish. His fingers drummed thoughtfully on the tabletop as he considered the logistics. "I'll see if I can arrange a chat with Fred and George. This... could be interesting." The prospect of what might ensue, the playful scheming with the notorious Weasley twins, brought a fresh wave of laughter to his eyes.
The rest of the day was spent in a blend of focused studying and playful banter, the tension from Daphne's meeting with Dumbledore momentarily forgotten. Laughter filled the room, bouncing off the stone walls, and creating an echo of camaraderie. The gloomy cloud that had hovered over them was replaced by a sense of unity and excitement for the mischief that lay ahead.
~~~o~~~
The first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, descended upon the school like a magical thunderstorm, electrifying the air with fervour and competition. The roars of the crowd echoed across the expansive field, as students of all houses huddled in the stands, their scarves fluttering wildly in the brisk wind.
The game kicked off with a blaze of emerald and scarlet, the Slytherins seizing the initiative and rushing ahead with an early lead. Their Seeker, Draco Malfoy, hovered above the chaos, his eyes scanning the sky for the elusive Golden Snitch.
In the midst of the high-stakes game, an unusual pattern emerged. A rogue bludger chased Harry persistently, threatening his every move. Harry's expert flying skills were pushed to their limit as he weaved and spiralled in the air, the bludger tailing him with relentless determination. The malicious ball seemed to have a mind of its own, evading the Beaters control, singling out Harry in a deadly pursuit.
The chase escalated, the rogue bludger's targeting of Harry not letting up. Its unrelenting pursuit finally culminated in a painful crash against his arm, the agonising pain causing his grip on the broomstick to falter momentarily. He gritted his teeth against the pain, his jaw clenched so tightly it was as if it was locked in place. But with an almost supernatural determination, Harry stretched out his healthy arm and lunged forward, his fingers just grazing the elusive Snitch.
A gasp rose from the crowd as Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, fluttering golden ball. The pain shooting through his broken arm was forgotten momentarily as he held the Snitch high. The Slytherins' early lead was no match for the 150 points Gryffindor received for the Snitch, granting them victory in the game.
An abrupt hush fell over the pitch as the jubilant cries of the spectators froze mid-cheer. The bludger, a rogue agent of chaos even after the whistle's echo had faded, was still honing in on Harry with an unyielding ferocity. Fear edged into the faces of the crowd, their eyes wide and hearts pounding in a shared anticipation of imminent danger.
From the corner of her sharp gaze, Madam Hooch spotted the impending peril. Her eyebrows furrowed, and a determined spark ignited in her eyes. With a firm clenching of her jaw, she thrust herself into action. Her sturdy broom, responding to her experienced guidance, sliced through the air as she swooped down into the bludger's path, her cloak whipping around her like a flag in a storm.
The spectators gasped, their collective breath catching in their throats as Madam Hooch raised her wand, the polished wood gleaming under the sun. Her voice was resolute and commanding as she cried, "Finite Incantatem!" Her words cut through the tension-filled silence of the pitch, resonating with a stern authority.
The incantation hit the bludger with an undeniable force. Its mad whirring ceased in an instant, as if an invisible hand had seized it mid-flight. The iron sphere, now harmless, plummeted towards the ground, landing with a dull thud that echoed across the pitch.
Relief washed over Madam Hooch's features as she lowered her wand, her protective stance relaxing. She cast a stern look at the now subdued bludger, her stern eyes still flickering with remnants of the adrenaline surge. Her intervention, executed with the utmost proficiency, had saved Harry from a potentially harmful encounter.
The drama of the match, however, didn't end there. Professor Lockhart approached Harry, flashing his signature smile. He proclaimed he would mend Harry's arm with a flourish of his wand. His spell, however, backfired disastrously, causing Harry's bones to vanish instead of mending. Harry's limp arm hung by his side, earning him gasps of shock and sympathy from the crowd.
With Harry's arm hanging limply at his side and a pallor stealing over his face, Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team provided a supportive barrier as they navigated the corridors to the Hospital Wing. Jingles, a watchful sentinel with icy blue eyes glinting in the torchlight, padded along at Harry's side. He seemed almost vigilant, his tail waving high in a display of protective assertion.
As they entered the sterile, whitewashed confines of the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey bustled over, a tight frown on her face. "Mr. Potter," she began, her stern gaze softening slightly as she appraised the situation. "Regrowing bones is a long and painful process." Her tone was one of foreboding, her words hanging heavily in the air.
"I'm afraid it won't be pleasant," she added, her hands instinctively reaching for her medical supplies. With a curt nod towards Hermione and the others, she said, "Now, I need to get to work. Mr. Potter needs some peace and quiet. Off you go." Her voice brooked no argument, her authoritative gestures ushering them towards the door.
With Jingles nestled against her chest, Hermione exited the ward. The jubilant chatter of the Gryffindor Quidditch team filled the corridor, their exuberance undimmed despite Harry's injury. Fred and George's infectious grins were particularly prominent, their triumph evident in the twinkling of their eyes and the spring in their steps.
Just as the Gryffindor Quidditch team began to move towards the exit, the distinctive figures of Ginny, Luna, and Astoria emerged around a nearby corner, their footsteps drawing closer to the throng of people.
"Ginny!" Fred called out, spotting his younger sister. "Did you see that last save? Practically sealed our victory!"
George chimed in, beaming, "And that Bludger hit, straight to the Slytherin Beater! Classic!"
Ginny giggled, her cheeks flushed with pride as she hugged her brothers. "You were brilliant!" she declared, her eyes twinkling in delight. Luna, ever the serene observer, smiled at the heart warming interaction, her grey eyes reflecting the lively scene before her. Astoria watched, her demeanour aloof and detached, until her gaze landed on Jingles, held securely in Hermione's arms.
Astoria's eyes narrowed, and she approached Hermione, her voice crisp and laced with suspicion. "Why is Jingles with you?" she demanded, her blue eyes flickering between Hermione and the feline.
Hermione was taken aback, her grip on Jingles tightening slightly. The question hung in the air, a lingering tension that contrasted sharply with the preceding jubilation. The black cat looked between the two girls, his feline senses picking up on the change in atmosphere.
With her brows furrowed slightly, Hermione responded to Astoria's query. "Jingles tends to follow those he's fond of," she explained calmly. "He wanted to be there for Harry, but since we had to leave the Hospital Wing, I offered to carry him." As if corroborating Hermione's words, Jingles curled deeper into Hermione's hold, his purrs vibrating subtly against her chest in contentment.
The sight seemed to fuel the fascination Ginny and Luna had for the magical feline. "Can I...?" Ginny tentatively reached out a hand towards Jingles, who responded by turning his head to nudge it in consent. The warm smile that stretched across Ginny's face was genuine and soft. Luna, who had been observing this exchange, chimed in her dreamy voice, "Astoria has told us so much about you, Jingles. But you're even more beautiful up close."
Astoria, who had remained quiet, allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of her lips. She reached out her hand, carefully stroking the smooth fur of Jingles' back. Her touch was gentle, her gaze warm, as she let her hand glide over the serene creature nestled within Hermione's hold.
~~~o~~~
Harry was snuggled into the starched white sheets when his eyes snapped open, drawn from a deep sleep by a voice as cold and hollow as death. It was the same voice he had heard prior to Mrs. Norris' gruesome ordeal; the voice that was his harbinger of doom.
"Come... come to me..." the voice rasped, undulating in the dense darkness.
A chill slithered down Harry's spine as he sat upright, his heart drumming a rapid beat against his chest. He cast his gaze around the darkened infirmary, his breath hitching in his throat. Was he imagining things? Before he could wrestle with his thoughts any further, a small figure materialised at the foot of his bed.
Dobby, the house-elf with an uncanny knack for appearing at the most inopportune times, sat perched on the bed's edge. His green eyes sparkled in the faint moonlight, an ominous glow that lent an eerie quality to the situation. His tiny, gnarled hands clung to the hem of his ragged pillowcase attire, his knobbly knees visible under the frayed hem.
"You should have heeded Dobby, Harry Potter," Dobby's voice was a high-pitched whine, rife with a regret that belied his seemingly innocent appearance. "Dobby warned you, Hogwarts is fraught with peril this year."
Harry's brow furrowed, his sleep-addled brain trying to make sense of Dobby's warning. "What are you talking about, Dobby?" he managed to croak, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet infirmary.
"Dobby's warning... Dobby tried to keep Harry Potter safe," the elf said, his bat-like ears drooping as he continued. "If your friends hadn't intervened, Dobby's plan... you'd be far from here."
Just as Harry's anger began to bubble over, Dobby spoke again, his small voice filled with resignation. "If not for Dobby's actions... Dobby bewitched the Bludger, Harry Potter." He wrung his hands together, a sad gesture that held more impact than his words. "All to stop you from staying at Hogwarts... Dobby had to do it, for your safety."
Realisation dawned on Harry and his blood boiled. The dangerous bludger, the one that nearly cost him his life, was Dobby's doing. "It was you?" Harry snarled, his emerald eyes flashing dangerously. "You sent that bludger? You could've killed me!"
But Dobby didn't flinch. His eyes, huge in his tiny face, reflected a lifetime of sorrow as he responded, "Dobby receives threats of death at home, Harry Potter... Dobby is used to it."
Despite the anger simmering within him, Harry was taken aback. He stared at Dobby, trying to process his words. Dobby continued, his voice trembling, "Harry Potter must go. Go before the history of fifty years past repeats itself!"
Before Harry could even ask what Dobby meant, the patter of footsteps echoed from the corridor, growing louder. Panic filled Dobby's eyes, and with one last desperate look at Harry, he disappeared with a soft, almost inaudible 'plop', leaving behind a confused and frustrated Harry.
Harry's heart raced, a steady rhythm of thumping beats echoing in his chest like a wild war drum, spurred on by the house elf's ominous words. The biting cold of dread coiled around him as a shroud. He had only moments to rearrange himself into a convincing sleep pose when the steady, muted footsteps outside grew louder. He steeled himself, his fingers clutching the crisp hospital bed sheets.
The creaky doors of the Hospital Wing groaned open, allowing a flood of torchlight from the corridor to spill in, casting long, dancing shadows on the room's stone walls. Madam Pomfrey bustled in, her face hardened into an unreadable mask of concern. Her usually cheerful demeanour was replaced by a grave severity that made Harry's gut twist uncomfortably. Close on her heels were Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, both carrying an air of solemnity around them. The sight that followed caused Harry's breath to hitch.
Hovering between the professors, a levitated stretcher bore the rigid form of Colin Creevey, his face drained of colour and his eyes frozen wide in horror. The bustling Gryffindor first-year, who usually could be found chasing Harry for autographs or photo-ops, now looked deathly still, his petrified state eerily mirroring Mrs. Norris's condition from Halloween night.
McGonagall's voice broke the heavy silence, a tremor in her usually unshakeable tone. "Found him in the corridor, Albus. Just like Mrs. Norris… Petrified. We were lucky a student didn't stumble upon him."
Dumbledore's calm facade remained unbroken, but Harry could detect the undercurrent of tension in his voice. "It appears our fears have been confirmed," he took a deep breath. "The chamber of secrets has been opened again."
Madam Pomfrey, her eyes never leaving the paralyzed boy, merely nodded in agreement, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Harry lay there, feigning sleep, while the knot of dread in his stomach tightened. The ethereal voice he had heard – its chilling whispers and hisses echoing in his mind – had once again predated an attack. Its existence was no longer a mere figment of his imagination, but a very real, tangible threat. Each time it sounded, someone was in peril.
As the trio of adults whispered urgently amongst themselves, Harry felt the icy grip of reality squeeze around his heart. Exhaustion from his injuries and the day's events began to seep into his bones, nudging him towards the realm of sleep. But the threat hanging over Hogwarts like a spectre was a hard pill to swallow. Even so, the lulling whispers of sleep proved stronger, drawing him into its soothing embrace, as the disconcerting realisation of his connection to the mysterious voice loomed in his mind.
~~~o~~~
The following day, an announcement rang through the halls of Hogwarts that a duelling club would be established. The newly formed club was a response to the unsettling events of last night that had left Colin Creevey petrified. Murmurs of excitement and apprehension echoed through the castle as students speculated about the upcoming spectacle.
As the clock struck the hour, the Great Hall swelled with an influx of students, their buzzing chatter a testament to the growing anticipation. Front and centre, the incongruous pairing of Professors Lockhart and Snape commanded attention.
Lockhart, ever the picture of flamboyance, was decked out in a set of robes that could have put a peacock to shame, his vibrant smile an equally dazzling accessory. His golden locks glowed under the hall's enchanted ceiling, providing an almost radiant contrast to Snape's grim severity.
A ripple of mixed reactions swept through the crowd at the sight of their duelling instructors. For some, disappointment clouded their faces as they had secretly hoped for another, perhaps more esteemed, wizard to be the chosen instructor. Yet for others, especially a segment of the female population, Lockhart's revelation as the duelling instructor sparked an eruption of barely restrained excitement, their squeals of delight piercing the air. Their enthusiastic responses threatened to shatter the otherwise orderly atmosphere of the Great Hall.
Lockhart began with an enthusiastic introduction, his arm theatrically draped over the shoulder of the visibly unimpressed Snape. They proceeded with a demonstration, where Snape's effortless spell work sent Lockhart sprawling onto the floor. Lockhart, always the performer, quickly brushed himself off, insisting he had slipped.
A hush fell over the room as Lockhart called for a volunteer pair to initiate the first duel. Harry and Hermione exchanged a quick glance, a silent agreement passing between them. Hermione's eyes sparkled with determination, her fingers twitching slightly in readiness.
Just as they were about to step forward, Snape's cool voice cut through the room. "It's unlikely Potter could bring himself to seriously duel his best friend," he sneered, eyes gleaming maliciously. "I suggest Malfoy in Granger's stead."
A silent understanding passed between Hermione and Harry, his green eyes reflecting her silent message. The warning was clear; he had to limit his spells to only those they had learned in class and not reveal anything Jingles had taught them.
The Great Hall was charged with tension as Harry and Malfoy stood at opposite ends, wands at the ready. The chatter among the students had simmered down to a low murmur. A single nod from Lockhart signalled the start of the duel.
Malfoy took the initiative, a cocky smile playing on his lips as he called out, "Expelliarmus!" The red flash from his wand aimed straight for Harry, who nimbly sidestepped it, his black hair ruffled by the wind of the passing spell. He answered back swiftly, his voice steady, "Rictusempra!" A silver light burst from his wand, barrelling towards Malfoy, who barely managed to block it with a shield charm.
The duel escalated, the pair trading spells in rapid succession, both determined to gain the upper hand. Harry's eyes were focused, his brow furrowed in concentration, reflecting the green light from his spells as they burst forth. He kept his movements fluid and swift, ducking and weaving to avoid Malfoy's attacks.
In contrast, Malfoy's face was a mask of smug certainty, which faltered every time Harry successfully parried his spells. His pale skin was flushed with the exertion, beads of perspiration dotting his forehead.
"Stupefy!" Malfoy shouted, his spell slicing through the air. Harry dived to the side, his robes billowing around him as he landed nimbly and retaliated, "Locomotor Wibbly!" Malfoy stumbled, nearly tripping over his own feet as he struggled to regain his balance.
The crowd was engrossed in the spectacle, some cheering for Harry while others, mainly Slytherins, shouted encouragements to Malfoy. The duel had become a seesaw of advantage, neither of the boys willing to back down.
However, when Harry blocked yet another one of Malfoy's spells, the blond wizard's face twisted in frustration. Malfoy gritted his teeth, his grey eyes hardening. "Serpensortia!" he snarled, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.
A large snake shot out from Malfoy's wand, landing with a thud on the duelling platform. Gasps filled the room, drowning out the previously enthusiastic cheering. Daphne, from the side lines, tightened her grip on Jingles, her knuckles white. Her blue eyes were wide with fear, locked onto the snake that now separated Harry from Malfoy.
The following moments unfolded in a tense ballet. Professor Lockhart, adorned in his usual flamboyant robes, strutted forward with an air of superiority. "Allow me," he called out, his voice a booming echo that ricocheted off the stone walls of the Great Hall. With a theatrical flourish, he brandished his wand at the snake. "Alarte Ascendare!"
The spell simply launched the snake into the air. It merely succeeded in inflaming the creature's agitation. The snake hissed, its form seeming to swell with each passing second. The shimmering scales rustled menacingly as it turned its gaze towards Justin Finch-Fletchley, who recoiled, the colour draining from his face as his eyes dilated in pure terror.
Amidst the scene of impending chaos, Harry moved, his motions appearing almost lethargic in contrast to the surrounding flurry of panic. His footfalls were soundless on the cold stone floor as he calmly approached the agitated creature. The whispers and murmurs that had sprung up following Lockhart's misfired spell died in the throats of the gathered students. The hall fell into a stunned silence as Harry began to speak, his voice carrying a softness, a soothing cadence that echoed around the room.
Yet, the words he spoke were not decipherable; they were a series of gentle hisses and low whispers, foreign and eerie, but somehow melodic. Daphne felt a cold shiver trickle down her spine – Harry was communicating with the serpent. He was speaking Parseltongue.
Jingles, cradled protectively in Daphne's arms, stiffened at the sound, his blue eyes darting with an alert curiosity between Harry and the snake. His voice, soft yet vivid, echoed in Daphne's mind, a single strand of thought that cut through her rising worry. "I don't think the snake will listen to him, even if he is asking it nicely."
Her heart pounded in her chest as she responded, her voice resonating in her thoughts. "Can you understand what Harry's saying?"
His response was quick, an undertone of confusion seeping into his mental voice. "Of course, can't you?"
"No, Jingles. Harry is speaking Parseltongue," she clarified, her mental voice barely a whisper, the words shrouded in a cloak of uncertainty.
Jingles' shock was palpable even in her arms. He stilled, his blue eyes widening in understanding as he watched Harry with renewed intensity. The tension in the hall was a living entity, a wave of apprehension that pulsed with every hiss that slipped past Harry's lips. And, standing amidst the sea of shocked faces, Daphne felt the enormity of the mysteries that still lay shrouded around her feline friend.
The abrupt shattering of tension resounded like a harsh wind through the silent hall. Professor Snape stepped forth from the stage's shadows, his obsidian robes undulating like an ominous dark sea. His facial expression remained unscathed, a stoic mask sculpted in cool indifference. With a swift, business like flick of his wand and an equally detached "Evanesco," the snake vanished. It left no trace of its menacing presence, evaporating as if it was never there.
The assembled students exhaled in a collective sigh, a palpable wave of relief washing over them. Conversational hum resumed, gradually filling the hall once again with the usual Hogwarts cacophony. In the tumult, Justin Finch-Fletchley confronted Harry, his eyes narrow, an unvoiced accusation hanging in the air between them. "Potter, what was that about?" His voice barely rose above the din, but it felt like a shout in Harry's ears.
A crease formed between Harry's eyebrows, his confusion mirroring his surprise. However, before he could muster a response, Hermione was at his side, her small hand gripping his sleeve with unexpected force. She directed him away from the now buzzing stage, her usually expressive face a careful mask of unreadable concentration. The pair navigated the crowd, leaving Justin behind, his look of bewilderment mirrored on many faces.
The duo's rushed journey through Hogwarts' winding corridors was silent save for the echo of their hurried footsteps. Harry tried, multiple times, to pierce Hermione's uncharacteristic silence, his pleas falling on deaf ears. "Hermione, what's going on?" he asked, his voice bouncing off stone walls. Each query was met with the same steadfast silence, amplifying his growing sense of unease.
Upon reaching the Room of Requirement, Hermione finally released his sleeve. The room greeted them with its familiar comforting warmth, the soft glow of the torches illuminating their fatigued features. Harry turned to Hermione once more, "Hermione, will you please tell me what's happening?"
A sigh escaped Hermione's lips. She finally met his gaze, her brown eyes clouded with worry. "Harry, you were speaking Parseltongue. The language of snakes."
His green eyes widened at her revelation, and he took an involuntary step back. "I did that before with a snake in the zoo," he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I thought everyone could do it."
Shaking her head, Hermione's curls swayed with the motion. "It's not common, Harry," she corrected, her voice gentle but firm. "It's rare. And... it's often linked to darker aspects of magic."
Their quiet conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Tracey, Daphne, and Jingles. Daphne's ice-blue eyes met Harry's surprised gaze, her expression a clear indication that she knew more. "That's not all, Harry," she stated, her voice controlled yet tinged with an undertone of urgency. "Jingles can understand Parseltongue." As she said this, Jingles looked up at Harry from his perch in Daphne's arms, his blue eyes wide with a hint of confusion, as if to emphasise her point.
Tracey's face morphed into a mask of confusion, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips set in a firm line. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight, the heels of her shoes clicking against the cold stone floor. "Wait just a blooming minute," she protested, the firelight casting dancing shadows over her perplexed expression. "Are you saying Jingles speaks Parseltongue? But I thought that was a rare, hereditary trait—exclusive to humans. Cats can't inherit that. That's just... well, it's unheard of!"
The rest of the room fell into a heavy silence as her words echoed off the stone walls. Hermione was the first to shatter the silence, her lips parting to reveal a new hypothesis.
"Perhaps," Hermione proposed, her tone teetering between certainty and doubt, "Jingles isn't entirely a cat. What if he is human?"
The room seemed to hold its breath as her words sunk in. Tracey's laughter rang out first, an incredulous giggle that bounced off the walls. "You're pulling our legs, right?" She questioned, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Jingles can't be a human! That's just silly."
Harry's face was a mask of contemplation, his green eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight as they narrowed. "Hermione," he started, his tone measured and careful, "your theory is intriguing, but... it seems highly unlikely. Tonks did say that her father examined him thoroughly..."
But Hermione was undeterred, her jaw set and her gaze firm. "I didn't suggest Jingles is an Animagus," she explained, her words methodical and slow as though she were explaining a particularly difficult concept. "What if Jingles has the physical form of a cat, but the consciousness inside him is that of a human? This could explain his magical capabilities... maybe he's a human trapped in a cat's body."
Tracey took a moment to consider Hermione's theory, her eyes distant as she mulled it over. Eventually, she shrugged, her mouth forming a line of uncertainty. "But wouldn't Jingles have let us know if that were true?" She pointed out, her gaze flickering to the feline. "If he were really human, I don't think he'd keep it a secret. We're his friends..."
As Tracey's words hung in the air, a sudden wave of fear washed over Daphne, making her gasp. It was like an icy current, slicing through the warmth of the Room of Requirement. Her grip on Jingles tightened involuntarily, the cat's fur soft beneath her fingers. His body went rigid in her arms, his fear resonating through their bond. Her eyes flew open, her heart hammering in her chest as she looked down at Jingles, his eyes wide and terrified.
The air in the Room of Requirement grew thick with suspense, the atmosphere quiet but for the soft crackle of the fire. Every pair of eyes present were glued to Jingles, the small black cat comfortably nestled in Daphne's arms. The fur on his back bristled, a shimmering cascade of darkness, and his sapphire eyes glowed brightly with an uncharacteristic seriousness that added a note of gravity to the scene. He drew a deep breath, every pair of eyes on him waiting with bated breath for the words he was about to utter.
"I...I have never lied to any of you, but it's true I've never shared my entire truth either," Jingles began to say through Daphne, his voice trembling just slightly with the gravity of his confession. His eyes met Daphne's, a silent plea for understanding visible in their sapphire depths. "You never asked me directly about my...situation, and I never offered."
He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before continuing, "I've always felt different, disconnected from the other cats around Hogwarts. I have no interest in them, even when they are in heat, which, as a cat, should drive me crazy. In truth, I always found a deeper connection with humans, particularly the girls."
Harry's brow furrowed in confusion, and he glanced at Hermione, whose wide-eyed interest was palpable. Even Tracey, always so bubbly and unflappable, was staring at Jingles with rapt attention. Daphne held him a bit closer, her eyes never leaving his as he continued.
"I approached Harry," he explained, his gaze darting to the boy who lived, "because of the clouded memory that I shared with all of you. I hoped that being near him might help unravel it, that he might be a key to understanding my past. And Daphne," he turned his attention back to the blonde girl who held him, "our connection, the bond we share, it was...it is unlike anything I've experienced. I hoped it might be a way to communicate, to bridge the gap between cat and human, to help me understand myself."
Jingles drew a deep breath, the anticipation in the room nearly tangible. His eyes shimmered with vulnerability as he finally addressed Daphne's initial question. "I'm terrified. Terrified of losing you, all of you, because of this. Because of what I am...or what I might be." His voice dropped to a near whisper, each word carrying a weight that hung heavy in the air around them. "I've never told you about my suspicions of being human because... because I was afraid it might change things. Our friendship is real, more real than anything I've ever known, and I didn't want to risk losing that."
As his words echoed into silence, the cat looked up at Daphne, his eyes brimming with a fear that had nothing to do with threats or danger. The fear of losing something precious, something real. The fear of losing a friendship he held dear. And as his eyes scanned the faces around him, it was clear that the revelation had left an impact.
Jingles' paws curled into Daphne's arm, his body trembling as he gathered the strength to speak. His voice, usually quite self-assured, took on a tremulous edge that sent a ripple of tension through Daphne's mind. "There's...there's one more thing," he began, his blue eyes, full of apprehension, glancing around at the faces of his friends.
A crackling log in the fireplace disrupted the hush that had fallen, its fiery glow casting long, wavering shadows around the room. Jingles swallowed hard, steeling himself for the revelation. "In the Mirror of Erised... I saw a teenager," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He had long, black hair...like my fur. His eyes were a bright, piercing blue...just like mine." He paused, dropping his gaze to his paws. "I think...I think I saw myself, but as a human."
His words echoed in the silent room, each syllable hanging heavy in the air. The atmosphere became palpable, a potent mix of shock and disbelief. All eyes were on Jingles, the crackling fire casting an intense, orange glow on his black fur, highlighting the nervous twitch of his tail.
Daphne was the first to break the silence. She chuckled softly, shaking her head as she gave Jingles a soft squeeze. "Jingles," she said, her voice soothing and warm. "Did you really think that us knowing this would change how we feel about you?"
Her soft smile began to thaw the icy silence. Their eyes met, and in that shared look was a depth of understanding that spanned more than words could express. The others moved closer, forming a protective circle around the small black cat. As if guided by an unspoken agreement, their arms reached out, pulling each other into a warm, reassuring group hug. Jingles found himself at the centre of this affectionate maelstrom, his wide eyes shining in the firelight.
"You're still Jingles to us," Tracey murmured, her fingers lightly brushing against his fur. Her eyes sparkled with a genuine sincerity that warmed Jingles from the inside.
Harry, his arms firm and reassuring around the group, chimed in, his voice steady. "Jingles, no matter what form you take, you're our friend."
Hermione's words came next, delivered in the logical, empathetic tone they had come to appreciate. "Jingles, you're not alone in this journey. We're here for you, we'll help you find out what you need to know."
As each friend reassured him, Jingles felt the fear that had been gnawing at him begin to recede. Nestled within the protective circle of his friends, he relaxed, his muscles uncoiling as he soaked in the warmth of their words. And as he closed his eyes, a soft purr resonated within his chest, a silent note of gratitude and reassurance to his friends. He was no longer alone. He belonged, and with that, came an incredible feeling of peace.
As their group hug finally disbanded, the companions all returned to their various seats, the warm lighting from the fire casting dancing shadows around the room. Each found their own nook, settling into the plush armchairs and deep-seated couches that populated the room.
Hermione, her brow creased in thoughtful focus, was the first to break the silence. Seated in a cushioned armchair, her gaze wandered from the flickering flames in the fireplace to the sleek, black fur of Jingles. "I can't help but wonder," she mused, breaking her contemplative silence, "why was Jingles transformed into a cat?"
Jingles, comfortably nestled in the crook of Daphne's arm, stretched languidly, his blue eyes half-closed. "I share your curiosity," he purred, his voice a melodic whisper. "But I can't help but wonder more about who I might have been. If I was human, I must've been someone, had some sort of identity."
Harry, who had been silent and thoughtful, his emerald eyes lost in the dancing firelight, perked up at this. "Could you possibly have been... a relative of mine? My brother, perhaps?" he ventured, his voice tinged with both apprehension and faint hope.
A soft chime of denial came from Jingles as he shook his head, his blue eyes filled with gentle regret. "I think that's highly unlikely, Harry," he replied gently. "The blue of my eyes might be a clue to my human form. Neither of your parents had blue eyes. And I've thoroughly investigated the Potter family. There was no mention of another child."
Daphne, her gaze deep and thoughtful, chimed in. "Regardless of who you were, you must've been close to the Potters." She turned her gaze to Harry, her voice firm and resolute. "Harry, I suggest you ask Professor McGonagall directly about Halloween, 1981. Perhaps she knows of someone else who was present that night."
With her vibrant energy seemingly returning, Tracey jumped into the discussion. "Let's not forget the Parseltongue connection! We should focus our search on families that have a history with the language." Her suggestion hung in the air, heavy with possibilities.
Hermione's gaze snapped back from the flames to the group. "Speaking of Parseltongue," she said, her curiosity palpable, "I wonder... could Harry and Jingles speak with each other now?"
Despite the nervous glances exchanged between Harry and Jingles, they both attempted the task. The room was filled with an expectant silence as they focused, but nothing but English and meows could be heard.
Tracey smirked, her eyes landing on the Slytherin emblem emblazoned on her chest. "Try focusing on a snake. Maybe it'll help," she suggested, pointing to her chest.
As Harry's gaze fell on the emblem, Tracey, always proud of her developed chest, seized the opportunity to tease him. "Keep your eyes on the emblem, Harry," she teased, a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Try not to let them wander."
Harry rolled his eyes, but took her advice to heart. With a deep breath and a focused mind, he looked at the emblem, the room growing quiet with anticipation. After a moment, the silence was broken by the distinct hiss of Parseltongue. It was soft and hesitant, but undeniably there. He grinned, looking over at Jingles who, after a few attempts, managed to respond in kind.
Inside the Room of Requirement, the moment was palpable as Harry and Jingles conversed in Parseltongue. Harry's words came out as a series of entrancing hisses, the sound filling the room like a strange melody. His green eyes met the cat's piercing blue ones, conveying the depth of understanding between them. A sensation of thrill, mixed with a dash of eeriness, electrified the air, vibrating through the vast, shape-shifting space of the Room.
The others watched with varied expressions, each bathed in the soft, warm glow of the ever-changing Room. Hermione sat on a plush armchair, her brown eyes wide, her fingers subconsciously twirling a strand of her bushy hair in fascination. Tracey lounged comfortably on a chaise lounge, her gaze sparkling with intrigue, her hand stroking her own chest emblem absently. Daphne sat poised, a soft smile touching her lips as she observed Harry and Jingles, pride twinkling in her frosty blue eyes. A moment of unity, a shared sense of accomplishment pulsed through the room, instilling a comforting warmth amidst their uncertain circumstances.
However, the sense of accomplishment was short-lived as Hermione, ever the realist, broke their shared silence. Her voice cut through their silent revelry, pulling them back to their harsh reality. "As fascinating as this is," she said, straightening her posture on the armchair, her face returning to its usual serious expression, "We mustn't forget about the Chamber and Slytherin's monster. We still need to figure out who the heir is... and how to stop them."
Daphne shifted in her seat at Hermione's words, an amused smirk playing on her lips as she looked at Harry. "Speaking of heirs," she began, her tone teasing, "Wasn't it rather... foolish of you to display your Parseltongue skills, Harry? Now the entire school is convinced you're the Heir of Slytherin."
Indignation swept across Harry's face, his cheeks reddening and eyes flashing defiantly. "I didn't know it was such a rare ability," he retorted, his voice edgy, a trace of frustration tingeing his words. "And neither did I know about it being dark!"
Before their friendly banter could take a sour turn, Tracey deftly intervened, her voice soothing like a balm over their raised tempers. "Easy there, both of you. Let's not quarrel. This isn't getting us anywhere."
Riding on the momentary truce, Hermione brought the conversation back on track. She straightened in her chair, her eyes thoughtful. "Do you think Malfoy could be involved? His contempt for Muggleborns isn't exactly subtle."
The suggestion earned a dismissive chuckle from Daphne. "The Malfoys would give anything to claim a connection to Slytherin himself. It's all about status for them," she mused, a trace of scorn creeping into her voice.
Tracey nodded in agreement, her eyes thoughtful. "His mother is a Black, though. They do have a distant connection to the Slytherin line, but it's so far removed that being considered an heir is hardly plausible."
As the familiar air of the Room of Requirement buzzed around them, Harry found himself once again questioning, an earnest curiosity ringing in his voice, "Does anyone else have an idea? Another possible suspect?" His green eyes met the gazes of his friends, a subtle plea for further insights.
The girls all shook their heads, a synchronised motion that seemed to echo in the silence. Daphne, her blonde hair cascading down her back, leaned back against the overstuffed couch cushions. Hermione, her intelligent eyes gleaming in the ambient light, began to bite her lower lip in thought, her usual expression when deep in deliberation. Tracey's brown eyes darted between the group, reflecting the uncertainty that resided in each of them.
Running a hand nervously through his unruly black hair, Harry sighed. A sense of determination washed over his face, his gaze becoming resolute. "Alright, then," he conceded, "We'll just need to be vigilant. Watch for anyone acting out of the ordinary."
Anxious energy sparked the air, feeding the fire of their collective intrigue. The soft whisper of moving fabric filled the room as Tracey leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Do we have any idea about the monster?" Her voice was soft but it sliced through the tense atmosphere. "What could it be?"
A brief silence fell over the room before Daphne offered her conjecture, her voice breaking the silence like a pebble hitting a still lake. "Considering Slytherin's historical connection to snakes, and that only Harry has been able to hear the monster..." she began, pausing to meet each of their gazes, a subtle spark in her ice-blue eyes. "It might be a snake of some kind."
Hermione's intelligent gaze flickered with uncertainty as she hummed thoughtfully, turning Daphne's hypothesis over in her mind. "That's a plausible theory," she conceded, but her tone carried an undercurrent of doubt. "Yet, I can't recall any known snake species that can petrify people."
Their speculation seemed to hang in the air, a cloud of uncertainty enveloping the room. Then, Jingles, who had been a silent observer until then, gave his input. His voice echoed in Daphne's mind, his suggestion as clear as a bell toll. "We should explore the library," he proposed, his small furry face tilting to look at each of them, a soft purring vibrating through Daphne's arm where he leaned against her.
The idea was met with nods and murmurs of agreement from everyone. The conversation lulled as they turned their attention towards studying, an unspoken agreement made to invest their energies into research. The Room of Requirement seemed to shift around them, accommodating their decision and providing an ambiance conducive for focus and study.
The scents of parchment, ink, and the aged musk of books filled the air. Sounds of flipping pages, faint sighs of frustration and the gentle hum of concentration wove together, creating an orchestra of studious dedication. Their shared determination echoed through the room, a comforting backdrop to the otherwise daunting quest that lay before them.
~~~o~~~
Twilight bathed the Hogwarts castle in gentle amber hues as the bustle of the day gave way to the tranquillity of evening. Nestled in her private room, Daphne was engrossed in her nightly routine. The process had a calming rhythm, each action echoing the familiarity of countless evenings before.
The warm glow of a single lamp illuminated the room, casting dancing shadows upon the stone walls and making her soft, cream-coloured bedspread appear warmer. The room smelled of parchment and fresh ink, a testament to her dedicated hours of studying, and the faintest hint of lavender from the soap she used.
Midway through slipping out of her uniform, her hand hovering near the delicate lace nightdress placed on her bedside table, she felt it – a subtle ripple of unease through their shared empathic connection. The unexpected sensation caused her fingers to still, her sea-blue eyes darting towards the feline form curled on her bed.
Jingles lay there, his thick black fur standing out starkly against her bedspread, his eyes clamped shut, ears flattened against his skull, his face pointedly turned away from her. His tail was tucked neatly over his nose, only the tip twitching in an absent rhythm.
"Jingles," Daphne broke the silence, her voice filled with gentle concern, "we talked about this earlier. I don't want anything to change between us." The words echoed softly in the stillness of the room, bouncing off the stone walls, a plea from her heart.
Upon hearing her, one of Jingles' ears twitched upwards, a clear sign he was listening. Yet he remained otherwise unmoving, his feline form tightly curled, and eyes diligently averted. His voice resonated within her mind, a comforting constant despite the new-found awkwardness, "I thought it... inappropriate to watch you undress."
Her heart gave a small, sympathetic throb. Sighing, Daphne arched an eyebrow, her mouth quirking up into a wry smile. She turned fully to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Jingles," she began with a note of chiding humour, "things between us will only get weird if we allow them to be. You've seen me naked plenty of times, it shouldn't be anything new."
A wave of amusement washed over their connection, the subtle vibration of his chuckle echoed in her mind. "That may be the case for now," his mental voice, tinged with a gentle mirth, responded, "but with your body maturing... your breasts developing, the dynamics could change."
An unexpected flush spread across her cheeks at his statement. Her eyes widened in surprise, a soft laugh escaping her. This cat! She stood there, in the warm glow of her room, half-dressed, laughing and blushing at Jingles' comments. The comfortable silence returned to the room, only broken by the soft rustling of her uniform and the soothing purr of Jingles.
A slow realisation dawned on Daphne as she retrieved her nightdress from the bedside table, her fingers brushing over the soft fabric. As she readied herself for bed, a thought from the previous year intruded upon her calm demeanour, stirring a ripple in the peaceful atmosphere.
"Jingles," she began, her voice soft yet firm, punctuating the hush of the room. She halted in her tracks, her school uniform half-doffed, her nightdress clutched in her hands. Her eyes sought out Jingles, his sleek black form curled up at the end of her bed, his blue eyes closed but his ears turned in her direction. An echo of unease shimmered along their bond, mirroring her sudden flurry of thoughts.
"Last year," she continued, taking a measured breath, "you told me something." She met his gaze, "You said that even if we didn't have this connection, you would've chosen me as your favourite... a few years later." His left ear perked, acknowledging her words.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she took a step closer to the bed, her arms wrapping protectively around herself. "Did you mean...," she hesitated, her cheeks warming as she gestured to herself, "when my body was more... developed?"
The room plunged into silence as she awaited his response. A soft, low purr of amusement vibrated through their connection, resonating in her mind. "Daphne," his mental voice, full of fondness, broke the tension, "it's not that simple or one-sided. You should see it from my perspective. When girls cuddle me or carry me, I can feel the firm, soft... warmth of their breasts against me. It's a comforting feeling."
Her mouth opened slightly in surprise at his candidness. A soft chuckle bubbled up from her throat, and a sly smile tugged at her lips. "Jingles, you are the only one who could reduce this to a logical argument," she replied, her voice filled with mirth.
With her nerves somewhat calmed, she completed changing into her nightgown, the soft fabric soothing against her skin. The lantern's light reflected off her hair, bathing her in a comforting, golden glow. She moved towards the bed, its familiar creak a welcoming sound as she nestled under the covers.
Drawing Jingles into her arms, she nestled him against her chest. His purring filled the air, a comforting melody as she absently stroked his fur. Her mind lingered on their conversation, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the silky strands of his fur.
"Do you want to be human again?" Daphne asked. Her voice barely rose above a whisper, her question hanging in the air as though suspended on a delicate thread of silence. Jingles' purring ceased abruptly at the query, his normally relaxed body stiffening in her arms. His eyes, a startling blue even in the subdued light, flickered open as he pondered her question. His thoughts, usually so open to her, seemed to retreat, building a wall of contemplation around himself.
"I... I would," he finally responded after what seemed like an eternity, his mental voice slipping into her mind, drenched in hesitance and a soft, uncharacteristic vulnerability. "But I'm not certain if that's even within the realm of possibilities."
Feeling a surge of protective tenderness welling up within her, Daphne tightened her hold on him. "I'll be here for you, Jingles," she promised, her voice threaded with resolute determination. Her eyes softened as she gazed down at him, a pang of melancholy echoing in her heart. "Though... I will miss this."
A flicker of confusion crossed his feline face, his ear twitching inquisitively. "Miss what?" he projected, his curiosity nudging at the edges of their mental connection.
"Having you this way," she clarified, her voice dropping to a soft murmur, her gaze unwavering from his. "Holding you, stroking your fur, feeling your purring vibrations against me, carrying you around... Your constant presence. You're my companion, Jingles."
His feline countenance fell into thoughtful silence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered her confession. After several heartbeats, his thoughts drifted back to her, tinged with a touch of surprise. "Perhaps... Perhaps it's best if I stay as I am, then."
Daphne's eyebrows knitted together in a frown, her hand pausing in its rhythmic stroking of his fur. She promptly reprimanded him, "Don't be silly, Jingles. If our roles were reversed, I'd want to be human too."
With a flick of his tail and a soft 'meow' of acknowledgment, he conceded, "Fair point. However, we do have other pressing matters to attend to."
A sigh escaped Daphne's lips, her nodding head causing her loose blonde curls to bob lightly. "You're right," she agreed, her voice softening to a murmur as her eyelids began to droop. Nestling her face into his soft fur, she inhaled the comforting scent of him, letting it lull her closer to the precipice of sleep.
The consistent, soft rhythm of Jingles' purring ebbed and flowed in time with her heartbeat, their shared warmth creating a cocoon around them. His small, furry body curled up against her chest, serving as a tactile reminder of their unique bond. Gradually, her conscious thoughts began to fade, the echoes of their conversation becoming hazy as she succumbed to the tender pull of sleep.