Viper already longs for me as soon as Harper returns with her pet. And once handed over, she wraps herself around my arm just like she did last night, completely agitated.

"Say something! Come on!"

She hisses and snarls, so badly that it even causes Edwin to eye us in eerie excitement until he finally gets up from the dining table – despite the need of his walking stick – to draw closer.

"Will you not be a traitor? Speak up!"

Harper and Edwin proceed to exchange indecisive glances as Viper thrusts her head toward me with all her might, and unintentionally, a groan passes my lips.

"Speak up! I smell your blood, you can do it! Come on, speak!"

"What's wrong with her?" Harper asks. "Tom, I've honestly never seen her like this until yesterday ..."

They can probably hear me swallow as I let my arm – including a mad Viper – wander closer to Harper.

"Do you want me to take it from you?"

"Traitor! Miserable traitor!"

I can't possibly speak now. So I all but nod.

"All right, yes." She takes Viper with loving firmness as the snake doesn't quite want to let go of me.

"May I have her," Edwin politely demands, smiling at us. "I need a little exercise anyway."

"Do you want me to help you get her back into her –"

"No, no, dear, just let me assist on my own this once."

He grabs his walking stick again and begins to talk to Viper – who's still swearing at me briskly – as he's disappearing into the next room with her.

It takes a moment, but once he's back in the living room, he loudly claps and says, "Now come on, kids, as I'm already up – let's all get some fresh air, shall we?"

"You just want to smoke." Harper winks. "This has nothing to do with fresh air ..."

Without any hesitation, Edwin carries on, and while already opening the front door, he retorts, "You're not to argue, young lady – but to get moving. Tom, you too. On we go!"

Harper and I wrap our scarves even tighter in not entirely happy anticipation of the cold as we finally step through the door into the front yard to Edwin as well.

"Awfully warm and stuffy …"

I look at Harper in irritation. "It's bloody cold, what do you mean?"

"What?" she asks, perplexed. "Tom, what did you just say?"

"You can't understand that whispering, dear, don't bother." Edwin lets out a breath triumphantly, eyeing me with wild fascination yet again. "I knew it ..."

An unwelcome suspicion arises in my core, confirmed immediately as Edwin proceeds to show us Viper in the inside pocket of his tweed instead of his cigarette case.

"Much better."

Her tongue hisses at me again, and that dull feeling of betrayal unfolds along with raw annoyance throughout my whole consciousness.

"I'm really sorry, my boy," Edwin sighs, "I didn't mean to deceive you. Please don't look at me like that – you'd never have admitted it."

"What?" Harper asks. "What are we talking about?"

"Tom's a parselmouth."

"A what?"

Even I'm hearing this term for the first time. I've always known that I can talk to snakes, but not exactly that there's a term for it.

"Why don't you say something? Say something, say something, say something!"

I finally lose my patience with the pushy little animal, hence I hiss, "You've just revealed a best-kept secret once and for all! Are you satisfied now?"

"Incredible," Edwin marvels, he's clearly moved and impressed at the same time.

"You're talking to my snake?" Harper grins at me, then at Edwin. "A Slytherin talking to a snake. If that's not a cliché, I don't know ..."

"That's just it," Edwin quietly says, looking at me with many a question on his face. "Harper, will you bring Viper back inside? I need to have a talk with Tom."

"And you don't want me to be around?"

"You caught that beautifully," he chuckles. "Dear?"

She looks up at him, her gaze demanding.

"Not a word about this to anyone, yes? Not a word. Do you hear? This has to be kept secret."

She nods, even though quite willy-nilly, and then disappears into the warmth with Viper again.

Edwin, however, puts his hands on his hips and closely watches me. "You don't know what that means, do you?"

"Excuse me, sir," I say, almost no patience left in me, "but what is it supposed to mean?"

"What you can do," he quietly remarks, sounding as though he's about to let me in on a huge conspiracy, "is an absolute rarity. Something very special, Tom."

"How special can it be to communicate with a tiny reptile when, in comparison, I can take the last breath from any living creature with just two words and a twist of my wand? How much more impressive is it that I can talk to animals?"

"You speak to other animals as well?" Tensely he waits for my answer, and I'm about to wave it off, but then it strikes me, too.

It's only snakes that I understand. Hence with a frown I shake my head.

"A parselmouth," Edwin repeats almost cheerfully, smiling as if I were an exotic exhibit. "That I should live to see it ..."

"Sir, there's only one soul in this world I've ever let in on it, and compared to yours, their reaction has taught me not to ever mention it again."

"Who are we talking about?"

"With all due respect, sir," I murmur, "I'd like answers now."

"Sure, Tom," Edwin says. "Take a stroll with me to the woods, let's keep moving."

"Sir, I don't want to go for a walk, I just want to know –"

"Be so kind."

I take a deep breath and finally nod. "After you."

In the corner of my eye, I see Harper groaning in the window because now she can no longer eavesdrop on us – exactly what Edwin wanted.

But who knows what it's good for …

We're walking along the edge of the woods for a bit, until he finally lets me light a cigarette for him and we settle down on a park bench.

"How well are you doing in history?" he then asks, puffing the smoke away from us. "In History of Magic, I mean."

"As well as in any other subject – what's your point?"

"Well, Tom," he sighs, taking another deep drag. "Let's talk about it bluntly, because after all, the rest of the world doesn't. This talent has an ... ambivalent reputation. It's commonly attributed to the Dark Arts, but for scholars, that's complete nonsense. Whether someone can talk to snakes is in no way indicative of a state of mind. It's just that ... let's say, so far, not-so-good-hearted exponents of this talent ... have, over the centuries, supposedly substantiated, time and again, that Parsel is reserved primarily for evil."

"So here we are again." I smile, quite bitterly. "It seems my fate is sealed."

"Not at all, Tom," Edwin denies. "You have all your life to dispute this negative connotation. And when I say you, I mean only you ..."

I look at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Only you as parselmouths are rare. Extremely rare. The last one of renown and fame in Great Britain was none other than Salazar Slytherin himself. Nearly a thousand years ago, mind you."

To say I'm puzzled in light of those words seems like the understatement of a millennium.

"I thought it was perfectly normal until now", I think aloud. "Even back in the orphanage. Snakes just find me ..."

"Quite fantastic," he says. "You're a multi-talented young wizard, no doubt. You know ... still, some other questions remain." Undecided whether to continue, he takes another drag on his cigarette, then gives himself a jolt. "After all, they say this ability is inherited, Tom."

I let that sink in, but I'm still not quite sure what those words mean.

"Of course, due to its rarity, this could hardly be adequately proven, at least to my knowledge," Edwin points out. "But still, I could well imagine that it is true, as rare as this skill is sown."

"You can't possibly be suggesting that I might be related to Slytherin though."

He shrugs. "Who knows? I've seen a lot of unbelievable things, you can trust me on that. The question is – does this now awake some curiosity about your origins after all?"

I'm no longer sure myself.
Until now, I thought I knew exactly that I'd never touch this topic, but maybe these latest assumptions are about to change that. On the other hand ...

"Where would I even start, sir?"

"I'd apparate to London if I were you," Edwin hums with a smirk on his lips. "I hear it's quite wonderful this time of year."

"It is, sir, unless everything's destroyed by bombs and more air raids are to be expected ..."

Edwin bleakly nods. "I know, Tom. We're truly living in a dark time of world history. Probably the darkest time of all. I've seen and discovered it all before, but it's especially unfortunate for you young folks. And yet we must not live in fear and allow ourselves to be paralyzed. Because if we do, we'll be dead long before we must die."

I nod.

"Especially since I'm sure Harper would love you to take her on a little trip," Edwin adds.

"To an orphanage? Surely not the kind of trip anyone would be looking for ..."

"You're looking out for each other, that's enough," Edwin retorts.

"No. Harper doesn't need to know where –"

"Why not?" he asks. "Just let her accompany you, Tom. Some things are easier carried together. And you do make a nice couple, after all."

"Sir, we're not a –"

"Oh, Tom," he chuckles. "I'm not a hunter like her father, I'm a slow old man in need of a cane. You don't have to fool me. She adores you. And you're fond of her, too."

I hate it, but I feel a weary smile creep onto my face. "You're irritatingly often right, so most likely you're also now."

He stubs out his cigarette on the park bench, then rises, groaning. "With age comes wisdom – at least a small comfort once every step you take hurts."

"Is it that bad?" I ask, surprising myself.

Since when do I care about people I've only known for a few hours?
Since when do I even care about anyone but Harper and myself?

Maybe, in the end, it's not the time spent with someone that matters. It's the weight of the words exchanged ...

"Let's go back, Tom," Edwin eagerly says. "But don't be in a hurry on the way with me, yes?"

"No hurry at all," I reply. "But let's keep on thinking – Harper and I still need to mind the trace. We won't have to go back to Hogwarts if we even apparate an inch."

"Of course, sure," he growls. "I'd forgotten about that."

"And it would be an endless trip by train," I point out.

"Oh, yes, and in that case William and Polly would hear about it, too."

"They'd never allow Harper to leave," I add. "Right?"

"Right," Edwin confirms. "So you obviously have to apparate with me and not talk about it ... I'll take a stroll around London to buy some tobacco and you do your research. What do you say?"

I take a deep breath in, then I nod. "Sounds like a plan, sir."

"I've always had good plans," he begins to assure me. "You know, even in America ..."

He's soon raving about the States, recounting many anecdotes on our way back – and it's not an unwelcome change, given that soon everything will be mostly about my past …