Under pressure, Harry had used Parseltongue in front of the whole Duelling Club. Everyone in the room knew it.
The snake froze mid-hiss at the sound of his voice.
Snape stepped forward, flicked his wand, and the serpent dissolved into a puff of black smoke.
He looked at Harry with an expression Harry couldn't quite read—like he was searching for something.
Harry became vaguely aware of the uneasy whispers spreading around him.
Then someone tugged the back of his robes.
Sean pulled him gently behind him, and the whispers quieted a little.
"Come on, Harry."
Justin and Neville had shown up at some point—both looking worried sick and following Sean's gaze.
"You forgot what I told you?" Ron hissed as they hurried away. "Never let anyone hear you speak it. Even in the wizarding world, talking in a language nobody else understands is never good news."
"What did I even say?" Harry asked, dazed.
"You spoke Parseltongue again!" Ron answered once they were safely inside the empty Hope Cottage.
"But I'm not the Heir of Slytherin! How does that even matter?"
"Harry," Hermione sighed, "nobody else is going to see it that way."
"Right," Ron added. "Now the whole school's gonna think you're his great-great-great-grandson or something."
Harry just stood there, stunned.
"I know what Parseltongue is," Justin said slowly—he and Neville hadn't been part of the Chamber stuff—"but Heir of Slytherin?"
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course Sean didn't tell them anything. I swear, even if that boy fought You-Know-Who alone tomorrow, nobody would ever hear a word about it."
The basilisk had literally only been discovered because they'd stumbled across it by accident.
Ten minutes later, three very pale faces sat in a row—Harry, Justin, and Neville—all staring at the floor like they'd seen a ghost.
Meanwhile, Duelling Club had ended, and a brand-new rumor was sweeping through the Great Hall.
The Chamber of Secrets. The Heir of Slytherin.
Sean walked past a knot of Hufflepuffs whispering furiously.
"So you're absolutely sure it's Potter?" a girl with a blonde ponytail was asking.
"Hannah," Ernie Macmillan said gravely, "he's a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Name one decent wizard in history who could talk to snakes. They literally called Slytherin himself 'Serpent-Tongue.'"
"But Harry's always so nice," Hannah said uncertainly. "And he's the one who made You-Know-Who disappear when he was a baby. He can't be that bad, right?"
Ernie leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The whole Hufflepuff clump leaned with him.
"Nobody knows how he actually survived that night. He was a baby—he should've been blown to bits. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could've walked away from a curse like that."
His voice got even quieter. "Maybe that's exactly why You-Know-Who wanted him dead—so there wouldn't be another Dark Lord to rivaling him. Who knows what other powers Potter's hiding?"
It was airtight logic, in the special way wizard rumors always are.
Sean figured the gossip would die down once the truth came out. No big deal.
Harry speaking Parseltongue had reminded him of the basilisk again, so he headed for the headmaster's office.
Just as he left, a miserable-looking figure shuffled past in the opposite direction. Harry barely remembered how he got back to the Gryffindor common room.
A little while later—headmaster's office.
Sean finally found Dumbledore actually sitting at his desk for once.
"Perhaps we'll be needing yet another new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore said cheerfully, eyes twinkling. "Goodness, that post goes through professors faster than I go through lemon drops, doesn't it?"
"Professor Lockhart—?"
"Oh, not that. The next thing. Frauds always get exposed eventually—falsehoods never holds up to scrutiny."
Dumbledore's calm smile seemed to drift past the walls, landing on a little witch somewhere flipping through one of Lockhart's books.
"Sincerity, Mr. Green, is something people lose surprisingly easily. I'm glad to see you understand that."
There was a weight behind the words.
Sean stared into those bright blue eyes. Dumbledore's smile faltered for half a heartbeat.
"Headmaster, you already—"
But Dumbledore cut him off smoothly. "Before we discuss anything, we should wait—"
His fingers twitched. Sean suddenly realized he and Dumbledore were both invisible.
He looked up. A familiar figure was peeking curiously around the doorframe.
Seeing no one, Harry tiptoed in, circled the desk, picked up the battered Sorting Hat from its shelf, and slowly pulled it down over his head.
Sean glanced back. Dumbledore watched with gentle amusement, a finger pressed to his lips.
The hat was too big; it slid down over Harry's eyes.
"Yes… it's me," Harry muttered into the brim. "Look, sorry to bother you—I just wanted to ask—"
Sean knew he was talking to the Hat.
A second later Harry yanked it off angrily. "You're wrong!" he shouted at the limp, grubby thing in his hands. "I'm not a Slytherin—I could never be!"
He slammed the hat back on the shelf.
"Parseltongue… cunning… strong-willed… a certain disregard for rules—stop talking rubbish!"
Harry stormed out, still muttering, the words echoing in the silent office.
Only after the door closed did Dumbledore cancel the invisibility.
He beamed at Sean. "Do you have your answer now?"
Sean thought for a moment.
"No matter what," he said quietly, "the Hat never actually put him in Slytherin. So even if there's darkness in a soul, the real sinner is the one who manufactured the darkness in the first place."
Outside the windows, snow began to fall again over Hogwarts in the winter night.