1 August 1986 (The Day After Jim Potter's Sixth Birthday)
The grounds of Potter Manor
The toy broom wasn't very fast and couldn't fly very high, but it was still Jim's favorite present. His favorite real present from his mum and dad, that is, not one of the other presents sent by people he didn't even know and which his parents had made him give away to needy children. Which was fine with Jim because he had more presents than he could ever use, and his mum and dad said charity was a good thing and that the Boy-Who-Lived was supposed to do good things. But Jim was sure he'd have thrown a tantrum if they'd tried to give away his toy broom no matter how many needy wizarding children wanted one. He'd cried for hours when he'd broken the one he'd had since he was four and only been consoled when his dad had promised to buy him the newest model of the Nimbus Jr. for his birthday.
The Boy-Who-Lived's Birthday Party Gala held the previous day had been long and tiring, and even though some of the guests his mum and dad had invited had brought children, Jim hadn't gotten a chance to play with any of them. Of course, that was to be expected – Jim had never had a chance to play with any children and at this point in his life, he wasn't fully aware that "playing with others" was a thing children did. And so, without knowing what he was missing from a lack of playmates, Jim was enjoying himself alone on his new toy broom ... right up until the little green snake reared up its head and hissed at him, an act which startled the boy so much he fell off and landed right next to the serpent. Jim had never seen a live snake before, but his mum and dad had both shown him pictures and warned him that snakes could be dangerous and were associated with the Bad House at Hogwarts – the Slither-Ins – and also with the Bad Man who Jim had defeated when he was just a baby.
"Don't hurt me!" the frightened boy cried out.
"Why would I hurt you?" replied the snake in a bemused feminine voice. "You're not a mouse. Why, you're not even a toad! And besides, I would never harm a Speaker!"
Jim blinked in confusion. His father had told him many things about snakes, but he'd never mentioned their conversational skills. "Hey! You can talk!"
"Of course, Speaker," she replied. "You're Speaking to me, and so I must respond. That is what it means to be a Speaker ... Speaker."
"Why are you calling me Speaker? My name's Jim, not Speaker. And what's your name?"
"What an interesting question! No one has ever asked me my name before. It's ... Evelyn. Yes, that's it. My name is Evelyn. Though you can call me Evie if you wish. And I call you Speaker because that's what you are: A Speaker of the Founder's sacred tongue."
Suddenly, another voice called out. "Jim? What are you doing?" It was the boy's mum, who was now standing about fifteen feet away and was watching the boy and his snake with a nervous expression.
"Hey mum! Come and see!" The innocent boy said excitedly. "I can talk to snakes!"
Lily Potter stood perfectly still for several seconds as she absorbed what her son had said. "Really?" she said in a tight voice. "Why don't you show me?" And with a smile, the boy did so. He turned back to Evelyn and directed an unearthly hiss towards the little grass snake that sent a chill down the witch's back.
After a few seconds, the boy turned back to his mum with a happy smile. "Her name is Evie, and she says she's a grass snake. Natrix natrix ... whatever that means. She says I'm a Speaker of Sal... Salzzzar Slither-In's sacred tongue. Can we keep her?"
"Jim ... come over here, please." Jim frowned at her mother's expression, which was one he'd never seen on her before. Dutifully, the boy got up and walked over to his mother who knelt beside him and brushed the dirt off of his clothes. "Jim... we need to talk about this. There's some things you need to understand about ... about talking to snakes ... and Salazar Slytherin ... and ... your father. Right now, though, I want you to go back to the house. It's almost time for lunch."
"But what about Evie, mum?"
"Jim!" Lily said more forcefully. Then, her face softened. "You go on. I'll take care of Evie." Jim hesitated. "And then, we'll have treacle tart!" At that, the boy's face lit up with a smile. Lily kissed Jim's forehead and then sent him on back towards the manor house. Once he was out of sight, she walked over to pick up the boy's toy broom. Then, she looked down at the grass snake which seemed to be waiting patiently. For a long moment, she stared at it angrily, as if it were the snake's fault that her son was a Parselmouth with all that entailed. Then, with a sudden flick of her wand, the snake was sliced neatly in two. Lily vanished the remains and then turned back towards the house.
18 December 1992
An hour before dawn
Jim stared up at the darkened ceiling of the Gryffindor dorm. He'd barely slept a wink since the previous night's disaster. He'd made a promise at the age of six to never reveal that he was a Parselmouth, and while he certainly didn't regret using that hated and nearly-forgotten power to save the lives of his classmates, it was heartrending to see that everything his mother had warned him about was true – nearly everyone seemed to hate and fear him now because of Parseltongue's terrible reputation. Worst of all, not only was he exposed as a Parselmouth in front of his peers, but it was under circumstances which seemed to prove that Harry wasn't a Parselmouth. And that meant that Ron was probably right. Jim's ability to speak to snakes was something he'd acquired from Voldemort. A part of the Dark Lord was inside him and had been all along. Was that why he'd been drawn to Mr. Nemo's Occlumency book? Was that why he'd been such an immature prat for so long? Was that what possessed him to call Hermione Granger a "Mudblood" the year before? Jim looked over sadly at Ron's empty bed once more, and then he pulled himself up and started getting dressed for his morning workout.
"Jim?" said Neville sleepily. "What are you doing up so early?"
"Sorry to wake you, Neville. I'm just going for a run."
Neville tried to process that for several seconds. "Jim, there's four feet of snow on the ground outside."
"I know. So, I'll just run up and down the stairs for an hour or so instead."
"Oh," said the other boy. He watched in silence as Jim pulled on some Muggle sweat pants that he used for his morning workouts. "You know, it will get better, Jim. Ron will come around. So will everyone else,"
"Ron and everyone else thinks I'm You-Know-Who Reborn, Neville." Jim paused. "Come to think of it, why do you not think that?"
Neville shrugged. "Because I know you. It's idiotic to think that you might be a dark wizard, especially after you tried to beat up You-Know-Who last year with karate."
"Taekwando."
"Ah," said Neville, who was not conversant with Muggle martial arts techniques. "And anyway, it's ... extra idiotic to think you're a dark wizard just for being a Parselmouth."
Jim gave a sad smile. "You're being pretty broad-minded about it. Especially since last September, you were ready to jump me in the Common Room for that prank I played on Harry with the boggart."
"Gryffindors are supposed to do what's right instead of what's easy. Back then, it was right to stand up to you when you were being a prat to your brother. Now, it's right to stand by you when everyone else is being a prat to you." Then, Neville smirked a bit. "Mind you, there is a certain ... poetry to this. I mean, you have been suggesting that Harry was a future dark wizard since his Sorting and with a lot less actual evidence than being a Parseltongue."
Jim sighed. "Believe me, Neville," he said ruefully. "I am well aware of the fact that I seem to be paying off all my accumulated bad karma at once."
Professor Lockhart's Office
8:45 a.m.
"Come in," said the DADA instructor in response to the soft knock. The door opened, and an oddly timid George Weasley entered.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Have a seat," said Lockhart without smiling. George moved to the chair in front of the desk. As he did, he glanced at a nearby chalkboard upon which was written a rune chain that he thought seemed oddly familiar. Lockhart noticed his expression.
"What do you think of it, Mr. Weasley?" he said in a cool voice.
George studied the runes more intently for a few seconds before speaking. "It's some kind of portkey matrix, but it's not like the usual kind. It looks like it was designed for something a lot bigger than the normal portkey. And if I had to guess, I'd say it was it was designed for a portkey to be triggered by some environmental condition." He cocked his head at one section. "Is that ... steam?!"
"Indeed. This matrix was for an oversized portkey designed to activate automatically when exposed to any significant amount of steam. And I direct your attention to the rune sequence on the third row, the one with that odd combination of Younger and Elder Futhark. Does that look familiar to you?"
George nodded silently. The sequence, as a matter of fact, looked like something out of the project he'd been working on desperately to catch up after his original notes had been stolen following the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. Suddenly, he began to have an uneasy feeling about why he was here ... and why one of his favorite teachers was now so cold towards him.
"In point of fact, Mr. Weasley, you are the only member of Research Team Backdoor to sequence mixed runes in such an unconventional manner. Frankly, I'm surprised Professor Babbling didn't break you of such habits during your first year of Ancient Runes."
"I never had Professor Babbling, sir, or Ancient Runes."
"Well that makes ..." Lockhart stopped mid-sentence and stared at the boy. "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?"
"I never took Ancient Runes. Me and Fred took Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. We thought they'd be easier grades."
Lockhart's left eye twitched. "Well, yes, of course you did. And could explain you to me how in Merlin's name you can now display a better grasp of interlocking runes than some of the NEWTs-level students despite never having had the class?!"
George shrugged. "Our brother Bill is a curse-breaker. We got hold of some of his old textbooks from when he was working on his Mastery and taught ourselves what we know about runeworking."
Lockhart's eye twitched again, even more violently. "How ... how did you even learn Futhark?!" he asked in amazement.
"We found the recipe for the language potions and brewed them the Summer after Second Year," the boy said as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
"Of course you did." The professor leaned back and closed his eyes wearily. "Of course you did."
"Sir, this is about that prank somebody played on the Slytherins last night, isn't it. You think I was involved, don't you?"
Lockhart opened his eyes and regarded his student intently. "I think the prank was performed by someone highly familiar with the experimental rune sequences we've been working with in Project Backdoor. I think it was specifically someone who has been working on large-scale portkeys which was your project area. And I think it was someone with an inventive mind for pranks who also has a grudge against the Slytherin Quidditch team. Who do you think my prime suspect should be?"
"It wasn't me!" said George excitedly. "Last month, during the Quidditch match, someone stole my notes out of the locker room. Whoever it was might have been able to use them for the prank!"
"Really?" said Lockhart doubtfully. "Your notes just happened to be stolen by someone with the technical expertise to understand them and someone who would use your research against the Slytherins?"
"You can check with Oliver Wood. We told him the minute we found out that we'd been robbed. And we also asked Harry Potter to check into who might have done it before yesterday."
Lockhart rubbed his chin for a few seconds as he considered what George had said.
"Sir," the boy continued earnestly. "My first day on the team, I promised you that I wouldn't use what I learned for pranks. I meant it then and I mean it now. I had nothing to do with what happened to the Slytherins last night."
Lockhart hesitated before speaking. "I believe you. Merlin knows why, Weasley, but I believe you. Unfortunately, my personal beliefs are not enough to defeat my professional responsibilities. When the Slytherins made it through the doors last night, it was just as Mr. Filch was about to bar them for the evening! The Headmaster wanted the castle locked up so that children weren't tempted to go out to play in the snow. And if the Slytherins had been just a few minutes later, they'd have been locked outside practically naked in a blizzard and no one would have known where they were. They could easily have died. The Headmaster wants answers, and all I have to give him are my personal beliefs in your innocence ... and the uncontroverted facts."
George looked fearful. He remembered how angry Professor McGonagall had been after Jim's boggart prank against Harry. And now someone had played an even more dangerous prank against Harry and several other Slytherins, a prank for which he was about to get the blame. In light of what had happened, outright expulsion was a possibility.
"I can give you until tomorrow morning, Mr. Weasley, to marshal what evidence you can in your defense before I go to the Headmaster. And I promise that if you are accused, I will speak up in your defense. But if I do, I want something in return."
The boy licked his lips. "What, sir?"
"I want you to sit for Professor Babbling's end-of-term examination before you leave for the Christmas holidays. And if you score high enough to satisfy her, I want you to join her Fourth Year Ancient Runes class when you return next term. You are a wizard, George Weasley. And you have an obligation to wizarding society and to yourself to be the best damned wizard you can be. And you'll never reach your true potential so long as you let people talk you into settling for easy grades."
George swallowed painfully. "Expulsion?" he thought. "Or kill myself trying to catch up in Ancient Runes when I'm a year and a half behind? Which would be the worse nightmare to have come true?"
The Great Hall
Lunch
Harry Potter idly played with his food while trying to discreetly study his newly outcast brother. The other boy sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table instead of the middle where he normally held court. To Harry's mild surprise, Neville was sitting with Jim, almost shielding him from notice by his house-mates. Harry felt the tiniest pang of jealousy at that, but then he suppressed it. Neville was universally considered to be the kindest boy in their year. Of course, he'd become protective of Jim once the rest of the school had turned on him. Harry also felt a slightly larger pang of guilt at how completely his brother had been rejected by the school for a talent that he himself also possessed and in large part because of his own manipulative actions. He suppressed that emotion even more ruthlessly. Then, for good measure, he suppressed the sudden spark of concern about using Occlumency to suppress emotions like guilt and empathy and what that might say about his own mental health.
Suddenly, Harry's attention was drawn to the sight of an owl approaching with a letter. He recognized it well enough. It was James Potter's personal owl, the same one that had delivered the Howler on his first day of class the previous year. "Godric" was the creature's name, if he remembered correctly. Harry smiled. If James had sent his favored son a Howler for being a Parselmouth, this might be the happiest day of his life. Unfortunately, the letter in the owl's clutches was not red, and the bird was actually headed in his direction. The owl landed and extended a claw towards Harry, one bearing a normal letter bearing his name along with the Potter family crest. Harry took the letter and then cut a small piece of ham to feed to the bird which hooted appreciatively before flying away. Harry elected not to immediately read the letter, which he pocketed instead. Glancing up and around, he was oddly pleased by the surprised and unhappy looks that both Jim and Lily Potter were giving him.
Meanwhile, further down the Gryffindor table, several of Jim's fellow Gryffindor's had struck up the beginnings of an argument.
"So, Oliver, will you be holding tryouts for a new Seeker after the holidays?" asked Cormac McClaggen.
"And why the devil would I do something as stupid as that, McClaggen?" the Quidditch captain replied without looking up from the latest issue of Quidditch Monthly.
"Well, because of what happened last night!" said Parvati. "You know. With the snake and the evil hissing voice. Don't you care about that?"
"Nope. Honestly, I don't care in the slightest that Jim's a Parseltongue," said Oliver irritably.
"Parselmouth," said Luna Lovegood. "Language is important."
"Parselmouth, Parseltongue, Parselteeth or Parselgums, none of it matters to me. So long as Potter catches the Snitch, he can talk to snakes all day. Hell, he can teach them to sing and dance and spend his free time staging musical comedies for all I care."
"Really, Oliver?" said Seamus in disbelief. "You're actually okay with having a dark wizard on the team?"
"Oh, honestly," snapped Hermione. "The idea that Jim Potter is a dark wizard is preposterous, no matter who or what he talks with." She narrowed her eyes at Seamus. "Which reminds me – where's Ronald? I'd have expected him to be the one here peddling this nonsense."
"He's off with the Twins," said Lavender without looking up from her lunch. The girl had been very quiet ever since the discussion had turned towards Jim's controversial gift. "George grabbed Fred and Ron before lunch started."
"Why didn't they get me?" asked Percy with his eyes narrowed. Lavender shrugged. "Well anyway, I don't know that Parseltongue necessarily makes Jim ... dark. But I've had my concerns with Ron hanging around him since their first year. Always dragging Ron into trouble ... and the way Jim just assaulted Harry back in November! He definitely has issues."
"Of course, he has issues," said Seamus. "It's like Ron said. He got his Parseltongue from You-Know-Who. I bet Jim Potter is actually the Heir of Slytherin."
"I find that highly improbable," said Hermione with a disdainful sniff.
"Oh come on, Hermione," replied Parvati. "You-Know-Who. Salazar Slytherin. Even Herpo the Foul. Everyone knows that Parseltongue is the sign of a dark wizard."
At that, there was a small crash from behind her, as Padma Patil slammed her cup down hard onto the Ravenclaw table before rising from her seat to angrily approach her twin sister.
"Oh, really, Parvati?" she said harshly. "Everyone knows Parseltongue is the sign of a dark wizard? Good to know! I can't wait to get home for the holidays and let mother know that her favorite uncle is a dark wizard just because he spent three years learning to talk to serpents!"
Several students gasped at that, while Parvati blanched. "Padma!" she exclaimed in embarrassment.
"You have an uncle who's a Parselmouth?" Lavender asked her friend in surprise. Parvati opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by her angry twin.
"Yes!" said Padma imperiously. "Our great-uncle, Gupta Baskar, spent years learning Parseltongue because certain kinds of magic are more potent if you speak the incantations in the language of serpents, most notably healing magic. Today, Uncle Gupta is the one of the most respected and successful Healers in all of Wizarding India."
"Hang on," said Hermione in surprise. "I didn't know you could learn Parseltongue."
"No offense, Hermione," said Padma, "but that's because you're a British witch attending a British magical school, and British wizards and witches don't acknowledge the existence of a universe beyond their shores. The truth is that Parseltongue is thousands of years old, far older than Salazar Slytherin. His innovation was not to create the language but to figure out how to invest it into his blood so that it would come naturally to his descendants instead of requiring years of study. But long before Hogwarts was built, Hypatia of Greece and Padraig of Ireland were Parselmouths, as was Paracelsus, one of the last great European wizard to become internationally famous among Muggles before the Statute of Secrecy was enacted. It is only because of its connections with Salazar Slytherin and with You-Know-Who that British wizards and witches think Parseltongue is evil."
Padma turned towards then end of the table. "Jim, I can see that this has been traumatic for you, but if you would like, I would be happy to write you a letter of introduction to Uncle Gupta. He can answer any questions you have about Parseltongue that are based on actual fact rather than," she turned back towards her sister with a glare of contempt, "primitive superstition."
Jim, who was visibly surprised at how the Ravenclaw came to his aid, nodded gratefully. "Yes, please. I'd be very grateful. Thank you, Padma."
She nodded, and with one last dismissive look towards Parvati and the other Gryffindors, she returned to the Ravenclaw table. Meanwhile, Neville leaned over to Jim with a smile.
"See," said Neville. "Things aren't as bad as you thought."
Jim shrugged, but the Patil girl's words did seem to raise his spirits somewhat. "Maybe they're not." He glanced up towards the head table and saw that his mother was looking down towards him with a thoughtful expression. As was, to his surprise, Dumbledore, who actually smiled at him. Jim smiled back and then returned to his lunch in a slightly better mood.
Meanwhile in Gryffindor Tower
Fred and Ron sat quietly by the fireplace. George had explained to them both what he'd learned from Lockhart – that whoever pranked the Slytherin Quidditch Team the night before had also done an excellent job of framing him. And worse, that he was at serious risk for expulsion over the matter. George and Fred had talked for a while and then argued for even longer before George complained of a headache and left to go lay down in his room. Ron and Fred stayed behind to continue talking.
"It's not fair. You and George had nothing to do with what happened to those slimy snakes. Why should he get punished for it?"
"Fair's got nothing to do with it, little brother of mine. I reckon George is right. Whoever robbed our lockers of George's notes must have pulled off that prank on the snakes in such a way that it looks like George did it. But I don't know how to prove that."
The two sat quietly for a few minutes. Then, Ron looked up to his brother.
"Maybe there's another way."
"Another way to what?" replied Fred.
"Another way to keep George from getting expelled," replied Ron quietly. "I could take the fall for it instead."
"What?!" Fred exclaimed in shock.
"Everyone knows how much I hate Slytherins. I haven't been exactly subtle about it. I could go to McGonagall and say I copied George's notes and used them to prank their Quidditch team. Maybe she'd believe me."
"I don't much see how that improves things, Ronnikins. We'd still end up with a brother expelled. A net loss in my book."
"Better me than George. I mean, he's the one who's going to make something of himself, not me."
"Stop saying that, Ron!" said Fred angrily. "You're gonna make something of yourself. Something nobody will ever forget. And besides, well ... no offense, but you're not exactly the Prankmaster Weasley around here. Nobody would ever believe that you could pull of something like that."
"Well, we've got to do something! Do you have any ideas?"
Fred shook his head no and then turned to stare at the fire. The two boys were quiet for a moment before Ron sighed and pulled out his notebook to prepare for his next class. Meanwhile, Fred thought about what his little brother had said. Slowly, an idea formed in his head, accompanied by a look of grim determination on his face. Ron sat quietly and took notes.
And waited.
The end of Potions Class
3:00 p.m.
As the students were turning in their vials and packing up at the end of Potions, Professor Snape called out to Harry.
"Sensible Potter. Remain after class. There is a House matter we need to discuss." Harry nodded and moved to the front of the room while everyone else departed. Snape gestured for him to sit at a desk and wait while he finished marking the potions that had been turned in. Finally, after a few minutes, Snape looked up at Harry and pulled out his wand, casting a spell before the boy could react. "SERPENSORTIA." Instantly, Harry was shocked by the presence of a very angry and highly venomous coral snake materializing on the desk right in front of him.
"SSStop!" he hissed in a panic, and the angry snake stilled. Then, Harry glared up at Snape, who was completely unrepentant.
"You were wise to conceal the fact that you too possess this gift, Potter, though you would do well to be on guard against the Snake-Summoning Charm from those who might wish to expose you."
"I hope, sir, that there won't be too many people who try to expose me by summoning a coral snake into my lap!"
"Milk snake, Potter. Completely harmless. 'Red touch yellow – Kills the fellow. Red touch black – Venom lack.' I would recommend you pursue an interest in herpetology if you wish to exploit this gift to its utmost."
"Noted, sir," he said drily. As Harry spoke, he calmly popped his wand and then vanished the milk snake. "So, do you plan to inform anyone that I'm also a Parselmouth?"
"I have no particular interest in making life easier for the Other Potter, but I do have questions for my own edification. How long have you known that you've had this gift."
"Since last year, about a month before James brought my Hogwarts letter. There was a boa constrictor at the London Zoo. It struck up a conversation with me, and then I had a bout of accidental magic that allowed it to get loose. I didn't learn that it was called Parseltongue or that it was considered evil until the day I met James."
"And he has no idea of this?"
Harry gave the Potions Master a look suggesting the question was practically offensive. "Currently, only seven Slytherins know I'm a Parselmouth, two of whom have graduated and all of whom are magically bound not to reveal my secret. No one else has any idea. Well, besides you."
"Oh, I'm sure quite a few people have ideas, Potter, but they lack proof. Now then, if you and the Other Potter both speak this language, it is undoubtedly genetic. Have you any theories as to how you both might have inherited this gift?"
"I don't need a theory, Professor Snape. I know exactly how we got it." Harry told him about the blood test performed at Gingrotts ... and the family name it produced. And not all of Severus Snape's many years of Occlumency training could keep a look of astonishment from his face.
"Who else knows about your lineage?" he asked after recovering his composure.
"Artemus Podmore and Hestia Jones, both of whom are bound by solicitor's oath. Oh, and the goblins, of course, but I'm paying then a hefty price for confidentiality. My plan is for no one else to know about it until I'm of age or otherwise when I absolutely need it."
"And yet, you freely revealed it to me."
Harry shrugged. "If I've misjudged my ability to trust you after all this time, I deserve to have my secrets revealed. Besides, I imagine you expect me to reveal the truth when doing so would be most damaging to James Potter, and that would make it worthwhile for you to keep my secret. Am I right?"
Snape snorted. "At least for the time being, Potter. However, it is possible that the Headmaster will instruct me to find out whether you are a Parselmouth like your brother. If so, we will discuss the matter at that time to determine how I can protect your secrets without violating my other oaths. You may go now."
Harry nodded and headed for the door when Snape spoke again. "Oh, and Potter? I want to be there to see the look on James Potter's face when he learns about Lily's true lineage."
Harry grinned. "Time permitting, sir, I'll send you an engraved invitation."
Outside in the hall, Harry was surprised to see that Neville was waiting for him.
"Got a second, Harry?" he said.
Harry nodded and followed his Gryffindor friend to an empty classroom where, to Harry's further surprise, Neville put up several privacy Charms before turning to face him with a somewhat abashed expression.
"Listen, Harry ... If you were a Parselmouth ... you'd tell me, right?" he asked nervously.
Harry chuckled and smiled at his friend. "Oh honestly, Neville," he replied in a reassuring voice. "Of course not."
"Okay that's ... wait, what?" The other boy seemed mildly offended.
"Neville, I trust you as much as anyone in the world. But if I were a Parselmouth, there would be absolutely no upside to telling a highly honorable, morally upstanding Gryffindor who is obviously upset at the way my brother is being treated for having the same gift."
Neville frowned. "Harry..."
"No, stop. Let me just stop you right there. Right now, people think Jim acquired Parseltongue from You-Know-Who, which is plausible, I suppose. If Jim had any sense, he'd be playing that up, claiming that of coursethat's where he got it. That he defeated Voldemort as a baby and acquired the power through some sort of magical 'right of conquest' thing. Weirder things have happened. And if he did, I'm sure Rita Skeeter would print an article to that effect, everyone would believe it, and his fanclub would all buy snake familiars so that he could translate for them and he'd be even more popular than before."
Harry held up a finger. "But, if I were a Parselmouth too, that would mean that he and I both inherited it, most likely through Lily Potter, which would mean that we're all three descended from Salazar Slytherin. Now you tell me – would it really improve things for Jim if it were proven that he and I were both the Heirs of Slytherin and as a result our father divorced Lily and kicked him and our mother out of the ancestral home."
"Oh come on, Harry. James is awful, but surely he wouldn't be that bad."
With a smirk, Harry reached into the pocket of his robe, and produced the letter he'd received earlier from James Potter which he now handed over to his friend. Neville unfolded the letter and read it, his eyes widening as he did.
"Wow," he finally said. "Just ... wow. This was the letter you got today?"
"Yep. James Potter found out last night about Jim being a Parselmouth, and not one day later, he invites me and any guests of my choice – including Snape – to spend the Christmas holidays at Potter Manor because, and I quote, 'my Heir should not feel unwelcome in the House of Potter during the holiday season' unquote." Harry chuckled softly in amusement. "And since I certainly won't invite Professor Snape, how do you think you and your Gran would feel about spending the Christmas hols as my guests? The injunction means I can't be alone with the Potters without a guardian, and if Lady Augusta won't come, I'll have to pay one of my solicitors to spend the holidays there. Merlin only knows how many hours they'd bill me for."
Neville did a double-take. "You actually want to go? To spend your Christmas holiday at Potter Manor because your estranged Slytherin-phobic father suddenly wants to get to know you better or some such rot?"
Harry shrugged. "Like Artie said last summer, Potter Manor is part of my birthright. Whatever my relationship with James Potter – and it's still a deeply mistrustful one – I am perfectly capable of being polite to him for the length of the Christmas holidays. Besides, I had planned to be at Potter Manor anyway for the New Year's Eve party. Networking opportunities and all that. Anyway, I suspect Jim would be thrilled if you were there given the way he's latched onto you as his only friend."
Neville grimaced at that. He'd been worried that Harry might feel a bit jealous. "I'll owl Gran and let you know what she says."
Harry thanked his friend, and with that, the two boys exited the classroom. It wasn't until Neville was nearly at Gryffindor Tower that he'd finally realized how skillfully Harry had evaded his direct question about whether he too was a Parselmouth.
The Headmaster's Office
4:30 p.m.
Albus Dumbledore studied the young boy in front of him with evident surprise. "Mr. Weasley, do I understand you to say that you are ... confessing?"
"Yes sir," said Fred Weasley. "I didn't think anyone would be able to figure out how I did it so easily, but then Professor Lockhart here traced it back to George, and I don't want him to get into trouble for something that was entirely my fault. I was the one who portkeyed the Slytherins' locker with all their clothes and their wands out of the locker room and into the Slytherin dungeons. George had nothing to do with it, and I used his notes without his permission. Professor Lockhart's project has always been too important for him to use it for pranking. That's ... kind of been a sore subject between us. Anyway, I was angry about losing the Quidditch match so badly, and I was angry when someone I assumed was a Slytherin stole from us, so I wanted revenge. I swear though – I didn't think the blizzard would come in so soon and would put them in danger. I just wanted to embarrass the Slytherins, not get them hurt."
Also in the Headmaster's office were Snape, McGonagall, and Lockhart. Snape sneered at the notorious prankster with contempt. He knew perfectly well how many pranks played on his Slytherins arose from the Weasley Terrors' abuse of what he'd taught them in Potions. McGonagall looked more sad than angry, as if she was disappointed at so much wasted potential. Lockhart's expression was unreadable.
Finally, Dumbledore spoke. "What you did, young man, was a very serious infraction of our school rules, one with nearly tragic consequences. Please step outside and wait downstairs while we discuss your punishment and contact your parents."
Fred swallowed hard and then headed down the spiral staircase before anyone spoke. Naturally, Snape was first.
"In light of what he just confessed to, Headmaster, surely expulsion is the only punishment possible."
Lockhart interrupted dismissively. "Oh, Severus, please be sensible. Headmaster, before we talk about punishment, surely we should discuss the preliminary question of 'do we believe Fred Weasley's confession'? Because I'm not sure that I do. I think it's obvious that he's just trying to cover for his brother George who I accused earlier today even though I now believe him to be innocent."
"Why is that, Gilderoy?" asked McGonagall almost hopefully.
"Because of the way he denied it this morning. Call me arrogant, but I think I'm a pretty good judge of character and honesty. George Weasley thought my portkey project was important. Aside from being a way to define himself as separate from his twin, he also viewed the project as a way to honor the memories of his uncles Gideon and Fabian Prewett who were murdered by Death Eaters. He took it seriously enough to promise me that he would not use any of the research he was doing for me in his pranks. I believe he has kept that promise and also that his promise would have prevented him from letting Fred Weasley have enough direct access to the research for him to have used it for pranking as well."
Snape snorted, but Dumbledore merely looked resigned. "Personally, Gilderoy, I am inclined to agree with you. I believe that young Fred just now was confessing to something he didn't do in order to protect his twin from unfair punishment."
"Headmaster!" exclaimed Snape angrily, but Dumbledore put up a hand before he could continue.
"Unfortunately, my beliefs in this matter are insufficient. A student with a past history of just this sort of mischief has confessed to this particular bout of mischief, one in which a number of students, some of whom are from Noble Houses, were placed in serious danger. I cannot simply ignore Fred Weasley's confession without actual evidence that someone else was responsible. Not unless I want to be overruled by the Board of Governors who I'm certain will expel him and possibly even seem to have his wand snapped, particularly since Lucius Malfoy sits on the Board and his son was among those harmed."
"So if not expulsion, how will you punish him, Albus?" asked McGonagall.
"Suspension, I think, for the remainder of the school year. Gilderoy, if you can prove that some other student was truly responsible for the prank, I will allow young Fred to return. If not, he will have to repeat his Fourth Year." Dumbledore shrugged slightly. "Who knows? Perhaps if Fred and George have to take all their classes separately, it might have a beneficial effect on them both."
The teachers talked for a few more minutes. Then, McGonagall went down to retrieve Fred while Dumbledore activated the Floo and called out for the Office of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. He was not looking forward to explaining what had happened to Arthur Weasley.
An empty hallway near Gryffindor Tower
7:20 p.m.
Jim was lost in thought as he headed towards his dorm after dinner. He was alone, Neville having gone on to a meeting of Team Protector. He'd actually considered tagging along, but then he remembered that he wouldn't be particularly welcome there after the boggart prank. Besides, he was a Gryffindor and no coward. A few anonymous students had hit him with minor hexes when he wasn't looking that day, but none with the guts to attack him directly ... so far. Consequently, despite everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Jim still felt safe walking the halls of Hogwarts alone. That was about to change.
While walking down a deserted stretch of hallway, Jim stiffened as he heard a noise behind him, but just as he started to turn, a thick heavy bag came down over his head and tightened around his neck. Before he could react, he heard a guttural voice rasp out a PETRIFICUS TOTALUS. Instantly, all of Jim's limbs were frozen, leaving him unable to defend himself when the second attacker walked up and gut-punched him so hard he couldn't breath for several seconds. Then, the two attackers (for he could feel four sets of hands) dragged him into an empty class and threw him painfully to the ground.
And then they started kicking him in the ribs, arms and legs.
After a minute or so of that, the attackers dropped down next to him and began to talk, their voices distorted by some magical obscuring effect.
"We believed in you, Potter!" said one angrily. "We believed all that garbage about how you were the Chosen One who defeated You-Know-Who! And all this time, you were a filthy Parselmouth! A Dark Lord in training! You're a disgrace to Gryffindor House!"
"I lost family to You-Know-Who and those filthy Death Eaters!" said the other. "How dare you sully their memory with gifts you took from that monster! And you call yourself a Lion?! You make me sick!"
That last outburst was followed by the sound of the attacker spitting on him. But then, a third voice – a young girl, it sounded like – cried out.
"Hey! Get away from him, you creeps!"
There was a commotion, and Jim heard some curses thrown, a scream from the girl, and then the sound of his two (apparently Gryffindor) attackers running off. They must have gotten some licks in on his savior, because Jim heard a hiss of pain from her before she made her way over to where he lay, still petrified.
"Easy, Potter. FINITE INCANTATEM." Jim's arms and legs relaxed, and he let out a gasp of pain. He didn't think anything was broken, but he would have some ugly bruises unless he went to the Infirmary, which he did not want to do. A few seconds later, the bag was ripped off Jim's head, but he could still barely see as the room was dark.
"Who are you?" he asked. The girl hesitated and then cast a Lumos. Jim gasped again, this time in surprise at his savior's identity: Amaryllis Wilkes.
"You!" he exclaimed.
"Yeah, Potter, me," she replied. "Is that a problem? I can go yell for those bullies to come back if you'd prefer them."
He made a face. "No thanks. Did you see who they were?"
"No, the lights were off. I dove for cover once they started firing hexes at me, and then they ran off out the other door. Guess they didn't want to get caught by somebody without a bag over his head." She hesitated. "I did hear them ranting about you being a disgrace to Gryffindor, though." Jim winced at that. He was badly shaken to think that there might be fellow Gryffindors who would go to such lengths. The Slytherin firstie looked down at him. "You look awful, Potter. Do you need help getting to the Infirmary?"
"I'm not going to the Infirmary. I'm going to my dorm."
"Fair enough. Guess I'll be going to the Infirmary by myself." And at that, Jim noticed a tear on her sleeve that was slightly damp with blood.
"You're hurt!" he exclaimed.
"Yeah. Just a graze though. Didn't duck as fast as I should have. Luckily, it was only a small Cutting Hex." Amy stood and headed for the door, holding her hand over the cut in her arm. Jim watched her as she left, still grappling with the realization that fellow Gryffindors had assaulted him like cowardly thugs until the child of a Death Eater saved him. She was almost out the door when Jim grimaced and called out to her.
"Wait a second, Wilkes. I'll walk you to the Infirmary."
She stiffened as she looked back to him. "I don't need Gryffindor chivalry, Potter. And I don't need pity, either."
"Well, then, it's a good thing I wasn't offering either, Wilkes. I just decided that you were right, and I probably should let Madam Pomfrey check me over."
With that, the two students headed off towards the Infirmary. They walked in silence for a while before Jim spoke again. "So, what made you decide to ... rescue me?" he finally asked.
Amy looked over to the Boy-Who-Lived. "I've got experience with people trying to punish me for things I was born with and have no control over," she said somewhat bitterly. Jim nodded at that, as it was a concept he was suddenly coming to appreciate himself. The rest of the trip to the Infirmary was spent in silence.
About an hour later, Amyrillis Wilkes entered the Slytherin Common Room with a foul expression on her face as she made her way over to the corner where Cassius Warrington held court over his circle of Pureblood friends and associates.
"Success, Wilkes?" he inquired.
She sneered at him. "Yeah. As far as Jim Potter knows, he was attacked by a pair of bigoted Gryffindors and rescued by the plucky young Death Eater's daughter." She glanced down at the tear in her sleeve. "You owe me a new robe."
Cassius waved his hand condescendingly. "We had to make it look realistic, Wilkes. You know that."
"Whatever. Just remember our deal. I do this for you, and you keep your goons away from me and Ginny Weasley."
"I'll remember our deal, Wilkes. You just remember your part of it."
The disgusted glare Amy gave the arrogant Pureblood made it quite plain that she did.
Gryffindor Tower
9:00 p.m.
There had been tears and shouting and finally resigned hugs. Ron, George, Ginny and Percy were all speechless at the news that Fred had been suspended for the rest of the year. George, in particular, was furious with his twin for confessing to something Fred hadn't done out of a desire to protect him over something he hadn't done either. Meanwhile, Ron openly cried and seemed devastated that Fred had taken his idea for self-sacrifice and used it himself. Ginny, to her own surprise, did not cry but instead adopted an expression of fierce determination. Undeterred by his families comments, Fred maintained that he was guilty of the prank against the Slytherins and stoically accepted his suspension, even though George and Ron refused to believe him. With one final round of hugs, Fred picked up his trunk and left Gryffindor Tower with Arthur Weasley, who seemed more sad than angry, as if he'd failed his son somehow.
Soon after, Percy escorted Ginny back to the Slytherin dungeon, while George and Ron watched out the window through the dim moonlight as Arthur and Fred walked down the freshly shoveled pathway towards the Hogwarts gate. From there, Arthur would Side-Along-Apparate the two of them back to the Burrow, presumably just in time for hours of tearful lectures from Molly. As soon as they were gone, George left for his room which was now one bed emptier. Ron continued to stare out the window towards the spot where he last saw Fred while occasionally wiping tears from his eyes. But after a few minutes and without even realizing he was doing so, the boy reached down with his hand to rest it on the black notebook that the young Gryffindor seemed to carry everywhere. As he softly (and unconsciously) stroked the soft leather cover, his heartfelt feelings of sadness and concern for his brother faded like a candle starved of oxygen, while memories of cruel pranks and hurtful insults rose up in their place, stoking an anger that should have faded with time but which now was as fresh as it was painful. Ron straightened his back and lifted his chin, his sad expression melting away into one of cruel arrogance.
"Who's the Prankmaster Weasley now, Freddikins?" he said softly to no one but himself. And for the briefest instant, Ron Weasley's blue eyes flashed an angry red.