Harry felt the world tilt slightly as Snape vanished the snake. For a heartbeat the Great Hall was completely silent, the air heavy with tension that pressed against his skin. He could still hear the echo of his own voice in his head. That strange hissing sound. That language he understood but could not explain. Parseltongue. A word he barely knew, but one that suddenly felt stitched to him like a brand.
Students stepped back from him as if he carried a curse. Some stared wide eyed. Some whispered behind hands. Others simply looked confused. He hated all of it. He had not asked for this. He had not meant to speak like that. He had only wanted to stop the snake. Yet the moment the world saw something different in him, they did not hesitate to treat him like he was dangerous.
Lockhart tried to laugh it off, but his voice sounded thin. Snape's stare was unreadable, cool and deep. Even Draco, who moments before had been triumphant, looked unsettled, almost pale. Harry could not tell why, and he did not have the mind to think about it. His own thoughts were buzzing too loudly.
Hermione grabbed Harry by the sleeve and tugged him away quickly. Ron hurried behind them, throwing a protective glare at anyone who looked at Harry too long. The three of them left the hall before the murmurs grew sharper.
They slipped into an empty classroom. Harry leaned against a desk, breathing hard. His chest felt tight, and not from running. He remembered the way the snake had listened to him. The way the words had poured out of him without effort. Like an instinct.
Ron broke the silence first. He looked shaken, his freckles standing out against his pale skin. "Harry… that was Parseltongue."
Harry swallowed. "I know."
"You can talk to snakes," Ron said, voice dropping. "That is rare. Really rare. Most people who could do that were dark wizards."
Hermione shot him a warning look, but Ron raised his hands. "What? I am telling the truth."
Harry pressed his fingers against his forehead. "I did not even know I could do it. The first time was at the zoo before Hogwarts. It just… happened."
Hermione stepped closer, her voice gentle. "Magic can show itself in strange ways. It does not mean anything bad. What you did today was simply instinct. You saw someone in danger and you tried to stop it."
Harry wished he could believe that as easily as she said it. "But everyone thinks it is something dark."
Ron hesitated. "Well. It is the symbol of Slytherin. They say Salazar Slytherin could speak it. And his Heir. The one who is supposed to be able to open the Chamber of Secrets."
Harry's head snapped up. "You think I am the Heir of Slytherin?"
"No," Ron said quickly. "Of course not. But people might think that."
Harry let out a long breath. He suddenly felt sick. As if the weight of every whisper outside the room had settled on his shoulders.
Hermione folded her arms, thinking deeply. "We need to focus on the real question. If Harry is not connected to the Chamber, then who is? The Heir has to be someone who can open it. Someone with a connection to Slytherin."
Harry rubbed his hands together, anxiety and frustration swirling in him. "Then what about Malfoy?"
Ron's eyebrows shot up. "What about him?"
"He has been going on since the first day about Slytherin being the best house," Harry said. "He hates Muggle borns. He always talks like they should not be here. His family has been in Slytherin for ages. Maybe he is related to Salazar Slytherin. Or maybe he was taught something by his father. Something about the Chamber."
Ron sat on a desk. "His father is the kind of person who would be proud of that. Malfoy certainly acts like he owns the school."
Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "The idea is not impossible. The Chamber is supposed to be opened by the Heir alone. Someone who believes strongly in keeping magic in pure blood lines. Malfoy fits that attitude."
Harry leaned forward, voice steadying. "And he was proud about the attacks. He smirked every time the message appeared on the wall. He likes the fear. He likes that everyone is talking about Slytherin."
Ron nodded slowly. "He did not look too disturbed when Mrs Norris was found."
Hermione sighed. "Still, we cannot accuse someone without proof. Even Draco Malfoy."
Harry rubbed his thumb anxiously against the wood of the desk. "I know. But he is the only one who makes sense. He has the attitude. He has the background. He has the hatred."
Ron looked at Hermione. "How do we find out for sure?"
Hermione pushed her hair behind her ear. "We will have to dig deeper. We need to watch him. Listen. Look for anything unusual. Anything that connects him to the Chamber."
Harry nodded slowly. It was not a perfect plan, but it was something. And something was better than standing still while fear crawled through the school.
The whispers would continue. The stares would not stop. He could not change what he was. He could only choose what he would do with it. And if finding out the truth meant discovering Draco Malfoy's secrets, then Harry was ready.
Draco Malfoy left the Great Hall with his steps sharper than usual, his robe twisting at his ankles as if it wanted to trip him just to mock his mood. He did not know if he had won or lost the duel. The question actually bothered him more than he expected. Winning should have been simple. He had knocked Potter flat earlier. His spell had hit clean. His technique had been better. Snape had looked pleased. And yet when he replayed the moment in his head, all that pride felt small compared to everything that came after.
He had summoned the snake perfectly. It had been impressive. The spell had been powerful and controlled. He had wanted to frighten Potter. Not harm him, not really. Just shake him. Prove that a Malfoy could command something Potter could not. But then the snake turned toward that Hufflepuff boy, and everything spun out of his control.
That bothered Draco more than he liked. He disliked losing control of any situation. He disliked when things escalated without his intention. He disliked watching his spell twist into something ugly. And he despised that moment when fear flickered in the air. Not fear of the snake. Fear of him.
But the shock that followed was worse. Harry Potter had spoken to the snake. Not in English. Not in any normal language. But in that deep, twisting hiss. That ancient sound Draco had only heard in the darkest stories whispered at pure blood gatherings. Parseltongue. Words from the old tongue of Salazar Slytherin. Words that were supposed to belong only to dark wizards and one legendary founder.
How could Potter speak it? Draco kept walking until he reached a quieter hallway. He leaned back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. His chest felt tight, not with fear exactly, but something close to it. Confusion tangled with frustration. He did not want to admit that Potter's voice in that language had unsettled him so much that he forgot to smirk afterward. He forgot to say something cutting or clever. He forgot to enjoy the moment when the school gasped.
Instead he had stood frozen like an idiot. Did Potter even know what he had done? He had looked lost. Completely lost. Like the sound leaving his mouth shocked him as much as it shocked everyone else. Draco replayed the expression on Harry's face. Confusion. Concern. A bit of fear. None of it looked like triumph. None of it looked like someone showing off some secret dark power.
If Potter was the Heir of Slytherin, he did not act like it. Draco scoffed under his breath. The idea irritated him in more ways than one. If Potter secretly had some ancient ability, why did he never act like someone important? Why did he always look overwhelmed by everything? Why did his shoulders always seem too tense for someone carrying power from a founder?
Draco pressed his hand to his chest lightly, feeling the faint hammer of his pulse. He hated the way his thoughts scattered. Harry as the Heir. Harry speaking Parseltongue. Harry standing between the snake and that boy. Draco had wanted to see Potter panic or scramble. Instead he had looked almost calm.
That calm irritated Draco most of all. He remembered the moment clearly. Potter facing the snake without flinching. Him speaking like he belonged in that moment more than any student in the hall. Draco had felt something twist in his stomach. Admiration was not the word. Respect was too strong. Curiosity felt too revealing. Whatever it was, he pushed it down immediately.
There was no reason for him to feel anything about Potter except rivalry. Draco sighed heavily. The duel had started well. He had looked strong. Snape had chosen him. Everyone had seen his talent. But by the end, the attention had swung to Potter. He, his strange voice, and the whispers about the Chamber. Potter and the uneasy looks he received from the entire student body.
Draco rubbed the back of his neck, annoyed. He had wanted to embarrass Potter, not hand him the strangest spotlight Hogwarts had seen in years.
Did he win? The question felt stupid. He had won the duel.
But Potter had walked away with something far more powerful than a victory. And Draco hated that. He hated the confusion curling inside him. He hated that Potter had done something he could not understand. Something ancient and rare. Something that made the entire school stare.
He pushed off the wall and began walking again, his expression hardening. He did not know what Potter was.
He did not know what he himself felt. But one thing was certain. This was far from over.