He walked through the corridors surrounded by his entourage of Slytherin friends, with Draco on his right as usual. They were heading to their last class before the Christmas holidays began, Potions class.

For the snakes it was the best class of all, but only because Snape favoured them over the Gryffindors and not because the art of creating potions actually appeared, elixirs that could save their skin on occasion. Malfoy on the other hand was fascinated by the subject and also put all his attention and care into memorizing everything he could. Harry on the other hand, although he was quite good, hated the class for the simple fact of not being able to stand Severus Snape, with his greasy and horrible hair smelling of cauldron smoke and his hooked nose sticking where it didn't matter, as in the case of Parseltongue.

Oh yes, that had been quite an event, there had been no talk of anything else for days and Harry could understand why perfectly, after all he had spent the entire summer learning everything he could about Slytherin. He knew that Salazar Slytherin was famous for mastering Parseltongue, the language of snakes, and that that was the main reason why his house emblem was a snake. Harry's mastery of that strange language gave rise to new rumors that only reinforced the theory that he was Salazar's heir, increasing the terror of those whose blood was impure and the respect of those who had nothing to worry about, all in equal parts.

Harry knew that the probability of being the heir of Slytherin was quite null, he had studied the Potter family tree for six generations (which was as far back as there was record) and there was not a single sign of being related to the founder of his alma mater. However, Salazar Slytherin had lived many years ago, very many, and since most pureblood families were related in some way, it was possible, minimally, but it was possible. The Slytherin name may have been lost over time, but the magical blood always lived on.

Having discovered that he possessed such an ability that many described as "dark" surprised him only at first and only because of the way everyone looked at him in the great hall. Once he left there with Draco's hand and was able to think clearly, he remembered an event that had taken place more than two years ago, during a visit to the zoo when his uncles had not had anyone to leave him with so they would not have to take him. As soon as he entered the serpentarium he noticed the small voices of the snakes talking among themselves. One in particular had addressed him and Harry, amazed at how he felt, had responded as if it were a person. Of course when he was discovered by his uncle he was punished, a whole week of only eating lunch, no dinner, no breakfast and household chores every day after school.

However, it had been good news for him that what his family had punished so severely was now well regarded in his own home and among his own people. That ability had won over all the Slytherins, from the youngest to the oldest. In just the first few days he had received a lot of masses from pureblood and well-positioned parents asking him to take good care of their children and Harry had never felt so important.

The other houses hadn't taken it too well, but he couldn't care less, no one messed with him, too scared to confront him, afraid of ending up like Filch or Colin. Some bordered on total cowardice, licking the soles of his shoes, trying to sympathize with him, some others simply avoided him. Few dared to mess with him because they thought he was dark and evil, most of them pureblood wizards from other houses who thought themselves enough to shout their condition in his face, guys like Ernie MacMillan, an odious Hufflepuff of his age, pureblood and quite irritating. With Cedric on Harry's side, the badgers needed someone who didn't sympathize with him, at least a minority and Macmilln, willing to play the savior, had taken that role. Pathetic, everyone at Hogwarts thought, the fact that the boy was a pureblood didn't make him better than anyone else, on the contrary, Harry believed that for having been raised among high society wizards (like Draco) he was quite vulgar and not very powerful, his magic didn't even tickle him.

But the fact that the boy was a joke didn't make him any less irritating, and whenever Harry and his friends ran into him, it was easy to get into trouble. They had never been caught in the middle of their arguments in the hallways, which were more like Ernie talking too loudly about "certain people who shouldn't be admitted to the school" and Harry rolling his eyes before responding with something sarcastic that left the badger embarrassed. So, when they came out of transformations, headed to the dungeons, and noticed that the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were leaving class, the Slytherins were quick to crowd around their prince, with no intention of missing the show.

"But it's the snake prince," MacMillan said, disgust clear in his voice.

—For you, Your Majesty, MacMillan —the dark-haired boy answered, walking down the hall, making the badger stop in his tracks. Everyone burst out laughing, even some Hufflepuffs.

"You seem to be enjoying it a lot," the boy said again, trying to tease him and make him lose his temper, but Harry was a Slytherin and those cheap tricks didn't work on him.

"Why don't you just stop it, Ernie?" Hermione intervened, having just left the classroom with her books in her arms and a group of boys Harry had seen her with recently. "We've been tired of telling you that Harry is not the Heir of Slytherin."

"Please, Hermione, don't waste your breath, she doesn't deserve it," Harry said, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"I think, Granger, that your place in Ravenclaw has become too big for you. It can't be that someone as brilliant as you can't see it. Potter is a Parseltongue, do you remember what was written on the wall? 'Enemies of the heir beware.' Potter was at odds with Filch and was assaulted. That first year Creevey bothered Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him while he was lying in the mud. And then Creevey turns up petrified. I've also heard that he hates the Muggles he lives with. I wouldn't be surprised if Justin was next," he said, looking at his fellow Hufflepuff who immediately paled. "In the first week he beat Potter to Herbology and I don't think he would have taken it very well, plus he's a Muggle-born."

"Ernie!" the aforementioned exclaimed with clear panic in his voice.

"Let me curse him," Draco said to Harry in a voice barely audible to him. The dark-haired boy shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"I don't think Harry…" Hannah Abbot, another Hufflepuff, chimed in. Her cheeks were rosy. "He finished with he-who-must-not-be-named."

"No one knows how he survived You-Know-Who's attack," Ernie said defiantly. "I mean, he was just a kid when it happened, and he should have been blown to pieces. Only a very powerful Dark wizard could survive a curse like that." He lowered his voice to a whisper, then continued, "That's probably whyhewanted to kill him before anyone else. He didn't want another Dark Lord to compete with him."

Everyone fell silent, Harry, who hadn't even bothered to look at him before, was now staring at him. Harry had never wondered why Voldemort had wanted to kill him, but if you put it that way...

However, before that idea could take shape, a thunderous laugh broke through the deathly silence. Draco Malfoy was laughing so hard at Ernie's comment that a small tear ran down his cheek, too amused to try to wipe it away. The blond's laughter was joined by that of the other Slytherins, and even Hermione let out a discreet giggle.

—By Merlin, Macmillan, I knew you were quite slow and not very clever but this... —Draco said, trying to take a breath—. Comparing Harry to the Lord! —He let out another laugh and the others continued laughing. Then, just like that, Draco became serious and approaching the badger he said in a low and dangerous voice—. I know that unskilled wizards like you tend to use resources like dark magic so as not to be failures, but I know that you won't be surprised to know that Harry doesn't need absolutely anything to be one —Ernie, as if petrified, didn't even blink— you can feel it, can't you? Harry's magic is so powerful that you can feel it invading the hall, pure magic, because Harry, compared to you... —he looked at the dark-haired boy— or to Voldemort —those present let out a small gasp of surprise upon hearing the name— was born this way and I find it pathetic and completely disrespectful that you dare compare them —Draco smiled with satisfaction upon seeing him intimidated—. Harry is not the Heir of Slytherin, you little vermin, and I want you to apologize to him.

Everyone fell silent, astonished by Malfoy's less than discreet intervention, that was not his style at all.

"I'm sorry, Potter," Ernie stammered. Harry smiled.

"I haven't heard you, MacMillan," he said, more out of spite than anything else.

"I'm sorry, Potter," he repeated, blushing with embarrassment.

The badgers came out, some looking apologetically at them, others warily. Harry knew that wouldn't be enough to silence the rumours about him being the supposed heir, but at least few of them would want to continue bothering him. Draco could be scary, very scary, even if most of the time he looked like an angel, a spoiled and fragile child who wasn't capable of breaking a single plate.

"Can I?" Draco asked, coming back to his side, looking at him like someone expecting a present. Harry rolled his eyes and nodded. "Crabbe, Goyle," he said and both boys nodded before immediately going after Ernie. The Hufflepuff was not going to have a good time.

"See you at dinner?" Hermione asked and Harry nodded before watching her leave for her last class.

They entered Potions, Snape must have gone to the back of the classroom as he was nowhere to be seen. Harry arranged his cauldron and ingredients on the table and with Draco at his side they soon embarked on a discussion about the revitalizing potion they would be brewing that afternoon.

Talking to Draco about potions and defense against the dark arts was always interesting, Draco knew everything he needed to know. Being a potions genius automatically made him a genius in herbology and being good at defense automatically made him a scholar of charms and transformations. Draco, unlike many Slytherin boys, took his role as the next heir to an ancestral family name very seriously, from a very young age he had been introduced to the art of magic and all its branches. Harry had heard from his own mouth that he had had teachers at home who had taught him everything and that his own parents had been in charge of guiding him along the way, so that in the future, Draco would be much more than his last name, so that he would be greater and the boy had learned well, because each step he took led him along the path to his goal.

Then Harry remembered one of Ernie's lines that had been used just a few moments ago, the one where he claimed that Harry hated the muggles he lived with, his family. There was such a difference between Draco's family and his own that he thought he was a little envious of him. The Malfoys were always willing to do whatever it took to see their son shine, showering him with unnecessary sweets and toys, the best clothes, the best shoes and books. The love they had for him was palpable despite how inexpressive they could be. However, compared to his childhood, Harry would have preferred inexpressive parents to having to endure a single day of life with the Dursleys. If Harry was short and thin it was because of the poor diet he had had all those years, if he had become insecure it was because he had been taught that nothing was worth it.

Things had changed, of course, but not because the Dursleys realized what a bad idea it was to treat him badly, but because Draco had come to teach him that he could achieve anything he wanted, with perseverance, ambition, cunning and a little help from the right people. And Harry repaid him every day with his unconditional friendship, silently swearing that, the day he managed to reach the top, he would do it with him by his side and leave everything at his feet, because that was how the Slytherins thanked him, that was how the snakes wanted.

Snape's class came and went as quickly as it had begun. Harry chatted a bit with Ron and Neville about his encounter with MacMillan and flatly denied having anything to do with his hair suddenly starting to fall out of his head and his teeth turning green. The Potions Master docked a few points from Gryffindor, gave Draco a few more for his always perfect display of talent, and finally let them go, but not before leaving some homework for the holidays, the only teacher who did so.

When they were halfway to the Great Hall, Harry remembered that he had to return a couple of books to the library. He politely asked Draco to go ahead, but the blond replied that he had forgotten to ask Snape something and that he needed to get back to the dungeons. They both parted ways, leaving the rest of the Slytherins to go ahead.

The halls were practically empty, Harry thought it was because of the hour. However, when he arrived at the library he found a few more students who greeted him politely and wished him good night. Before returning his books, Harry borrowed a couple more about magical creatures that were helping him in his research. He was really curious to know what the monster that housed the Chamber of Secrets was and together with Draco he had begun to investigate a little. He finally returned the volumes he had already memorized to the matron who always had a bad face and requesting a new pair of books he left again for the dining hall.

Harry went down a flight of stairs and back down another corridor. It was much darker now, for the strong, icy wind blowing through the loose windowpane had extinguished the torches. He was halfway down the corridor when he tripped and nearly fell over something on the floor. He turned and strained his eyes to see what he had tripped over, and felt a bitter taste in his mouth when he discovered it. Lying stiff and cold on the floor, with a look of horror on his face and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling, lay Justin Finch-Fletchley. And that was not all. Beside him were a pair of figures, the strangest sight Harry had ever seen. They were Ernie Macmillan and Nearly Headless Nick, who was no longer transparent and pearly white, but black and misty, and hovering motionless, horizontal, a hand's length above the floor. His head was half-hanging, and on his face was the same look of horror as Justin's.

At that moment he thought that he had two options, get out of there immediately and wait for someone else to find them or go directly to find a teacher. The second option could get him into trouble, some teachers were already starting to look at him with suspicion and, although Harry knew he was innocent, he was beginning to suspect that the heir was just trying to harm him by giving him a bad reputation. In other words, the aggressor was either trying in good faith to give MacMillan what he deserved or to blame him for that aggression in an easy way, something that after the confrontation just a couple of hours ago was easier.

He crossed his arms and sighed before deciding that it would be best to leave. Or at least that had been his plan until the torches were lit and McGonagall appeared in the corridor. Harry had only a couple of seconds to react and pretend to be completely distressed.

—Professor, you have to see this, there are a couple of boys... and the man almost decapitated... they...— he didn't finish his sentence, the teacher passed him by to observe the scene. Harry congratulated himself internally for the natural way he had lied, one thing was for the students to believe him guilty and quite another for the teachers to do so. He didn't feel like being expelled, thank you.

"This way, Potter," she said sadly, but she didn't seem to blame him for anything.

He nodded, still feigning distress, and followed her silently to the gargoyle behind which he knew the headmaster's office was. McGonagall said the password: "lemon sherbet," and they entered. They left the stone staircase and Professor McGonagall knocked on the door. It opened silently and they entered. Professor McGonagall asked Harry to wait and left him alone. Harry looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices he had visited that year, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. If he hadn't been too busy wondering how to get out of this and not be expelled from the school, he would have enjoyed looking around.

It was a large, beautiful, circular room, in which a great many faint, curious sounds could be heard. On the tables with their long, thin legs were odd little things which made little noises and puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with pictures of old directors, men and women, who were dozing in their frames. There was also a large desk with paw-like feet, and behind it on a shelf was a shabby, broken wizard's hat - it was the Sorting Hat.

"Harry Potter," the old hat greeted him, "I see you proudly wear your house robes. Have you finally convinced yourself that this was the best place for you? Or do you still want to belong to Gryffindor?" Harry smiled, looking at him for a second and then at the old phoenix resting on a perch next to Dumbledore's chair. The phoenix burst into flames and burned itself out, and Harry forgot for a moment what he was doing there, marveling at the creature.

"I must thank you," he replied kindly.

Then the door to the office opened. Dumbledore entered, looking grim. Harry felt intimidated, for the old headmaster was one of the few wizards who made an impression just by his presence. However, putting on his best puppy face, he kept his composure, ready to defend himself.

"Sir, it wasn't me," he said sounding confident, and the man's expression softened.

"I know that, Harry," he replied. "Hagrid saw you leave the library a few minutes ago and told me about it. However, you must understand that this matter is very delicate." The boy nodded.

—Do you... do you have any idea who... or what...? —he asked, not quite sure.

—I'm afraid not, my dear boy, I'm afraid not. However, I have heard that you speak Parseltongue.

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked and Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

—Of course not, even though many people believe otherwise —he paused for a moment— Harry, do you trust me?

—Of course, sir —he lied.

—So you'll agree to come to me if... some strange event were to occur, right? —Harry thought of the voices he heard in the walls and the strange dreams he had lately. He thought of his private investigation of the matter and yet he said nothing other than:

-Of course.

"Okay, go to dinner and... visit me from time to time," she asked him with a kind smile that Harry didn't know how to interpret. Dumbledore was a complete mystery, something in his eyes made him uneasy and doubtful.

However, he dismissed that thought and returned to the great hall where Draco was already waiting for him.