The Snake

Any notion that Harry may have had that the attack on Mrs Norris had been an isolated incident were quashed rather quickly. Only a few weeks after, a student had been found in a similar state and was currently being kept in the Hospital Wing, awaiting the maturation of the Mandrakes.

It made for a rather tense atmosphere within the castle. Speculation on who the heir of Slytherin was rife, and though Ron was convinced that it was Malfoy behind the attacks, neither Harry nor Hermione shared the sentiment.

The boy was a braggart, but they had ultimately decided to assuage the redhead's concerns by formulating a plot to speak with Malfoy without him knowing it was them.

Polyjuice Potion.

It was a complex brew, and as such, Hermione was the one undertaking that task.

In truth, Harry wanted no part in it, but he could not deny that he was curious as to what was occurring.

The heir of Slytherin was as interesting as they were proving to be dangerous.

Still, he would much rather the entire ordeal came to an end, and if Malfoy was involved in any capacity, Harry couldn't deny that he would enjoy having a hand in his downfall.

Not that he believed for a single moment the boy was anything more than a slur-spewing mouthpiece.

"A duelling club?" Ron asked as they entered the common room, their lessons having finished for the day. "What do you think, Harry?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

Duelling was a skill he was eager to begin practicing.

For all of the spells he was working on, it would be for nothing if he did not know how to use them in live situations.

"It could be good," he replied.

"There can be a lot of gold in it, if you are good enough," Ron revealed. "It takes years of practice and competitions to become a champion though. Hermione?"

"I'd be interested in trying," the girl answered as she checked her watch. "The first meeting is tomorrow, but now, I have something to check on. I hope Myrtle isn't there," she added in a whisper.

"Is it almost done?" Ron asked.

"It will be ready before Christmas. Another week should do it."

"Takes bloody forever that stuff," Ron grumbled.

"You have no patience," Harry chuckled.

"Well, I want to know what is going on. It's getting dangerous around here with whoever is the heir of Slytherin lurking around."

"How would anyone even know who the heir of Slytherin is?" Harry asked. "He died a thousand years ago."

"But his children didn't," Hermione pointed out. "To be his heir, someone would have to be a direct descendant from Salazar."

"There isn't anyone with the name Slytherin alive," Ron sighed.

"No, but there are other families who were married into by them. Daughters who would have lost the name in favour of their husbands."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I studied History at muggle school," Hermione explained. "There were daughters of kings and queens who lost their names when they married their husbands. I know the wizarding world is confusing, but it is the same, isn't it? Your mother wasn't born a Weasley, was she?"

Ron's eyes widened in realisation.

"No, she was a Prewett. She came from another pureblood family."

"Exactly," Hermione said excitedly. "The heir of Slytherin wouldn't have the name if they came from a female that married into another family."

"That could be one of dozens of families," Harry explained.

"Not really," Hermione mused aloud. "If Slytherin was against muggleborns, wouldn't he only let his children marry other purebloods."

"That's a bit of a stretch," Harry replied.

"It isn't," Ron disagreed. "Most purebloods marry other purebloods. Even my parents followed that tradition. Your family probably did too until your mum and dad."

"Really?"

Ron nodded.

"It reflects badly on purebloods to let their children marry muggleborns. Even half-bloods are a touchy subject."

"Half-bloods?"

"Someone with a pureblood parent and a muggleborn parent. You're a half-blood," Ron informed Harry.

Harry frowned.

"Why is it such a big deal?"

Ron chuckled, seemingly enjoying that he knew more on a topic than both Harry and Hermione.

"Well, to a lot of purebloods, anyone who marries a muggle or even a muggleborn is a blood-traitor. Malfoy and some of the others call my father a blood-traitor for working in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department at the Ministry. Marrying someone not a pureblood is about as bad as it gets."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione muttered irritably.

Ron merely shrugged.

"It's just how it is."

"So, it can't be many people around who is directly descended from Salazar Slytherin?" Harry pressed.

Ron shook his head.

"No, but I don't know what family it is who is related to him," he sighed. "It's an old family."

"Not the Malfoys?"

Ron's mouth fell agape at the question.

"Malfoy isn't the heir of Slytherin," he groaned. "I was hoping the git would be expelled. No, it's not them."

"Then who?" Harry probed further.

"I don't know, mate, look it up."

"I will," Hermione declared, taking her leave of the room to check on the potion and evidently begin delving into something else entirely.

How difficult would it be to uncover?

Harry didn't know, but he doubted she would reappear for several hours, which worked out well as he had Quidditch practice to attend before.

Judging by Wood's pointed glance towards him, the older boy was keen to get them on the pitch and put them through their paces.

"Come on, little Harry," Alicia insisted as she pushed him towards the door. "It's time for you to be a good boy and climb on that broom of yours. You have a Snitch to chase."

Harry frowned at the girl.

He had grown over the summer months, but so had all three of the Chasers who remained taller than him.

Any hope of the nickname they had given him phasing out had all been in vain.

Still, it was all in good fun, and they didn't mean anything malicious by it.

Harry was just simply tired of being the smallest player on the team.

"I don't need to be escorted," he protested as Angelina looped an arm through his.

"You have a tendency to vanish," the girl replied with a smile. "Now, stop complaining. Most boys would love to be accompanied through the castle by two girls."

"Three," Katie corrected as she joined them with the twins in tow.

The two redheads snickered at Harry's predicament.

"She's not wrong, Harry," one of them commented. "What I wouldn't give to be the meat in that sandwich…"

Harry could only shake his head as all three of the Chasers began berating the boy who took it in his stride.

The grin never left his face, and it served as the perfect distraction from Harry who struggle to stifle an amused chuckle of his own.

(Break)

"You have given Lockhart permission to run a duelling club?" Severus asked in disbelief.

"I have," Albus answered.

Severus's lips thinned.

"The man is a buffoon," he protested. "Surely you can see that by now?"

"I have been watching him closely and have decided that he will not be returning to the castle next year. Oddly, he is improving, but not enough to my satisfaction. I have given him permission to run the duelling club, but he will have an able assistant."

"How did you talk Filius into that?"

Albus's beard twitched in amusement as he merely stared at Severus in response.

"Me?" the man scoffed. "You want me to act as his assistant?"

Albus nodded.

"You are an exceedingly gifted duellist, Severus," he complimented. "Under your supervision, perhaps the students will learn something worthy."

Severus shook his head.

"Filius is a duellist," he pointed out. "They will learn much more from him. I did not study the traditional practices."

"Oh, Filius has agreed to be there also, but I do not think it wise for him and Gilderoy to demonstrate anything. Filius is amiable, but I fear his goblin blood will see Gilderoy injured for the way he looks down on him. You have an unwavering level of control. I expect you will need it."

Severus's nostrils flared.

"It would be better to allow Filius to put Lockhart out of commission for the rest of the year."

"Severus," Albus warned.

"Fine, I will do it, but I will not take it easy on him or the students."

"I would expect nothing less."

Severus hummed before taking his leave of the room and Albus returned to the workload that kept him occupied as the headmaster.

Coupled with the current conundrum of the heir of Slytherin business, his days were full.

Despite his best efforts, he'd had no luck in either locating the Chamber of Secrets or identifying the student responsible for opening it.

It was then that he paused briefly before shaking his head, realising he had perhaps missed something during his conversation with Severus.

No, he would not see Harry harmed during the duelling club if the boy attended.

Severus could be petty, but he would not put Harry in danger, or so Albus hoped.

Perhaps it would be best if he was there too for the first meeting to oversee the proceedings.

Between Gilderoy and Severus, it could prove to be a rather volatile environment, and there was no promises that some unpleasantness would not occur.

The mood within the school was not a positive one, and it could take the mildest of slights for tempers to boil over.

Albus hummed to himself.

The tension was already palpable, but the duelling club could be just what the students needed. Why should they be deprived because of his own failings to find the culprit responsible for the current climate?

They shouldn't, but Albus would attend for his own peace of mind.

Maybe there were some promising practitioners amongst the students who had a future in the sport, after all?

(Break)

Training had been nothing short of brutal. Having won the House Cup the previous year, Wood had become completely obsessed with Gryffindor retaining.

As such, he was pushing the team harder than ever and Harry had muscles that he did not even know existed aching.

He cursed the Quidditch captain as he finally climbed into bed.

Hermione had already turned in for the night by the time he'd returned to the tower, and evidently had found nothing.

If she had, she would have been waiting for him in the common room.

The girl did not have enough patience to wait when she found an answer to a problem she was looking into.

To Harry, it was quite the conundrum as to who was the heir of Slytherin, but he knew that he would not figure it out himself.

In a bid to occupy his mind with something else, he went through the process of cleaning and polishing his wand, revelling in the warmth of the bond he shared with it.

The connection was indeed growing.

The more Harry tended to and used it, the more apparent it became. Slowly but surely, he was beginning to reap the benefits of the countless hours he had spent familiarising himself with his wand.

Thinking back to when he had first obtained it, there was almost no comparison to how it performed for him now.

His spell work felt easier and his casting smoother.

Sometimes, it was as though his wand knew what he was going to do even before he'd uttered a syllable of an incantation.

Could it be that his, admittedly lacking, attempts at non-verbal magic were beginning to pay dividends?

Harry didn't know, but he could feel the improvement in simply how the wand felt and responded to him.

Still, he was far from being an expert in anything magical, but he would remain as diligent as he traversed the path of his 'magical journey', as Nicholas referred to it.

Both the alchemist and his wife stayed in touch, writing to Harry regularly to see how he was doing, and the latter to check up on him.

It was certainly a highlight of his day when he would receive a letter, even if it was penned in French and he had to translate it without magic.

The one spell Nicholas had taught him was not working, and Harry suspected the Flamels used a charm of sorts to ensure it wouldn't so that he kept up his studying the language.

Harry did so when he could, and he was still improving, though much slower than he had over the summer being amongst native speakers consistently.

Nevertheless, progress was progress, and he would take what he could get from his efforts.

He was pulled from his thoughts, shuddering as a wave of cold magic washed over him.

"Now?" he whispered tiredly, his gaze shifting towards his pillow.

Shaking his head, he retrieved the cloak and braced himself to be pulled through the void.

Despite his protest, Harry knew it would happen.

He was tired, but equally eager to see the next part of the cloak's journey, and as the familiar feeling of being dragged from his bed overwhelmed him, he wondered what he would see this time.

The sun had risen several hours ago, and yet, Gawain had not stopped to rest. By now, Gaunt's followers would undoubtedly be aware that she was no longer amongst them and would likely be on their trail.

The woman had regained consciousness hours ago, but without her wand and being bound, she could only glare at him.

Malory Gaunt had not said a word to him.

That was fine by Gawain.

He was keen to return home where it could be decided what to do with the woman.

Strictly speaking, she had broken no laws in his land, but she would have the moment she crossed the border with her followers.

The tales of the horror she had exacted upon her own countrymen had reached Godric's Hollow, and Gawain would not see history repeat itself on his people.

"We will stop for a short rest," he declared a while later.

He was sore from being in the saddle for so long and he needed to take on water from the river nearby.

Gaunt remained silent as he helped her off the back of the horse and even refused to drink as he held a skin to her lips.

"Who are you?" she demanded to know.

"My name is Gawain Peverell."

Gaunt quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Daffyd's cousin," she acknowledged. "I've heard him speak of you."

Gawain merely hummed in response.

"What were you planning on doing on my lands?" he asked.

Gaunt smirked.

"I just wished to see what your country has to offer," she replied with a smile.

"With dozens of armed men and women? Around here, we consider that an invasion. We do not take kindly to invaders."

"I can see that," Gaunt said dryly. "My intention wasn't to invade. There is something I am looking for. A stone that belonged to your uncle. Daffyd mentioned it."

Gawain stiffened at the mention of the stone.

It was an exceedingly dangerous artefact that had driven his uncle to ending his own life.

Gawain's own father had warned him of it and urged him not to seek it out. During his younger years, it had been easy to do, but with the passing of his wife, the temptation had grown stronger.

Dragon pox.

His beautiful Winnifred, the mother of his two sons, had perished in a matter of days upon being infected.

It was an unforgivable and horrific disease.

Nonetheless, Gawain had heeded his father's words and had not sought out the stone. He had grieved for his beloved, and though he missed her dearly, he would not follow in the footsteps of his uncle who had been driven mad by what he'd allegedly managed to summon from the lands of the dead.

He shook his head.

"The stone was cast away and should be left where it is."

"So, it does exist," Gaunt whispered excitedly.

"No one knows where it is," Gawain pointed out. "It is not something that any should possess. Besides, you are no longer in a position to seek it out."

"Are you going to kill me?" Gaunt asked with a teasing grin.

"If it comes to it," Gawain returned severely.

He did not wish to kill an unarmed woman, but if it kept his country safe from the scourge of her and her followers, he would do so.

"You would too," Gaunt murmured almost appreciatively. "I can respect that, but I would rather not die. I am not so old that I am ready for that."

"Then what would you propose I do?" Gawain asked interestedly.

"I don't suppose releasing me is an option?"

Gawain snorted.

"You know I can't do that. I could take you to your Ministry."

Gaunt's expression darkened.

"They would execute me."

"Can you blame them?"

Gaunt smirked as she shook her head.

"No, it is exactly what I would do. I think I will have some of that water now. I suppose I should be grateful that it was you that caught me. I would like to know how? My snakes are taught to be hostile towards any that attempt to harm me. You did that and they remained peaceful. I did not see you, but I saw them. They were calm."

Gawain shrugged as he handed her the skin.

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

Harry did.

Somehow he had spoken to the snakes or had given Gawain the ability to do so briefly.

"Well, you took me by surprise, Peverell. If I had a hat, I would tip it to you."

Gawain chuckled as he took the skin back.

"Will you behave yourself if I allow you to be a little more comfortable for the duration of the journey?"

"You have my wand," Gaunt reminded him.

"And I have cast several spells on you to ensure you cannot escape," Gawain revealed. "If you attempt to put more than ten yards between us, it will be most unpleasant for you."

Gaunt's smile only widened.

"You are quite the enigma," she whispered. "They speak of your family. My own is well-known for having married into the Slytherin line, but yours is shrouded in mystery. I must say, when Daffyd married my sister, I was interested to meet him. He proved to be a disappointment. You are no such thing, Gawain Peverell."

Gawain eyed the woman as he took a sip of his water.

He had expected to find a monster, and perhaps he had, but Malory Gaunt was not simply an insane woman who sought power.

She was friendly enough, and though the rumours he had heard spoke of her viciousness, there was no need for hostility between them.

If anything, they were somewhat kin and Gaunt had not brought violence to Cymru.

Not that she hadn't tried, however.

Gawain would need to keep his wits about him for the rest of the journey, but as he took another sip of his water, he could not deny that his prisoner was indeed a beautiful woman.

It seemed that she didn't smile often, but when she did as she was now, it changed her entire appearance.

Harry frowned as he was pulled through the void and returned to his bed.

The Gaunt family had married into the Slytherin line.

Had the answer him, Ron, and Hermione been seeking come to him so easily?

Harry didn't know, but other than that snippet of information, he was struggling to find anything else of worth from the vision.

Gaunt knew of the stone because Cadmus's son had spoken of it, but how was it significant?

Malory clearly wished to possess the stone for her own reasons.

Had she managed to obtain it?

It was becoming frustrating re-emerging from these visions with more questions than answers, but it was intriguing to say the least.

Watching the history unfold before his eyes was an opportunity Harry was grateful for, even if it was confusing and difficult to contextualise.

Perhaps things would become clearer the more he witnessed?

Harry hoped so, because as things were, he was struggling to understand just why he was seeing these things.

(Break)

The Polyjuice Potion was doing well, though with Ron seemingly accepting the fact that Draco was not the heir of Slytherin, it seemed pointless to continue with brewing it.

Hermione, however, was enjoying the challenge and process of doing so.

There were fully-fledged witches and wizards who were unable to successfully produce the potion, and for her, it was now a matter of proving that she could.

Not that she could tell anyone.

The brewing and use were highly regulated by the Ministry of Magic, but she could not deny that there was something rather invigorating about breaking the rules.

Having added a little more boomslang skin to stabilise the potion, Hermione had spent some time in the library to investigate just who could possibly be the culprit responsible for the attacks, but to no avail.

Other than Hogwarts: A History, it appeared that any reference to the Slytherin line had been removed from the library.

Why?

Hermione didn't know, but even in the books specifically discussing magical genealogy, she found nothing.

She did, however, find out more about Ron's and Harry's families.

The redhead had been right.

Until Harry's father had married Lily Evans, the Potters had seemingly followed the pureblood tradition of marrying into other families of a similar standing. Throughout the past centuries, they had joined with several other prominent lines through matrimony, though again, Hermione had been rather confused by the sudden cut-off in the Potter history.

It was as though they had not existed some four hundred years prior whereas the Weasleys and almost every other family tree she had looked at went further back.

Still, as interesting as it was to learn more about where her friends had come from, it was the Slytherin line Hermione wished to establish.

"Bloody hell, why won't it work?" Ron huffed as he attempted to conjure the bluebell flames within the lantern Professor Flitwick had provided.

"Because you're not focusing," Harry answered, already warming his hands on his own.

With a shake of his head, he extinguished his creation and conjured them again, barely whispering the incantation.

Hermione didn't know why he did that, but he had been casting his magic in this way for some time now.

"See," Harry continued. "You have to want to create the fire."

He was right.

Only a year ago, Hermione would likely have been attempting to show both of the boys how it was done, but she could not think of a single time this year that Harry had needed her assistance.

It was another of the changes she had noticed within him, particularly after he'd returned to Hogwarts for the start of the second year.

"I did it!" Ron said triumphantly and Harry clapped the boy on the shoulder.

Ron wasn't a poor wizard, nor was he as dense as he sometimes came across. He merely lacked motivation when it came to his schoolwork, though he seemed to enjoy it when he got something right.

"Did you manage to find anything in the library last night?" the redhead asked curiously.

Hermione shook her head.

"No," she grumbled. "There was nothing in the books I checked. I found what became of the Hufflepuff family, but nothing for the other three founders."

"Well, Gryffindor is related to a lot of families," Ron explained, "even Harry's somewhere down the line."

"Mine?"

Ron nodded.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't get too excited. Neville is related to him too as are four or five other families. Apparently, he was a bit of a ladies man in his time."

"Why wasn't that on Harry's family tree then?" Hermione questioned. "I could trace it back to around the 1600s, but then it stopped."

Ron shrugged.

"Some families seal their records so they can't be published," he explained. "They either have something to hide or they just don't want people nosing around. Not many bother with it. They like to be able to prove they are purebloods all the way back."

Hemione hummed thoughtfully.

"Well, either way, I couldn't find anything about what happened to the Slytherin family."

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself doing so before any words passed his lips.

He did that a lot too.

It was frustrating at times, but it was better that he had the capability.

It certainly kept him out of trouble with Professor Snape, even if the man mainly chose to ignore him now.

"Are you excited about the duelling club tonight?" Ron asked.

He was.

There was little other than Quidditch and chess that elicited such a reaction from the boy, but the duelling club seemed to have done so.

"It will be interesting," Hermione replied, her gaze once more shifting to Harry who was extinguishing and recasting the fire spell. "It will definitely be worth learning."

"As long as it isn't that prat, Lockhart," Harry muttered.

After what the man had done to his arm, Harry had no time for Gilderoy Lockhart, and Hermione could hardly blame him.

She'd had high hopes that he would prove to be a good professor, but with what had happened during his first lesson, they had become rather dull in comparison.

For the most part, they simply read from books and were told to practice any spells they were required to learn for homework.

Not that they were ever asked to demonstrate them.

It was as though the professor was terrified of any wand being drawn in his lessons, even his own.

Even for Hermione who loved nothing more than reading at every opportunity she could, Defence Against the Dark Arts had lost all of its excitement.

She couldn't see why it would be Professor Lockhart who would teach the duelling club, not when he didn't even use his wand during lesson time.

(Break)

Any hope that Harry had held onto that Gilderoy Lockhart would not be the one in charge of the duelling club was dashed when the man entered the Great Hall and swaggered onto the wooden platform, grinning like the buffoon he was.

Immediately, he wished he hadn't bothered coming.

"Welcome," Lockhart greeted them, his smile never wavering.

Despite how inept he had proven himself to be, there were still those that fawned over him and looked as though he was the greatest gift that could have been bestowed upon them.

"Bloody hell, what a stupid prat," Ron muttered.

"He's not right in the head that one," one of the twins added, frowning and rubbing his ribcage where Angelina elbowed him.

"Now, with the unpleasantness that is plaguing the castle, Professor Dumbledore asked if I would be willing to show you a thing or two about defending yourself if you are attacked."

"Dumbledore asked him?" Harry snorted. "I bet Lockhart had to beg on his hands and knees."

Hermione shushed him as the others laughed and Lockhart continued, either not noticing or pretending he hadn't.

"Under my guidance, you will all become capable of defending yourselves from any would-be attacker. Rest assured, I would not see any of you harmed," he added to a gathering of sixth year girls who had pushed themselves to the front. "Today, I will be ably assisted by Professor Snape. I think before we begin, perhaps a demonstration is in order. Professor Snape, if you would humour me?"

Harry had not noticed the Potions Master skulking at the back of the room, and though he appeared to want to be anywhere else but here, Snape's lips curled in amusement as he made his way towards the duelling platform.

"Do not worry," Lockhart urged. "I will not cause Professor Snape any permanent harm."

Snape's pace quickened with how eager he was to get to the man.

Harry had never envisioned a scenario that he would wish to see Snape wipe the floor with someone else, but his irritation with Lockhart won out, and he found himself hoping that his least favourite professor would indeed wipe the grin of Lockhart's face.

"I've got a galleon on Snape," Ron declared.

"No one is taking that bet, Ronald," one of the twins chuckled. "Lockhart will be picking his teeth out of his arse by the time Snape is finished with him."

"Do you have to be so vulgar?" Alicia huffed.

"If the truth is vulgarity then I am the most honest person in this room," the twin replied.

"Just shut up," Katie snorted, nodding to where Lockhart and Snape were facing off on opposite sides of the platform.

"On the count of three," Lockhart instructed after he'd retrieved the wand he had dropped.

Harry looked on intently as the man began his count.

"One…Two…"

Snape didn't wait for three.

With an elaborate motion, he stepped forward.

"Expelliarmus!"

The spell careened across the length of the platform and struck Gilderoy Lockhart in the chest, sending him spinning through the air before he hit the floor with a dull thud.

Harry cheered along with many others.

"Do you think he is hurt?" Hermione asked, craning her neck to see over the crowd.

"He's fine," Harry said dismissively. "It was only a Disarming Charm."

It took a moment for Lockhart to recover, but when he did, he stumbled to his feet and pushed his dishevelled hair back into place.

"Where is my wand?" he asked. "Ah, thank you," he added to a girl who handed it to him.

With his grin as unwavering as ever, he stepped back onto the platform.

"An excellent demonstration, Professor Snape. It was best that I allowed the students to see the effect of that one. Quite harmless in all but can certainly leave you disorientated for a moment and without your wand. A Disarming Charm," he explained. "A simple spell to master, but one that is indeed very useful."

Snape did not seem to be happy with Lockhart's dismissal of his effort.

"Ah, perhaps that would be a good place to start," the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor declared. "Now, if you would like to break off into pairs…"

"I think that doing so would be foolish," Snape interjected. "It would be best if two students at a time came up to the front to demonstrate, don't you?"

"Another excellent suggestion," Lockhart agreed. "Mr Longbottom, would you and Mr Potter like to come up?"

"Longbottom would be a poor choice," Snape broke in once more. "Even the simplest of spells are beyond the boy. Malfoy? You will come up against Potter."

Immediately, Harry readied himself as he drew his wand and took his place on the platform.

Draco grinned smugly as they met in the middle.

"You are to disarm only," Lockhart said firmly.

Harry's gaze remained on the Slytherin.

Malfoy wouldn't merely try to disarm him so he needed to be ready for anything.

"Scared?"

Harry said nothing as he walked backwards towards his spot on the platform.

Never take your eyes off an opponent

That had been the first thing Harry had learned about any type of conflict, even one that was intended for sport.

"On my count," Lockhart instructed.

Harry anticipated that Draco would follow Snape's example, and the blond did not disappoint.

As such, Harry was forced to dodge the Jelly-legs Jinx sent his way, though his breath hitched in his chest as he felt it disturb his hair with how close it came.

He also lost his footing and stumbled as the next spell came towards him, but on sheer instinct, he managed to avoid that too.

Harry quickly realised that he needed to practice avoiding spells, especially since he didn't know any shields, but how?

He didn't have time to ponder the matter as Draco proved to be relentless, continuing the onslaught despite Lockhart's attempts to intervene.

"I said to disarm only!"

No chance.

Draco hesitated for only a second before raising his wand again, but Harry had not been idle.

He had taken the opportunity to return fire, and Malfoy's eyes widened as the Disarming Charm raced towards him.

He avoided it by throwing himself to the floor, only to be hit by Harry's next spell.

Fortunately for the boy, it had only been a Pushing Hex, though it did send him sprawling to the ground once more.

Draco was unceremoniously pulled to his feet by Professor Snape who whispered something in his ear that elicited a smirk from the Slytherin student.

"Serpensortia!" he cried. "Get him! Attack!"

The very second the serpent exploded from the tip of his wand; Harry's mind drifted back to the very same book he had thought about earlier.

Any animal that is conjured, regardless of whether or not it poses an immediate threat, should be eliminated as quickly as possible. Even if it is not dangerous, it is a distraction and you must be able to focus on your opponent.

The students gasped collectively, and as the snake landed and reared its hooded head, Harry reacted immediately.

With a whispered incantation, he unleashed a spell; one of the few he had managed to wield from his reading of the books Nicholas had gifted him.

The sickly, yellow bolt of light collided with the reptile and it screeched as it recoiled.

Harry looked on in morbid fascination as it began to writhe in agony. After a drawn-out moment it vomited up its innards and fell still before the corpse burned through the wooden platform, crumbling to ash as it hit the floor below.

Shifting his gaze towards Malfoy, Harry was pleased to see the boys' eyes widened in fear, but Draco was not the only one.

Those within the hall had fallen silent, and Snape was looking at him in a mixture of anger and curiosity.

"I think that will be enough," Lockhart announced quickly, his expression one of horror as he looked at Harry.

"OUT!" Snape shouted. "All of you, get out. Not you, Potter!"

The room cleared quickly, though the fact that most continued to look at him as they exited the Great Hall was not lost on Harry.

The moment the door closed behind the last student, Snape stalked towards Harry, grabbing him tightly by the arm.

"Where did you learn that spell?" he demanded.

Harry did not flinch under the gaze of the man, but he did not allow him to read his surface thoughts.

Pulling his arm free, Harry narrowed his eyes at the Potions Master.

"It is quite rude to attempted to look into my mind," he bit back.

Snape seemed to be surprised that Harry knew what he had done, but it did not deter him.

"The spell, Potter?" he pressed.

Harry shrugged.

"I read it in a book."

He hadn't lied.

"Which book?"

"I don't think that is any of your concern," Harry returned evenly. "I eliminated a threat against me."

"That was dark magic!"

"Was it?"

"You know very well what it was! That spell is not something you cast accidentally."

"Maybe I did."

Snape's nostrils flared, and it was clear that he wished for nothing more than to peer into Harry's mind to find the answer he was seeking.

"Get out, Potter!" he snapped.

Harry gladly obliged and did so, not regretting what he had done.

The snake had been venomous.

Malfoy had tried to cause him real harm and he had reacted accordingly.

Still, he needed a moment or two to gather his thoughts so he stepped into the bathroom Hermione had commandeered to brew the Polyjuice Potion, frowning as he stepped into a rather deep puddle of water.

Myrtle must have thrown a tantrum because much of the bathroom was flooded and Harry could hear sobbing coming from within one of the stalls.

"Myrtle?" he called as he pushed the door open.

The ghost was sitting on the toilet with her head in her hands.

"Go away," she choked.

"What's wrong, has something happened?"

"Has something happened," Myrtle hiccupped. "Imagine just sitting here minding your own business, and someone throws their rubbish at you!"

"Someone threw rubbish at you?"

Myrtle sniffled as she nodded towards a black book floating in the water.

With a frown, Harry picked it up, his heart sinking into the pit of the stomach as he turned it over and read the name inscribed on the back in gold letters.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," he whispered, the name immediately familiar to him.

Dumbledore had mentioned it at the end of the last school year.

Tom Riddle had once been a student here who had gone on to be…

Harry swallowed deeply as he felt an unpleasant wave of magic wash over him and push against his mind.

He shook his head and fought back, causing the probe to retract.

There was something off about this book.

How had it come to be here?

Harry didn't know, but in the wrong hands, he had no doubt this could be rather dangerous.

"Myrtle, did you see who threw it?"

The ghost shook her head.

"No, but I remember Tom Riddle," she replied. "He was in the year above me when I was a student. He was very smart and popular. I wonder what happened to him."

Harry did not respond and took his leave of the bathroom, the incident in the Great Hall all but forgotten.

He had barely taken the first steps of his magical journey, but even he knew there was something very strange about this diary.

Perhaps he should take it to Dumbledore, but there was something that stopped him from doing so.

Whether it was the book itself or his own curiosity, he pocketed it before heading back towards Gryffindor Tower.

He decided would investigate it at his earliest convenience, and hand it to Dumbledore if he felt the need to.

That was what he would do, even if it was against his better judgement.

"There you are!" Hermione said in relief as he entered the common room.

The rest of the students were eying him warily and she pulled him towards the fireplace where a pale Ron was sitting.

"Harry, what did you do?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Harry answered. "I saw the snake and I panicked."

Hermione didn't seem to believe him, but she was cut off by Ron.

"You saw what Malfoy did!" he said triumphantly. "It was a snake. He must be Slytherin's heir!"

"Not this again," Hermione huffed. "It's a simple spell, Ron. Malfoy is not Slytherin's heir, if he was, he would have spoken to the snake in parseltongue."

"Oh, I didn't think of that."

"Parsel what?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Parseltongue," Hermione repeated. "It is a rare language which allows humans to speak with snakes."

"Rare?"

Hermione nodded.

"Slytherin was famous for being able to do it. It is an inherited ability. Anyone with Slytherin's magic can do it. Draco cannot."

For the second time that evening, Harry felt his heart sink.

He could speak with snakes and had done so on a couple of occasions now.

Could he speak parseltongue?

"Stupid Malfoy," Ron grumbled. "So, if it isn't him, then who is it?"

"Well, I think most people will think it is you, Harry," Hermione whispered worriedly. "They all saw what you did. It was dark magic. Slytherin was famous for using the Dark Arts, as were all of his descendants we know of. Even You-Know-Who."

"Voldemort?"

Hermione nodded.

"He was famous for being a parselmouth, and a big reason lots of people followed him was because he claimed to be the heir of Slytherin. I mean, he's dead now, so there must be others."

Harry did not hear anything else she said.

Voldemort was not dead, so the only possibility was that he was somehow behind the attacks that were taking place.

It wasn't as though he hadn't managed to get into the castle last year.

Maybe he found another way?

The thought was certainly concerning, and Harry decided that he would need to be vigilant.

If Voldemort was here, then he would probably come for Harry in some form.

What concerned the boy more in this moment, however, was that there seemed to be a relation of sorts between himself and the man that had murdered his mother.

Was the Potter family tree expunged because of that?

Harry didn't know, but the thought alone of sharing blood with Voldemort made him feel physically ill.

A part of him wished to ignore what he had learned, but he couldn't.

Regardless of the outcome, he needed to know the truth.

(Break)

"You saw it, Headmaster. That was no accident."

"I do not believe it was," Albus sighed.

"Where did the boy learn that?" Severus asked.

"I do not know, but it is a rather concerning development," Albus answered.

Harry had not learned the spell from any book he would find in the castle. Long ago, Albus had ensured that all of those were removed from the library.

No, there was only one place he would have obtained the knowledge, and it seemed that he would need to have a conversation with his mentor to discuss what the man had done for the boy.