It had been two days since Justin Finch-Fletchley was found petrified.
Hogwarts grew quieter with each passing hour. Students no longer wandered the halls alone, and teachers posted watchful eyes at every corner. Even Peeves was subdued, drifting silently through the rafters like a lost balloon.
But the whispers… they didn't stop.
Especially not about Harry.
---
The Great Hall
"He's a Parselmouth."
"Did you hear him? Talking to snakes?"
"That's dark magic—Salazar Slytherin's kind of magic."
Harry sat rigidly at the Gryffindor table, trying not to listen. But it was impossible.
Even Seamus had gone quiet around him. Lavender had shifted three seats away.
Ron glared at a group of Hufflepuffs nearby. "Idiots. They act like you want to talk to snakes."
Harry didn't reply.
Hermione was flipping through a massive book called Magical Genealogy: A Study of Bloodlines and Magical Traits. Her eyes were scanning furiously.
"Parseltongue," she muttered, "isn't inherently evil. It's just rare. And associated with dark wizards because of Slytherin."
"Try telling that to half the school," Ron said bitterly.
Harry finally spoke. "They think I'm the Heir of Slytherin."
Hermione looked up. "You're not."
"But I am a Parselmouth," Harry said. "And I was there both times something happened. How long before even the professors start to wonder?"
Ron leaned in. "Snape doesn't. I mean… he clearly doesn't trust you, but he doesn't think you're the one doing this."
Hermione looked thoughtful. "He's watching Draco, too."
Harry blinked. "Really?"
"He's been dragging Malfoy into his office twice a week."
---
Later – The Courtyard
Snow had started falling again, dusting the stone ledges and covering the trees in white.
Draco stood near the fountain, gloved hands tucked into his cloak. Harry spotted him across the courtyard. Their eyes met. Neither looked away.
Then Draco did something strange—he gave the faintest nod. Just once. Just enough to say:
I believe you.
Harry's breath caught in his chest. He returned the nod, slowly.
From the far archway, Snape saw it all.
---
Snape's Office – That Evening
Snape sat at his desk, pouring over a scroll of ancient enchantments related to magical languages. The candlelight flickered over his face, throwing his features into long, shadowed lines.
Parseltongue. Rare. Powerful. Misunderstood.
Just like Potter.
He hated that similarity.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Enter."
To his surprise, Draco stepped in.
"Malfoy," he said coolly, "this is not our scheduled meeting."
"I know," Draco said, closing the door behind him. "I just… I need to talk to someone."
Snape gestured silently for him to sit.
Draco did, but didn't speak at first. When he did, his voice was low and unguarded.
"They think it's him. Potter."
Snape nodded once.
"But it's not."
"I know."
Draco's eyes met his. "He's scared."
"So are you."
Draco looked away. "He's not what I thought. He's reckless, yeah. Stupid sometimes. But he's… honest."
Snape sat back, surprised by the rawness of the words. "And what does that mean to you?"
"I don't know," Draco whispered. "That's what's scaring me."
Snape didn't answer immediately. But when he did, his voice was quieter than usual.
"Fear is not weakness, Draco. Denial is."
---
Meanwhile – Gryffindor Tower
Hermione sat curled in a chair by the fire, still reading.
Harry stared into the flames. "If they think I'm behind this, what if Dumbledore—"
"He won't," Hermione said firmly.
"But what if the Ministry gets involved?"
Ron sat up straighter. "Then we'll tell them the truth. You were with us both times. You couldn't have attacked anyone."
Harry didn't say what he was really thinking:
That he was scared of himself.
Of what the voice in the pipes meant.
Of what he might do, if it spoke to him again.
---
That Night – The Pipes Whisper Again
Snape's patrol was quiet until the whisper came.
He stopped mid-step.
There. Faint. Slithering. Like silk over stone.
He turned sharply.
No students in sight.
No open doors.
But the air was colder again.
He raised his wand. "Lumos."
The corridor lit in a soft, steady glow. Stone. Torches. Nothing.
And yet the whisper echoed behind his ribs.
Snape lowered his wand.
"The Chamber is open," he said softly.
"But I will not let it claim them again."