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Chapter Text

Harry was walking by the lake avoiding the hateful suspicion of his classmates when it happened.

Back! A voice hissed.

Harry turned, almost against his will, towards the sound and it led his gaze to the edge of the forbidden forest.

Mindless brute! Away!

Harry dithered where he stood. He could go back to the castle. He could surround himself with Ron and Hermione and let the sounds of exploding snap and animated chatter drown out the voices in his head that Harry just couldn’t seem to escape. He had turned on his heels and all but decided that the sound was just his imagination running wild when the voice popped up again.

Lost, it wailed. Hurts.

Harry hesitated. The plaintive cry wasn’t anything like the murderous ramblings that echoed around Harry’s mind inside the walls of Hogwarts. It felt…sad. Distressed. Harry looked towards the forest once more and it felt a lot like having his hand poised on the door of a cupboard, debating whether or not to wrench it open or leave it be.

Harry traipsed into the underbrush without a second thought. Various creatures skittered away as his steps disturbed their environment but he was positive that even more were tracking his movements in silence.

“Where are you?” Harry called.

Stupid kneazle, the voice muttered.

Harry swiveled a little to his right. “Er, is that what hurt you? A kneazle?”

Wretched creature, it said by way of an answer. Who speaks?

Harry pushed aside the branches of an uncomfortably pokey bush and looked down at a small green snake, maybe a foot long, curled tightly around itself and bleeding from long scratches on its underbelly. “I do,” he said. “I’m Harry Potter. Can I help you?”

The snake flicked its head up slowly, either due to the pain or its disinterest. Parseltongue, it mused. Help me, snake boy.

Harry frowned. “I’m not a snake boy,” he argued. “Just a boy.”

Boy snake, it decided. Somehow, Harry could tell this was the best compromise he would get. Not dying any slower.

“Right, yes I’ll- er. I guess I’ll just take you to the hospital wing then.” Harry pushed the brambles aside as far as they would go and reached down with his other arm, his chest and collarbone getting nicked in the process. He grabbed the snake gently around its front half and waited for its tail to curl tentatively around his forearm before lifting it out.

He really had no idea if Madam Pomfrey would be able to heal the snake, but he hoped she would, and the unseen eyes boring holes into the back of his head did nothing as Harry strode out of the forest with the snake curled carefully in his arms.

The eyes in the castle were much more obvious about their feelings. Students skittered out of the way when they saw Harry and the snake approach, sending him looks that ranged from nervous to disdainful as they whispered rather loudly amongst themselves.

A Ravenclaw: “What’s with those scratches?”

A Hufflepuff: “What’s with the snake?”

A Slytherin: “Do you think he got into a fight?”

A Gryffindor: “Probably offed his next victim, I’d bet.”

Nothing like Harry Potter’s Evil Plot to bring about house unity. Chosen One, indeed.

Harry ducked his head as he walked and cradled the snake slightly closer to his chest, careful not to upset its injuries any further and unbothered by the weak dribble of blood still trailing down the front of his robes. He tuned out the rest of the whispering as he marched towards his destination. It’s not like he didn’t already know what they thought of him, anyways.

Madam Pomfrey, to her credit, didn’t hardly react to his presence besides pushing him into a cot and eyeing the snake with curiosity.

Harry looked briefly at the drawn curtains, undoubtedly holding the attacked students, then dropped his gaze to the snake, who he at least had the chance to help.

“Are you hurt, Mister Potter?” she asked.

Harry quickly shook his head. “No. The snake..” He gestured helplessly at his lap. “Can you heal it?”

Not ‘it’, the snake weakly protested. Hurts.

“Of course.” She cast a spell Harry was unfamiliar with and he watched in fascination as the snake’s scales knitted themselves back together with ease. “And yourself?” she continued, kind but professional. “Any injuries besides the scratches on your arms and face?”

“I-” Harry slowly reached up to touch his cheek, mildly surprised when his fingers came away tinged with red. “My chest,” he realized.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. “Off with your shirt then.”

Harry gingerly moved the snake from his lap and placed it- them, Harry corrected, not 'it'- beside himself, not sure if their internal organs or bones had finished mending yet, and tugged off his shirt. Pomfrey made quick work of his cuts and scrapes and Harry watched the spell fulfill its purpose with just as much fascination as before.

She hesitated slightly once she was finished.

“Mister Potter, have you been eating enough lately?”

“Eating?” Harry echoed dumbly.

“Yes, eating,” she repeated sternly. “The thing you do to ensure your body is healthy and not only just surviving. Are you eating properly? Because by the number of your ribs I can clearly count, I would wager that you are not.”

Catch mice, the snake suggested unhelpfully. Harry reached out a hand to gently pat their scales in lieu of explaining that he would not be catching or eating mice anytime soon.

“I didn’t know,” he told Madam Pomfrey honestly. “How much am I supposed to be eating?”

“Three meals a day should suffice,” she responded. “Though it is best not to ignore your body’s signals, so eat also when you are hungry. Take cues from your peers on how much to fill your plate if you’re unsure. Take it slowly if you must.” Harry nodded dutifully. “Here.” She handed Harry something that looked like a granola bar, produced from seemingly nowhere. “A general nutrient bar. Not the tastiest but healthy and easy to carry around if you decide to obtain more from the kitchens.”

Harry took it gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Thank me by eating, and do come back if you have questions or more injuries. However, I trust you’ll do your best to avoid the latter.” She raised her eyebrow expectantly and it reminded Harry quite a bit of Professor McGonagall.

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” he said.

“Lovely.” She looked again towards the snake and Harry liked how she didn’t curl her lip in disgust or fear like some of the students had. “Off you pop then, the both of you.”

Harry offered his palm to the snake and they crawled up his forearm much like before and then continued crawling upward until they were comfortably perched across his shoulders. Harry busied himself with looking at the nutrient bar on the way back to his common room and the snake reached out their head in curiosity, flicking their tongue at the orange wrapper.

Could not be better than mice, they said.

“Well, boys don’t eat mice,” Harry replied. A few students gasped and startled away at the sound of him speaking Parseltongue but, well, they already thought he was some evil murderer so what harm could it really do?

The snake swiveled their head to look at Harry instead.

Snake boy must eat. Healer said so.

Harry nodded and tore open the package. The nutrient bar itself was tan and sort of spongy, but it was the best tasting thing he’d ever gotten from the hospital wing. A little dry and flavorless, yes, but not enough to make him grimace so he ate it easily and discovered that his stomach felt a little more comfortable afterwards.

Harry belatedly realized that he had been hungry.

Mice would be better, the snake insisted, settling comfortably against Harry’s neck. Must try them, snake boy.

“You can call me Harry,” he said. “And no mice.”

Spoilsport.

“What’s your name?”

The snake lifted their head again and waved it side to side, like they were considering how to answer. Or thinking. Don’t have one, they settled on.

Harry hummed, starting up the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower. “What do you want me to call you, then?”

Your Lord and Savior, the snake replied automatically.

Harry made a face. “Er, no. I’m not calling you that.”

Your Majesty?

“That’s a little much don’t you think?” Harry paused at the top of the stairs, ignoring the Fat Lady’s shout of surprise when Harry said, or rather, hissed in Parseltongue, “How about King?”

The snake did that little swaying motion again, considering. Yes. King. I shall allow it.

“Glad that’s settled, then.” Harry twisted his shoulder a bit so King wouldn’t be in his peripheral vision while he addressed the Fat Lady in what he hoped was English. “Lion’s claw,” he said.

The portrait swung open.

Your Majesty on weekends.

Harry laughed. “Maybe. Does that mean you’re staying with me, then?”

Yes. Stay. Watch snake boy Harry.

“Just Harry,” he corrected.

Just snake boy Harry.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” Harry complained.

King made a soft hissing noise that was oddly reminiscent of a laugh. Maybe Harry on weekends, they conceded smugly.

Harry rolled his eyes, huffing out a small laugh of his own. “Oh, you’re ridiculous.”

Snake boy is being stared at.

Harry turned to find that all eyes were indeed trained on him and King. “Hello,” Harry said simply before making his way over to Ron and Hermione, who were sitting on the ground in front of the fireplace playing wizard’s chess.

Ron’s eyes were trained on the snake, his voice a little strangled. “Hey, mate. Where’d you, er, get a snake?”

“This is King,” Harry explained. “I found them while I was out.”

Hermoine frowned. “Is it really wise for you to go around picking up snakes, Harry? People already think you’re the Heir of Slytherin as it is.”

“And that you set one loose on that Hufflepuff at the dueling club,” Ron added.

“I did not!” Harry protested.

“I know that,” Ron said. “But everyone else doesn’t, so it’s kind of the same thing.”

King quickly grew bored of his surroundings and slithered into Harry’s lap, curling into a tight ball to rest. “King was injured and I took them to Pomfrey and now they’re staying. With me,” Harry clarified.

Ron and Hermione shared an uneasy look. “Alright Harry,” Hermione placated. “We won’t tell you to get rid of King, we just…are you sure?”

Harry let his thumb brush back and forth across King’s scales, feeling a little bit calmer in his plight of the social pariah for a reason he couldn’t explain if he tried.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that King reminded Harry of himself, curled up and wailing into an empty cupboard as a child while his relatives walked by without stopping and the hunger became as familiar as the spiders and the swinging light switch. Now they were both at Hogwarts, among friends, and that was more important than what everyone else thought.

“I’m sure.”

“And…King’s not gonna, er, bite us, yeah?” Ron asked.

Harry glanced down at his lap. “You’ll be nice to the people here, yeah? No biting or attacking anyone?”

King burrowed further into himself. King is no stupid kneazle, they grumbled. King inspires fear but rules justly.

Harry stroked the scales near the top of King’s head in amusement, making sure to look up at his friend’s faces before responding. “King says they inspire fear but rule justly.”

“Er, which means?” Ron pressed.

Hermione rolled her eyes and moved a piece on the board, visibly annoyed when Ron immediately countered and destroyed her knight. “It means, Ronald, not unless you deserve it.”

Ron bit at his lip while he waited for Hermione to make another move. “I suppose that’s fair then.”

“I suppose it is,” Harry agreed. For all the odd comfort having King here provided, it was obvious that not all the Gryffindors felt the same and that even more were put off by their ability to communicate. “I think I’m gonna go to sleep early tonight,” he told his friends.

“Alright Harry,” Hermione said softly, glancing knowingly around the common room. “Rest well.”

Ron gave him a nod and then Harry and King retreated into the empty second year boy’s dormitory. Empty except for Hedwig, that is. Harry walked over to the window with a soft smile, digging out a treat from his trunk with the hand not holding King. She accepted it happily, though her intelligent eyes remained curiously trained on the snake.

“Hedwig, this is King,” Harry said. “King, this is Hedwig. She’s my pet owl.”

King surveyed her for a long moment in silence until, seemingly satisfied, they turned to Harry. What is pet?

“Oh, a pet is like…like a creature that you care for and belongs to you but you’re not their parent. Kind of like- well, nevermind.” Harry didn’t think King would take too kindly to going from ‘Lord and Savior’ to belonging to Harry. Besides, King could come and go as they pleased, no belonging involved. Harry supposed that Hedwig could too but he was sure she’d always come back.

I see, King murmured. Snake boy is like pet.

“Wait, what?” Harry asked.

Not King’s child. King’s charge.

“I-” Harry had only known of magic for a little over a year but even he recognized that being adopted by a snake was odd. That said, he couldn’t quite bring himself to reject it, either. “I guess,” he mumbled.

King nodded like they were satisfied with themself. Sleep, snake boy.

Harry huffed out an amused chuckle. “Yeah. You too, King.”

*

Harry woke early the next morning and tiptoed down to the common room, intending to enjoy the space before it filled up with people shooting him unpleasant side-eyes and generally implying that he wasn’t wanted there.

Of all the downsides to being a suspected evil murderer, that was Harry’s least favorite.

It didn’t take long before someone else came creaking down the stairs and Harry tensed in trepidation, hands freezing over his half finished round of solitaire.

“Good morning, Harry,” Neville called softly.

Harry released a grateful exhale. “Morning, Neville. What are you doing up so early?”

“Oh, I usually spend some time in the greenhouse before breakfast.”

It was only then that Harry noticed Neville was fully dressed and carrying a well-worn pair of gardening gloves. “You really like Herbology,” he observed.

Neville smiled a bit sheepishly. “Yeah, I’ve found it’s especially relaxing in the mornings. You could come along, if you’d like?”

Harry felt a rush of affection wash over him alongside a bit of guilt. In the midst of being hated by the general populace, he'd forgotten that he had more loyal friends than just Ron and Hermione.

“Yeah, I think I would like that, thanks," Harry said softly. "Just give me a minute to get dressed.”

Neville nodded, his smile much brighter than it was before, and Harry rushed up the stairs as quietly as he could, a little surprised to find himself looking forward to gardening with Neville. He had always hated being forced to maintain the yard at Privet Drive, but when he was first learning how and Aunt Petunia was doing it with him there would be the occasional moment without yelling or rebukes or insults and it would be peaceful. In those fleeting moments, Harry would clutch onto the idea that they were just family, doing something together because they wanted to, and he would hold the tendrils of that possibility close to his chest for as long as possible. For as long as he could pretend.

It never lasted, there, but everything was better at Hogwarts and Neville was his friend so maybe this time Harry wouldn’t have to pretend. He dared to hope for it, which wasn't something he'd done since Aunt Petunia stood and brushed the dirt off her trousers, declaring that Harry was old enough to do all his chores by himself and educated enough to be told off fiercely when he messed them up.

Harry carefully took his robe down from where it had been hanging on his bedpost and pulled it over himself, doing his best not to disturb the still-sleeping King in his pocket.

Harry paused briefly on the bottom step when he caught sight of Neville again. “Hey Nev, is it alright if King comes along too?”

“Who’s King?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, King’s a snake. I found them yesterday and took them to Pomfrey and now they’re staying with me.”

Neville waved his hand in the air, lacking his signature nerves. “That’s not a problem, Harry. The more the merrier, yeah?”

Harry wondered if Neville had encountered a lot of snakes before while gardening, either here or at home, and Harry smiled. “I’m glad you think so. I’m honestly surprised the rumor mill didn’t get around to you already.”

“The rumor mill,” Neville repeated wryly. “It’s all a load of hogwash if you ask me. It’s frightening not to know what’s going on, but foolish to blame it all on you because you happen to talk to snakes. Foolish to blame it on anyone without proof, really.”

Harry hadn’t…thought of it that way before.

“I reckon you might be right, Nev.”

Their steps echoed loudly in the empty hallways as they made their way down from Gryffindor Tower and turned into muffled thumps once they reached the dew-dropped lawn. It was mostly quiet between them, and Harry found that he rather appreciated the companionable silence, especially so early in the morning.

The gardening itself was even more pleasant. Neville hummed as he worked and Harry found comfort in submerging his hands into the cool soil. He liked that they were trying to help things grow, rather than trying to maintain some image of perfection, and Professor Sprout was more than happy for the help. King woke up halfway through and had fun wrapping themself around potted plants before disappearing to hunt with an offer to bring Harry back a mouse that was summarily declined.

Even so, Harry didn’t think King had given up on the rodent agenda yet.

By the time King came slithering back in, full and content, Neville and Harry were finishing washing up and getting ready to head back to the castle. King curled themself around Harry’s ankle.

Snake boy needs to eat, they said. Plenty of mice to be hunted.

Harry reached down for King and deposited them back in his pocket. “We’re going for breakfast now, actually.”

Neville handed Harry his bag and picked up his own before leading Harry through the winding plant-filled columns and to the entrance. “I think it’s really cool that you and King can talk to each other,” he said.

Harry hummed. “I didn’t use to think so,” he admitted. “I didn’t want another thing to connect me to Voldemort but I have to admit, it is pretty cool. Much better than the scar and the death threats.”

“I would imagine so,” Neville said seriously, lightening up some when he noted the humor in Harry's face. “What kinds of things does King say, anyway?”

Harry ducked his head slightly as they moved past the threshold of the castle, not particularly fond of the negative attention he now drew but more than used to practicing how to avoid it.

“Mostly they want me to eat mice. Think it’ll be good for me or something.”

“Blimey, isn’t that odd.”

“You’re telling me.”

The Great Hall was bustling with activity by the time they reached it, and Harry and Neville had to weave in and out of crowds to reach the Gryffindor table. This time, Harry paid close attention to how much his friends were eating and he tried to mimic them. It was definitely more than he was used to, especially for breakfast, but he had worked up quite an appetite after being up for an hour already and King’s short, encouraging hisses helped to bat away any lingering unease that he was taking too much food that didn’t belong to him.

After breakfast, Potions was Harry’s first class of the day- shared with the Slytherins, no less- and as Harry walked towards the dungeon classroom between Ron and Hermione, appetite sated, he idly hoped that King could encouragingly hiss and make him suddenly better at potions, too.

If only such a thing were possible.

Regardless, Harry plopped himself down in his usual seat next to Ron and started counting down the minutes until class would be over. He did not count on Draco Malfoy stalking up to his table.

“Is it true you have a snake?” he demanded. “Now of all times?”

As if on cue, King stuck their head out of Harry’s pocket to catch a glimpse of the boy asking after them.

“This is King, Malfoy.”

Malfoy blinked in surprise but quickly, and rather obviously, started to admire Harry's newest companion. Malfoy seemed to realize this also and drew his face into a sneer. “You named your snake, King?” he asked disparagingly. “It’s not even a magical variety.”

“Bugger off, Malfoy,” Ron grumbled.

Harry smiled despite himself. “I didn’t really name them. It was more of a compromise.”

Malfoy’s brow furrowed. “A compromise from what?”

From my rightful title, King muttered.

Harry glanced down at King, then back up to Malfoy with a pleased expression. The both of them were a bit dramatic, weren’t they? Maybe it was a snake thing. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Malfoy scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, always the picture of haughty confidence. “Well, now you’re just keeping things to yourself,” he complained.

“You want me to be honest?” Harry challenged.

“Obviously,” Malfoy replied. “You’re a bit slow today, aren’t you, Potter?”

Buoyed by his pleasant morning, Neville’s words still fresh in his memory, Harry bit back the barb on the tip of his tongue in favor of something more direct. Malfoy wanted honesty and Harry was seeing a lot of things in a new light suddenly, so he straightened his back and said, “You’re a bit of the wrong sort, but I don’t think you’re the Heir of Slytherin.”

Malfoy looked like he just got the wind knocked out of him.

“Couldn’t be,” Harry continued. “You’re much too flashy.”

Malfoy recovered himself quickly, if a bit uneasily. “Well…I’m not exactly the type that can be ignored."

“Unfortunately not,” Harry agreed easily.

Malfoy’s face heated up in embarrassment. He gave Harry a narrow-eyed look and retreated back towards his housemates without any further insults.

Ron turned towards Harry as soon as Malfoy left. “You really don’t think that git’s the Heir?” he asked skeptically. “After all that stuff he’s said about Hermione?”

“That stuff was awful, but I don’t think it’s him. I don’t think being a bully makes him a murderer,” Harry said.

“But he’s a Malfoy,” Ron insisted.

“And I’m a Potter,” Harry countered with a shrug. “It doesn’t really mean anything. Doesn’t control how I act.” Harry thought that might have something to do with his orphan status but the point still stood. He looked slightly behind Ron’s head and caught Neville’s eye. “I’ve been told it’s a bit foolish to accuse people of things without proof.”

Neville’s face flamed, though it was less obvious than Malfoy’s, and he buried his face in his potions book with a shy, pleased smile.

Ron didn’t seem convinced, but Snape’s arrival cut off whatever he was about to say.

“Potter,” Snape sneered. “Why do you have an animal in my classroom?”

Harry shrugged without looking away from Snape. “I imagine because they want to be here, sir.” A little voice in the back of his head that sounded strangely like Hermione begged him to hold his tongue, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to let the opportunity pass by. “Though I can’t imagine why.”

Snape glared down at him. “Ten points from Gryffindor for your arrogance,” he snapped.

“And how many for the snake?” Harry asked. “They’re kind of like your mascot, right?”

No, he is more like a bat, King declared. Harry stifled his laugh behind his fist and tried to pass it off as a cough.

Snape did not look amused. “Headmaster’s office.”

Harry was standing before Snape had even finished his sentence.

“Yes sir, Professor Snape, sir.”

He could hear someone, maybe Seamus, groaning at the table behind him.

“And another ten for your insolence.”

Harry didn’t wait for the door to slam shut behind him before looking at King. “He is like a greasy bat. Got it in one.”

While he waited outside of Dumbledore’s office, Harry figured that if he couldn’t suddenly excel at Potions then insulting Snape in a language the greasy bat couldn’t understand was definitely the next best thing.

The sharp clacking of heeled shoes on tile brought both Harry and King’s attention to the right side of the corridor.

“Potter,” McGonagall greeted, her eyes dropping immediately to the snake.

“Professor,” Harry said.

“You’re getting rather familiar with this office,” she observed.

Harry nodded. “I noticed that too.”

McGonagall turned away from him to address the gargoyle statue. Harry wasn’t entirely convinced she wasn’t rolling her eyes, too. “Sherbert lemon.”

The winding staircase unraveled before them and King cocked his head to watch it curiously. When they reached the top, McGonagall rapped on the door three times.

“Come in,” Dumbledore called.

King hissed briefly at Fawkes before ducking down into Harry’s pocket. Harry himself was ushered into a seat across from the headmaster and next to his Head of House.

Harry waited for one of them to talk.

“Harry,” Dumbledore finally started. “May I ask why you have a snake on your person?”

“Their name is King,” he explained simply. “I brought them here to be healed and now they’re staying.”

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. “And where did you find King?”

“In the-” Harry suddenly realized it would probably be best not to admit that he went into the forbidden forest whilst not in detention, lest he earn another one. “By the lake,” he amended.

McGonagall raised an unconvinced eyebrow in his direction and Harry studied the engraved wooden desk in front of him like it was the most interesting thing in the world, not daring to meet her eye.

“Of course,” Dumbledore granted. “You do understand, Harry, why this would not reflect well on you, yes?”

Harry’s gaze snapped to twinkling blue. “King isn’t a ‘this’. I’m taking care of them.”

King is taking care of snake boy, they protested.

“Yes, well, it can be both,” Harry told King.

“Ah, my apologies,” Dumbledore said lightly, studying Harry like he was some sort of puzzle with a piece that just wouldn’t fit. Harry imagined that that probably wasn’t too far from the truth.

Harry never quite seemed to fit, did he?

“I suppose my point,” he continued, “was that the student body won’t understand it as such.”

Harry tried to reign in his sullen temper, though he was sure Dumbledore could see it written all over his face anyway. “Well, seeing as the student body already thinks I’m some sort of new dark lord I don’t think their opinion could get much worse and I don’t particularly care, either. Sir,” he added belatedly.

Dumbledore slowly stroked his beard while Harry took a deep, steadying breath. Hermione said they were supposed to help.

“Hm. I suppose you are right, my boy.”

Harry got the distinct sense that Dumbledore was simply trying to placate him, so Harry dropped his gaze to King, instead. King, whose scales glimmered a healthy black-green now, his wounds completely closed over, his bed warm and safe and pocket-shaped.

“Allowances must be made, you understand. If King is to stay, they must adhere to school policy.”

Harry frowned. “School policy, sir? King…isn’t a student.”

Weren’t robes technically part of the policy? Would King have to wear robes?

“The school policy on violence,” Dumbledore clarified.

Harry’s frown deepened and he banished snake robes from his mind, thinking instead of all the rather dangerous occurrences he’d seen at Hogwarts that Professors never really commented on.

“So…minor injuries and defamation of character are allowed?”

Dumbledore’s lips twitched downward before he could correct his expression. “No, Harry. There can be no violence.”

For a moment, Harry merely blinked at the Headmaster. The actual threat of death- or at least a weird, comatose, stone-like state- was hanging over the children of Hogwarts, perpetuated by an actual villain, and Harry was being talked to about violence regulations? Like, somehow, the wild accusations following him around the halls had solidified into an actual possibility after Harry saved King.

Harry frowned, the sting of being chastised at war with a deep sense of unfairness.

“So what you’re saying is that it’s not actually the school policy you want them to adhere to, it’s a…snake policy.”

“I suppose, yes. Given the circumstances.” Dumbledore said.

“King isn’t a threat,” Harry said tersely. “And neither am I.”

Will swallow, King argued. King is just and merciful, not foolish. Kneazles must beware.

“Does my being a Parseltongue scare you, sir?” he pressed.

Dumbledore continued to watch Harry calmly. Harry’s heart pounded brutally against his chest while he waited for the answer.

The silence hanging between them spoke volumes.

“Albus,” McGonagall lightly chastised.

“No, my boy,” Dumbledore finally said. “Does it scare you?”

Harry took another steadying breath. “I’ve learned to see it in a better light,” he answered honestly.

“Is that so,” Dumbledore commented mildly. Harry stared determinedly at the desk in front of him. He did not want to know if Dumbledore’s eyes were still twinkling or if he’d realized why Harry's piece didn’t fit or if he was lying about not being scared.

Harry didn’t want to see any of it.

He didn’t ask for any of this.

He saved King and King wanted to stay with Harry and Harry’s friends were fine with his snake and his ability and Harry wanted so desperately for that to be enough for him. Still, he couldn’t help but yearn for Dumbledore's approval, knowing he wouldn’t be able to save himself from being devastatingly crushed if Dumbledore didn’t believe in him anymore. If Dumbledore was the type to see a freak before he saw a hungry boy in a cupboard or a bleeding snake in a forest.

“I think you are right not to be scared, Harry,” he said softly.

Harry’s heart threatened to drop out of his chest with relief. He wondered, briefly, if Dumbledore had a single clue that his words and his silences and his endlessly twinkling eyes had the power to leave Harry with nothing but a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be.

Harry wondered, intensely, if he’d be able to put himself back together if that ever happened.

Harry knew, fundamentally, that even if he did he would not be the same. He didn’t know if he would be better or worse for it.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry breathed.

“If that is all, Albus?” McGonagall asked sharply.

“Yes, Professor.”

A warm hand descended on his shoulder and Harry’s eyes snapped open. When had he closed them?

“Come along, Mister Potter,” she said kindly.

Harry descended the spiral staircase in a daze, only noticing where Professor McGonagall was leading him when he landed in a chair in her personal office.

It was smaller than the headmaster’s. And cozier. It reminded Harry, in a lot of ways, of the Gryffindor common room.

McGonagall pushed a small tin in his direction. “Have a biscuit, Potter,” she said. Then she warmed the teapot on her desk with a spell and poured them both a cup.

Harry brought it to his lips with a grateful smile.

“It is clear that the no violence rule must be adhered to,” she said, holding up a hand to halt Harry’s protest, “and it is clear that you do not, nor have you ever, posed a threat to this school or its inhabitants. I want to make sure you understand that.”

Harry took another sip to smother the lump in his throat. “I understand, Professor.”

King is a threat, King hissed in a way that Harry assumed was meant to be menacing.

Harry let out an involuntary laugh. He knew that King was posturing but had no intention of bringing that knowledge to the snake’s attention.

In Parseltongue, Harry said. “Kneazles beware.”

McGonagall smiled faintly at the pair of them. An odd pair, perhaps, but maybe that’s what made them fit. “You are a boy with a lot on your shoulders-”

Snake boy, King interrupted.

“Boy snake,” Harry corrected.

“-you are allowed to be frightened,” she continued with a small shake of her head, “but I will admit it comforts me to know that you are not.”

Harry smiled cheekily. “It comforts me too. I don’t much care for fear.”

King inspires fear.

“I’ve found that I don’t, either,” McGonagall told him.

“I also don’t care for Potions,” Harry added. “And Snape doesn’t care for King, so would it be alright if I stayed in here until Charms next period?”

McGonagall didn’t say yes, but she didn't say no, either. Instead, she said, “Finish your tea, Potter.”

Harry drank slowly, pleased when her only response was to purse her lips in amused exasperation.

McGonagall ended up refilling his cup twice, talking quietly with Harry about some of the antics his father got up to with three boys Harry had never heard of before named Remus, Sirius, and Peter.

Harry didn’t go back to Potions.

*

Hermione and Ron managed to corner him before lunch.

“What do you mean you don’t think Malfoy’s the Heir?” Ron asked again. “We’re almost done with the-” he abruptly cut himself off and looked suspiciously around the hallway, “the potion,” he finished quietly.

“Term ends tomorrow and after that it just needs a few more days,” Hermione added, obviously just as confused as Ron by Harry’s earlier declaration. “Have you found something that’s made you change your mind about him?”

“I- no,” Harry admitted. “I was just talking to Neville this morning and he made me realize that me being accused without proof is the same as us accusing Malfoy without proof, and it feels pretty rotten to be accused so…” Harry shrugged.

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. “I suppose you have a point, Harry.”

Ron scoffed. “I don’t know if Malfoy sees it that way. Probably loves to be the talk of the school.”

“Probably,” Harry acquiesced. “But that’s just because he likes attention. Plus,” he continued, bringing his hands down to stroke King’s scales, “people can seem evil because of appearances, but it’s unfair to write them off because of that.” His friends digested Harry’s new revelations in silence. “Right?” he asked, suddenly unsure.

“No you’re…you’re right,” Hermione decided. “It’s like you with the snake in the dueling club, or you and King. As horrid as Malfoy is, it would make us hypocrites to do to him what everyone else is doing to you.”

“It makes us loyal friends with eyes,” Ron grumbled.

“That’s actually rather wise of you, Harry,” Hermoine continued, ignoring Ron.

Harry perked up slightly at the praise, despite the little bit of surprise coloring her tone and despite the fact that it was Neville’s idea in the first place.

“We’ll still go through with the plan though,” he assured. “I’m not accusing him but if he does say something then we’ll have proof, and if he doesn’t…well, I’ve always wanted to know what the Slytherin common room looks like.”

Ron and Hermione agreed swiftly and they made their way into the Great Hall for lunch.

*

Term came to a close without too much fanfare. Well, without any further fanfare. Harry was still the snake lord or whatever new title the student body had come up with and him, Hermione, and Ron were still trying to figure out who Tom Marvolo Riddle was and their very illegal polyjuice potion was still brewing in the abandoned girls bathroom.

So, a fairly normal year at Hogwarts as far as Harry was concerned.

The threat of the chamber of secrets was in no way diminished but holiday cheer seemed to permeate the atmosphere as the end of the month approached. Before he left, Neville had even given Harry a small basket outfitted with comfortable blankets for King to curl up in at night instead of the pocket of Harry’s robes. King liked it very much and offered to catch Neville a mouse as thanks. Much to King’s disgruntlement, Neville politely declined.

“Alright, boys,” Hermione said. “Bottoms up.”

Ron twisted his face in anticipatory disgust and downed his share of the Polyjuice potion alongside the rest of them. Harry grimaced at the bitter taste but forced himself to swallow it down regardless. The effects of the potion, unfortunately, were not any more pleasant than the taste.

His skin bubbled uncomfortably and stretched into new shapes, his line of sight suddenly shooting up a few inches and Ron’s- now Crabbe’s- face grew blurry in the same moment.

“Blimey,” he cried. “You look just like Goyle!”

Harry reached up to take off his glasses, a little distracted by how much smaller they looked cradled in Goyle’s large hands. “This is so weird,” Harry breathed.

“You’re telling me.” Ron-Crabbe walked over to the stall Hermione had disappeared into. “You alright, ‘Mione?”

The door remained shut. “No, not really,” she called. “I- I think you guys should go on without me.”

Harry and Ron shared a dubious look. “Are you-”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Hermione interrupted sternly. “Polyjuice only lasts for an hour. You need to go.”

“O-okay,” Harry stammered. “We’ll be back in an hour, then.” He shrugged at Ron-Crabbe and moved towards the entrance.

Ron shot another unconvinced frown at the bathroom stall before joining Harry. “We’ll be back soon unless we get caught,” he hollered.

Hermione’s answering huff of exasperation echoed clearly across the silence of the abandoned bathroom. “Do try not to do that.”

King will keep watch, they hissed, crawling up Harry- Goyle’s- leg to rest in the pocket of his robes.

“And do not get caught speaking Parseltongue,” she added.

On that note of encouragement, Ron dragged Harry into the hallway and together they started towards the area they thought the Slytherin common room was in.

It was just starting to occur to Harry that they might waste a lot of their precious time wandering the halls when King spoke up again, their hissing slightly muffled by their hiding place.

Weasel boy, he warned.

Harry was about to ask if they meant Ron when Percy Weasley came strolling around the corner, making a beeline towards the pair as soon as he saw them.

“What are you two doing out at this time?”

Ron’s whole body tensed. “What are you doing out?” he blurted.

Harry barely resisted the urge to frown at him. Percy, however, had no such qualms and became visibly affronted. “I’ll have you know that I am a prefect,” he declared. “You ought to have more respect for your elders. Where is your common room? I suppose I’ll have to escort you there myself to ensure you follow directions and return.”

“Um,” Harry started, sending Ron a panicked glance.

“There you are,” a familiarly snooty voice interrupted. “Been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time?”

Harry had never been happier to see Draco Malfoy.

Harry and Ron gratefully and wordlessly nodded.

“Come on then,” Malfoy continued. “I don’t want to waste anymore time wandering the halls.”

“You most certainly will not,” Percy interjected, angling his prefect badge so that it was more visible. “It’s past curfew and you three will return to your common room at once.”

Ron and Harry nodded again while Malfoy sneered and grabbed their elbows to drag them away. He dropped his grip once they rounded the corner. “Ugh, that Peter Weasely-”

“Percy,” Harry corrected unthinkingly.

“Whatever,” Malfoy continued. “He’s so annoying. It’s not even technically past curfew yet and it’s not like there’s anything else to do in this bloody castle over hols.”

Ron grunted something unintelligible that Malfoy, thankfully, took as agreement.

Malfoy breezed past the gargoyle statue with a muttered ‘pureblood’ and flounced into an empty common room, draping himself over one of the dark velvet couches. Ron and Harry tentatively sat down on the one across from him.

“Honestly I don’t even know why we have prefects. It’s not like they really do anything,” Malfoy mused bitterly. “More concerned about curfew than any other rules.” He didn’t wait for an answer before fishing a newspaper clipping out of his robes and handing it over to Ron-Crabbe. “Anyways, here. I wanted to show you two this.”

Harry peeked over Ron’s shoulder and skimmed over an excerpt about Arthur Weasley’s flying car crashing into the forbidden forest earlier that year and Lucius’ involvement in trying to get Arthur fired over it. Ron’s fist clenched in anger and his laugh was delayed and undoubtedly forced. Harry chuckled too and hoped that it was more convincing.

Malfoy frowned at Crabbe. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Stomachache,” Ron lied.

Malfoy shrugged and went back to reclining on the couch, his words far more excited than his body language would betray. “Did you see the bit about the flying car?” he asked. “Do you really think Potter and Weasley were the ones to crash it here?”

Harry smiled. “Probably.”

“Saint Potter,” Malfoy scoffed. “He’s even got his snake to start insulting Snape. Did you notice that?”

Ron frowned. “You could understand it?”

Them, King quietly protested. Malfoy’s eyes skittered around the room before he turned back to Ron.

“No, Crabbe. Not at the time, anyways. I swear if you were any slower you’d be going backwards.”

Harry’s eyes were locked on King, who he hadn’t noticed leaving his pocket and who was currently making their way up the opposite couch towards Malfoy's pointy elbow. Harry turned his gaze determinedly to the snake-less floor before he spoke.

“How do you know he wasn’t saying something…evil?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. I know you’re dull, Goyle, but don’t tell me you’ve bought into all this nonsense about Potter being the Heir of Slytherin?”

Harry shrugged.

“Do you know who it is then?” Ron asked.

“You know I don’t, Crabbe.” Malfoy sighed. “I wish I did. I’d have a load of groupies to send their way,” he added sarcastically.

“Group-?”

“No way!” Malfoy exclaimed, extending his hand for King to crawl into. King happily complied. “Isn’t this Potter’s pet snake?”

Harry nodded mutely.

Not a pet, King corrected.

Malfoy mouthed something silently, his brows furrowing as he concentrated. “Not…Potter’s?” he finally asked in confusion.

King, Ron, and Harry all perked up at the partial comprehension. Not that Ron recognized it as such.

King watches snake boy Harry, King explained.

After another moment of slow, silent translation, Malfoy said, “Oh! You meant to say you’re not a pet.”

Yes, King hissed approvingly. King is not a pet.

“And you call him snake boy Harry?” Malfoy asked, pleasantly amused.

Yes. Snake boy is King’s pet.

“Oh, that’s priceless,” Malfoy breathed with a small laugh. Turning to Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy smiled and said, “Potter’s gone and gotten himself adopted by this snake.”

Harry turned his burning face to the left to avoid Ron’s questioning look.

“Well that’s…something,” Ron offered.

“Isn’t it just?” Malfoy replied, apparently uncaring that his conversation partners were contributing little to nothing to the conversation at hand. He turned again to admire King, running a reverent hand over their scales, apparently also uncaring that King wasn’t of the magical variety. Ron smacked Harry’s side.

“Scar,” he whispered.

Harry watched with horror as a patch of red started to grow on Ron’s head. Hair, he mouthed, not trusting his words to come out in English.

Ron stood abruptly, clutching his stomach. “Gotta go…find medicine.”

Harry followed suit and Malfoy distractedly caught the sleeve of his robe before he could escape. “Wait,” he said, carefully dropping King back into Harry’s pocket. “Take King and let them loose by the lake. We can’t have Potter thinking we stole them or something.”

Harry nodded and fled with Ron out of the Slytherin dorm. As they rushed back towards the bathroom, Harry’s vision grew blurry and his clothes started to hang off of his figure like he was wearing Dudley’s hand-me-downs again. Ron looked much the same.

When they reached the bathroom, Hermione was pacing by the sinks.

“Well?” she asked.

“It’s not him,” Harry said. “He doesn’t know who it is either.”

“And he’s learning Parseltongue!” Ron shouted.

Hermione frowned. “What? Why would he be doing that? How would he be doing that? Parseltongue is an incredibly difficult language to learn because it all sounds so similar.”

“Does it?” Harry asked, intrigued.

Ron nodded. “Like French but…hissier.”

“He probably already knows French,” Hermione mused to herself, obviously irritated at the thought.

“Anyways,” Harry said. “It’s not all that surprising.”

“It’s not?” Ron asked.

Harry smiled cheekily. “Malfoy’s a nosy git. I wouldn’t tell him what King had said in class so he went to the source.”

Hermione shook herself from her language tangent with an actual shake of her head. “That’s a bit over the top but…well, I suppose that tracks. Did you find out anything else about the chamber?”

“Er, no.”

“Nothing at all?” she pressed.

“Well, Malfoy doesn’t like prefects and he doesn’t think Harry’s the Heir and he really likes King,” Ron reported. "Mentioned something about groupies, too."

“What went wrong with your polyjuice, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Oh, nothing really,” she sighed, sufficiently distracted from their lack of clues. “I either grabbed a first year robe by mistake or Milicent Bulstrode just went through a growth spurt.” She waved a hand in the air. “I wasn’t about to go parading her body like that and it would’ve caused too many questions if I did.”

“Oh,” Harry and Ron said in unison.

“Oh, indeed.”

“Well…at least now Malfoy won’t be able to spy on Harry when he’s speaking to King?” Ron offered.

Hermione reached into her bag and handed each of them their discarded Gryffindor robes. “That’s true at least. Now get changed so I can sneak the Slytherin ones back where I found them.”

*

You’re staring, King hissed.

“I am not,” Harry weakly protested, redirecting his attention from the nearly empty Slytherin table and back to his plate.

Snake boy is…interested in the other snake boy?

“His name’s Draco Malfoy-”

Dragon boy, then, King corrected, amused.

Harry rolled his eyes half-heartedly. “Yeah and, well, I guess I was staring but only because he needs to be stared at. Just because he’s not the Heir doesn’t mean he won’t get up to something else, you know? Someone’s gotta keep an eye out.”

Harry ignored the few people at his own table, both older and younger, who scooted farther from Harry the longer his conversation with King went on.

King, oblivious or uncaring, just waved their head back and forth in that way that meant they were thinking.

For snake boy Harry, King will assist.

“Assist?” Harry asked.

King ignored him and slithered down the side of the table, presumably heading out the front door to hunt for mice. Harry shrugged and returned to his meal.

Ron leaned over to fill up his plate with seconds. “What was that all about, mate?”

“No idea.”

Chapter Text

Harry approached the first Potions class after winter hols with a lot less trepidation than he probably should have.

He had gotten into the habit of ferrying King around in his pocket until and unless the snake decided to do some solo slithering, which had been happening rather frequently since term began again, but none of the other teachers had protested King’s presence so Harry hadn’t even considered Snape’s previous complaint of having an animal in the classroom.

About five paces into the room King poked their head out to stick their tongue in the air, probably curious about all the scents in the room, but the first thing they said was:

Bat man.

Harry didn’t even know snakes could convey so much disdain with two softly hissed words. Harry coughed into his elbow to smother his laughter and slipped into a seat near the back as quietly as possible.

“Are you catching a cold, Harry?”

Harry spun on his stool to face Hermione, who had rather bravely decided to partner with Seamus today.

“No, King just called Snape Batman is all.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she snuck a glance at their professor. “Well…” she started, leaning in conspiratorially, “He does rather fit the color scheme, doesn’t he?”

“And the cape!”

“Who’s batman?” Ron asked from his place beside Harry.

Seamus ignored him and leaned forward like Hermione. “Plus, he wouldn’t look out of place crouching on the roof next to all of the gargoyles in the dead of night.”

“I don’t talk about feelings, Alfred,” Harry recited, lowering his voice dramatically. “I don’t have any. I’ve never seen one.”

Hermione and Seamus dissolved into a mildly well-hidden bout of laughter.

“What?” Ron demanded.

Then Dean walked over and leaned down towards their group to pick up the quill he'd swiped off his desk, surreptitiously checking that Snape was still at the front of the class. Hermione looked like she was already chastising herself before Dean had even managed to open his mouth.

“I don’t feel anything emotionally except for rage," Dean whispered.

The entire table, sans Ron, fell into muffled hysterics and Dean immediately fled.

Harry always knew he was a smart man.

The sound of Snape’s heeled shoes clacking brutally on the tiled floor sent Harry spinning to face the right way in his seat, schooling his face into boredom.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” he sneered. “One would think the savior of the wizarding world would be able to comport himself with more dignity.” His every word dripped with disdain as poorly concealed as their earlier laughter. “Perhaps all you can manage, however, is leading a group of snickering schoolchildren.”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Hermione said, likely much more sorry than the other three boys combined.

“I wasn’t speaking to you, Miss Granger. Miraculously, that does not ever seem to prevent you from speaking.”

Ron’s neutrality quickly faded to indignance. “Hey, that’s-!”

“My cue to begin class,” Snape interrupted. “Open your textbooks to page 211 and begin.”

Snape’s robes billowed out behind him as he stalked back to the front of the room to do more sneering and point-taking than actual teaching and King used the cover of Harry’s textbook to poke their head out again.

Why do you get to be called savior? King demanded.

Harry smiled faintly as he turned the pages, book propped up so his whispering wouldn’t be obvious.

“I killed Voldemort as a baby.”

King made the hissing equivalent of a scoff. Is this Voldemort a kneazle?

Harry’s smile turned into a smirk. “Kind of.”

Then King deserves this title, they continued. Many a kneazle trembles before King!

“True,” Harry conceded, though he was fairly certain he rescued King from a kneazle the first day they met. “I bet Voldemort would too. Did you get a funky scar though?”

King rose higher out of Harry’s pocket. The Healer took King’s scar! Unfair!

“I don’t make the rules,” Harry murmured. “I just live by them. Now duck down again.”

Fuming snake safely out of sight, Harry set down his book and walked over to the ingredient cupboard before belatedly realizing he hadn’t actually read any of the instructions while talking to King. He stood on his tiptoes to see what the students ahead of him were grabbing and figured he’d just copy them.

“I can’t believe you,” Malfoy whispered from behind him.

Harry quickly abandoned his attempts at memorization. Malfoy would be a better person to copy anyway.

“Believe me what?”

“You’re just-” Malfoy looked around wildly before lowering his voice even further. “You’re just casually discussing- you’re not supposed to say his name!”

Harry hummed, sneaking a glance at the stuff gathered in Blaise’s arms just in case. “Does it really count if it’s in Parseltongue?”

Malfoy looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “Yes. That’s probably worse.”

Harry shrugged, the pair of them reaching the front of the line and moving together into the relative privacy of the ingredient pantry. “Don’t be such a kneazle. It’s not like it wasn’t true.”

Harry pushed aside his fringe and tapped his scar to further prove his point.

Dragon boy is no kneazle, King protested quietly. Slander.

That, at least, left Malfoy looking pleased. “Yes, don’t slander me Scarhead and- no, put that down you need this one- and it’s still reckless of you to even have King here.”

Harry grabbed another item he needed from the shelf and watched, bemused, as Malfoy snatched it back and put something else in his hand.

“I prefer to call it bold.”

I prefer to be called Your Lord and Savior, King muttered.

Malfoy tilted his chin higher and turned to prance out. “Get in trouble then. See if I care.”

Dragon boy will care very much.

Malfoy nearly tripped over his robe on his way out of the pantry and Harry scratched King’s scales with a delighted smile of his own before angling them out of sight and heading back towards his shared table with Ron.

King managed to stay quiet for about twenty minutes.

Can King swallow Voldemort? they asked suddenly. And become Savior then?

Malfoy’s pour turned a little heavy-handed a few tables up.

“If you want,” Harry agreed amenably. “I don’t know where he’s at right now though.”

Probably with the kneazles, King sneered distastefully.

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Potter,” Snape called. “Is that your potion hissing or you?”

“Er-”

“Both are incorrect. Remedy it.”

Harry gave him a salute. “Yes sir, Professor Snape, sir. No more hissing, it’s very uncouth.”

Snape glared at him a moment longer before rounding on Neville on the other side of the room.

The greasy bat man would be happier if he ate more mice, King commented quietly.

Harry let his gaze wander up from his cauldron and to the back of Malfoy’s head. “Maybe we’ll just have to leave him one then.” As predicted, Malfoy whipped around to stare at him with wide eyes.

“You wouldn’t,” he whispered disbelievingly.

“Maybe dragon boy needs one too,” Harry mused to King.

That is what King tells him!

“Potter,” Malfoy warned.

“What?” Harry asked. “It would be rude to decline.”

“Potter!” Snape hissed. “Why are you distracting young Mister Malfoy?”

Both Malfoy and Harry turned to look at him- the former with slight trepidation and the latter with annoyance.

“Well, sir. We were just discussing lunch options.”

“Lunch options,” Snape repeated, thoroughly unamused. Harry nodded like the good child he was.

Their professor turned his glare on Malfoy who shrugged helplessly, to the confusion of the rest of his housemates.

“You’ll be lucky if you get through this class without me keeping you through lunch for your attitude,” Snape finally drawled.

Somehow, Harry was very confident this threat was only directed at himself.

Snape continued to stare between the both of them in the quiet classroom, where even the hushed whisperings of the students were unable to drown out a very distinct hiss.

Maybe the mice should eat him instead.

Nor did it cover up the startled laughter of two Parselmouths.

“Detention.”

Somehow, Harry knew that this punishment applied to them both.

*

“This is all your fault,” Malfoy muttered.

Harry put down one of the very old, very dusty files they were meant to be alphabetizing by hand in the trophy room, waving away the plume of dust the motion sent up.

“Oh it’s my fault you decided to learn Parseltongue.”

“Yes,” Malfoy agreed simply. “If you had just told me what King wanted to be called then I wouldn’t have had to learn the language in the first place.” Malfoy dropped his own stack of files on the ground and Harry’s eye roll was abandoned in favor of coughing. “Seriously,” Malfoy continued. “They haven’t gone through these in ages. Probably not since the chamber was opened the first time but, of course, anything for Harry Potter.”

“Yeah, I don’t think detention counts as favoritism, Malfoy.”

“Better than the Forbidden Forest,” he countered.

“Unless we die a slower death here.” Harry held up an especially old, rancid looking file. “I think this might have black mold.”

“Black wha-?”

“Anyways, you know when the chamber was opened the first time?”

Malfoy turned back to his own filing cabinet with a huff. “Yes, because I’m such an evil little mastermind it must have been my family who-”

“That’s not what I’m saying you dramatic git.”

“Stop interrupting me!”

Harry ignored him. “I already told you I don’t think you’re the Heir and you’re the one who brought it up anyway. If it was one of your ancestors, that wouldn’t even be your fault so why are you so touchy about it?”

Malfoy bristled. “I’m not touchy.”

Harry leveled him with a dry look.

“I’m not,” he insisted. “It’s just a very..improper subject.”

That time, Harry did roll his eyes. “So sorry Lord Malfoy, leader of the dramatic gits, how ever could I have been so careless with my words?”

“Potter-”

“What I meant,” Harry continued, “was dost thou knoweth when the chamber of secrets was opened, perchance?”

Malfoy frowned. “That’s not even-”

“Oh my god.” Harry let himself fall backwards onto a bed of manilla files. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m not-”

“Impossible? Yes you-”

Malfoy let out a sound of frustration and leaned over to cover Harry’s mouth with his hand. “If you would stop interrupting me I would answer your blasted question!”

Harry quirked a brow as if to ask ‘Really?’

Malfoy sighed, still hovering over Harry, and kept his hands where they were to prevent Harry from speaking. “My father actually wrote to me weeks ago and mentioned that it had been opened fifty years ago. However,” he added, upon sensing Harry’s burst of excited curiosity, “he wouldn’t tell me any more about it than that.”

After another beat of silence, grey eyes looking searchingly into green for some reason Harry didn’t understand, Malfoy straightened himself and removed his hands, wiping them rather prissily on his robes as if the mouth-covering hadn’t been entirely his own idea.

Harry wished he found the gesture less amusing than he did.

“Thanks, Draco.”

Malfoy’s hands stilled. “What did you just call me?”

Harry smiled. “Oh, so helping me of your own free will wasn’t a sign of your commitment to our lifelong friendship?”

Malfoy sneered, but it was dangerously close to turning into a genuine smile. “Perish the thought.”

“Indubitably.”

Malfoy tugged a few files free from under Harry’s side. “Potter, do you ever tire of hearing your own voice?”

Harry laughed and sat up fully, sending Malfoy a surprised smile of gratitude when he felt a cleaning spell hit his back.

“Well isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

Malfoy hummed thoughtfully but didn’t comment on it any further and turned back to his filing cabinet. The silence, of course, didn’t last.

“Why did you say you don’t think I’m the Heir?” Malfoy asked, and Harry recognized with no small amount of shock, the tense undercurrent ruining his air of nonchalance.

Harry shrugged even though Malfoy wasn’t looking at him. “Because it’s foolish to accuse people without proof,” he recited. “It certainly doesn’t…well…it’s a bit much, isn’t it? Being an elitist mass murderer at twelve?”

Malfoy didn’t laugh.

“But you think I’m the wrong sort,” he pushed.

“Yeah,” Harry answered honestly. “Because you are elitist and you go around using slurs.”

Malfoy set down the file in his hand and turned to face Harry with a furrowed brow. “I don’t go around using slurs,” he protested.

“Malfoy,” Harry said evenly.

“It hardly even counts!” Malfoy continued. “Everyone uses it and she is muggleborn.”

Harry sighed sharply through his nose. “It does count because it’s a slur.”

Malfoy looked a bit like he was grasping at straws. “It’s- it’s a common way of speaking!”

Harry scowled.

“It’s simply a fact!”

“No, Malfoy. The word muggleborn is a fact because Hermione’s parents are muggles. It’s also a fact that she’s bloody brilliant and you would know that because you’re right behind her in class ranks and it’s also a fact that you’ve called her a slur before and you didn’t just now because you know it’s wrong. And I'd hex you.”

Malfoy frowned. “It’s just a fact..presented meanly,” he hedged.

“Presented cruelly,” Harry countered. “Because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with her blood or her magic or her parents-"

Malfoy scoffed lightly.

"And you can’t convince me otherwise so just drop it!” Harry finished.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Harry spun around and eyed the black mold file with disgust, taking deep breaths and counting down from ten in his head to avoid snapping any more at Malfoy and starting another, more explosive row.

The two of them were certainly capable of much worse.

“You can’t blame me for disliking her,” Malfoy finally murmured.

Harry kept himself facing away in order to reign in his temper and wondered if Malfoy was doing the same.

“I don’t care if you don’t like her, I care that you were racist towards her and don’t seem to see the problem.”

Malfoy huffed. “I understand that I could have...possibly...crossed a line.”

“Do you?” Harry challenged.

For a few long moments, Malfoy remained silent.

When it became clear he wasn't going to receive an answer, nor some unguarded revelation of Malfoy's change of heart, Harry scoffed, surprisingly disappointed.

"You’re more daft than I thought if you don’t realize the word ‘mudblood’ is used in the most important wizarding circles, Potter. And my life would certainly be better if she hadn't been allowed to enroll,” Malfoy added as an afterhought.

Harry turned around to stare at Malfoy in incredulity and, finding only his back, turned again towards the wall with a clenched jaw.

“So you’re jealous? And using racism to cover it up?” Harry asked. “I could have figured that much out for myself, thanks very much.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” Malfoy grumbled. “That’s not the issue. She’s the issue!”

“You’re saying you’d be happy if she were attacked? Or- or killed?” Harry demanded hotly.

“Nobody has to be happy about it,” Malfoy snapped. “It’s just a fact! A matter of self-preservation.”

Harry clenched his fist, whirling to face Malfoy again and, this time, he met Malfoy's gaze head-on. “So, what? Given the chance you would orchestrate her removal?”

“What? Don't be daft!” Malfoy objected, looking a little green in the face. “I’m just saying that if she’d been born a muggle instead like she logically should have been then I wouldn’t have this problem!”

“What problem?” Harry cried. “What self preservation? What the hell are you even talking about?”

Malfoy let out a frustrated noise. “You don’t understand.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “I don’t. You’re the second cleverest person in our entire year so I don’t have a clue why that’s not enough for you.”

“It’s not about what’s enough for me, you blithering idiot!” Malfoy exploded.

Harry’s mind pulled to a sharp and sudden halt. “Your parents?” he asked astonished. “They’re the ones who’re disappointed?”

“It's different for me, Potter,” Malfoy explained tersely. “I’m held to different standards. My father-”

“Sod your father!” Harry interrupted.

Malfoy gaped at him with wide, nervous eyes. “You can’t just…”

“Can’t I?” Harry pushed, when it became clear Malfoy was lost for words. “I’ve pretty much said the same thing to Voldemort twice now and he and your dad were part of the same creepy cult.”

“It’s- it’s not proper,” Malfoy spluttered. “You can’t just talk about these things.”

Harry crossed his arms. “Sod proper, Malfoy. It’s not your fault your dad was a Death Eater but it’s your choice whether or not to act like him.”

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair and Harry’s eyes felt glued to the single strand it left sticking out of place. This was the least put-together he’d ever seen Malfoy.

“It’s not as easy as you make it sound, Potter. We can’t all be you,” he spat.

“Good,” Harry replied quietly, “because I think the second cleverest person in our year should be able to figure out for himself what’s right and what’s wrong and what he wants to do about those conclusions.”

For a long moment they continued to look at each other, both of them stewing in their discontent. Then, “Let's hurry and finish this detention.”

Harry let his eyes fall to the stacks they’d yet to even touch. “Yeah. Agreed.”

The rest of their evening was carried out in a silence heavy enough that neither boy felt compelled to break it- limbs sluggish with exhaustion and anger and rumination and Harry’s gaze kept flitting back to that one lock of Malfoy’s misplaced hair against his will.

They didn’t say goodbye when Filch finally came to collect them, but they did exchange considering glances when they thought the other one wasn’t looking. Harry fell face first into his mattress after trudging up all twelve flights of stairs leading to his room.

Snake boy is distressed, King noticed, rising out of their basket bed.

Harry unceremoniously tossed his glasses onto the nightstand and buried his face in his pillow, only surfacing long enough to say, “You try getting locked in a room with Draco Malfoy and black mold.”

*

“That’s what he said?” Hermione asked. “Those words exactly?”

The sky was a bright blue behind her inquisitive face. Harry nodded, laying down against the grass with his arms tossed out to either side, Ron sat cross-legged and munching on a box of Bertie Bott's by his head. “As best as I can remember, yeah.”

“Curious,” she mused, leaning back against the tall tree she'd claimed as her study spot that afternoon, books temporarily set to the side.

“Er, what’s curious ‘Mione?” Ron asked.

Hermione visibly tore herself from her train of thought and leaned in closer, glancing furtively at the few other groups of students lounging by the lake. “It’s just that I saw him in the library yesterday. Only I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was researching,” she added with a frown.

Ron chuckled quietly. “So he’s a git and a swot?” he asked mildly. "What's surprising about that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes lightheartedly. “He was in the muggle studies section,” she clarified excitedly.

“Really?” Harry asked, amazed.

Ron openly gaped. “That’s- that’s…I don’t even have a word for what that is. Was he burning the books?”

“No,” Hermione huffed.

“Wait,” Ron continued. “What were you doing in the muggle studies section? You’re muggleborn!”

Hermione bristled. “It’s fascinating to learn about muggles from a wizarding perspective!” she defended hotly. “Anyways. What do you think he was looking for?”

Harry ran back through the argument he’d had with Malfoy in his mind. “Maybe he thinks muggles have better studying methods?” he suggested weakly.

Hermione thought it over with a crease in her brow. “I’m not so sure,” she decided. “Even if such a thing existed, wouldn’t he have to be desperate to go looking for muggle answers instead of wizarding ones?”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe he is desperate.”

Hermione scoffed. “He’s the cleverest boy in our whole year!”

“But not the cleverest person,” Harry amended. “That’d be you.” Something uncomfortable tickled at the back of Harry’s mind and he thought it over a moment more before adding, “Maybe he got another letter from his father. Malfoy mentioned that he was disappointed in him for being in second place overall.”

“Disappointed?” Ron echoed, aghast. “Blimey. I guess he’s got a right git for a father, yeah? No wonder he turned out the way he is.”

“Oh, I know,” Hermione sympathized. “I’ve researched old Pureblood culture and most of that stuff is positively horrid.” Ron and Hermione both grimaced, though Harry hadn't a clue why.

“Harry,” she continued. “Did he mention his mum at all?”

“Er, I don’t think so,” Harry said. “Why?”

Hermione checked that the coast was still clear and settled against the tree again. “Well, it’s obvious he mimics his father to try and win his approval so I was wondering if that was his mother’s influence as well.”

Harry felt something suspiciously like hope rise in his chest. “So his father’s why he acts like that?”

Hermione looked at him hesitantly. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But even if that’s the case, it’s no excuse for his behavior so far.”

Harry shot her a resigned smile, leaning back against the grass with a sigh. “I know.”

“For your sake, Harry, I hope that’s the case. Maybe he really is turning over a new leaf.”

Ron looked between them with a frown while Harry avoided looking directly at Hermione for fear that she’d suddenly learned to read his face like a book. “Why for Harry’s sake?” he asked.

Hermione looked at Ron like he was being intentionally obtuse. “Because Harry likes him.”

“Harry does what?” Ron asked. “He didn’t say that.”

Harry started picking at the grass to avoid Ron’s questioning gaze, too.

Hermione sighed. “Oh, Ronald. He didn’t have to.”

*

Harry was halfway through wondering if making King a little hat would do anything to dissuade the psychopathic-murderer rumors when he heard a shout of outrage echo down a nearby hallway.

“What are you gonna do, huh?” someone goaded. “Attack me? I'm a Pureblood.”

Harry didn’t recognize the voice but cursed his luck at ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time again.

“You think I’d concern myself with the likes of you?” Malfoy's voice replied.

Harry poked his head around the corner, debating whether to continue forward or double back.

“No?” a tall boy goaded. “I thought we were just your type.”

“Don’t tell me the Heir of Slytherin’s afraid to get his hands dirty,” another student taunted.

“I’m not the Heir!” Malfoy protested.

Harry frowned. He'd have thought Malfoy would be pleased by the association. Maybe even use it to frighten off his accusers. Not…whatever this was.

“You make me sick,” the first one spat, accompanied by a sharp ripping sound.

“You can’t-!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” the third one said, holding out his wand. “Hex us and we’ll go to Dumbledore.”

Harry finally rounded the corner to see Malfoy surrounded by scattered books, quills, and three Ravenclaws he didn’t recognize. Third years, maybe? Fourth? None of them had spotted Harry yet.

Malfoy looked furious. “But you’re the ones who-!”

The Ravenclaws suddenly shot back from Malfoy. “Oh my god,” the second one whispered, repeatedly tapping another one’s arm. “Cole-”

King will swallow you!

Harry dropped his gaze to the floor to find King inching down from Malfoy’s pocket, placing themself determinedly in front of the blond whose knuckles were white where they clutched his downturned wand.

“You just wait till my father hears about this,” Malfoy ground out.

The first one barked out a sharp laugh, apparently uncaring of King. “You think your father cares about you for anything other than politics?” he asked, something sadistically gleeful in his smile. “I’ve met the man, Malfoy, and let me be the first to tell you that he doesn’t have a heart.”

Malfoy’s face flickered into something like hurt and then shuttered quickly into neutrality.

Kneazles! All of you! King cried, raising their head threateningly. Back!

Harry took a few more steps forward. “Hey!” he shouted. “I thought the general consensus was that I’m the Heir of Slytherin. I’m getting a little confused here.”

Malfoy scoffed and crossed his arms, nose angled toward the ceiling in nonchalance, though Harry could see the pink warming his ears. “When are you not?”

The Ravenclaws, however, turned to Harry in shock. All except for the second one, who was still watching King warily. “Of course it’s not you,” the third one said, his voice drowned out by Malfoy's haughty, “Now go away, Potter. I don’t need your help.”

“Am I helping you, Malfoy?” Harry asked lightly. “I thought I was going to lunch.”

No mice! King protested. Must help Dragon Boy!

“I know, King,” Harry said more gently in Parseltongue. “It was a joke.”

Even the second Ravenclaw looked his way after that.

“I thought that was a rumor…”

Harry looked the second one dead in the eye and made a nonsensical hissing noise, biting back his smile when all three boys jumped and started backing away. Being a social pariah did have its perks sometimes.

“We were never here!” the first one cried.

Harry raised an amused eyebrow and turned to look at Malfoy's scattered things. “Wow, they really don’t make bags like they used to. Up and shredding themselves out of nowhere, are they?” Harry racked his brain for the right spell, internally cheering when he remembered the incantation, and cast it towards the closest Ravenclaw, thoroughly delighted as his rolls of parchment escaped his tattered bag and bounced away in multiple directions. “Oh look,” he said mildly. “There goes another one.”

The other two clutched their school bags tightly in their arms before booking it out of the corridor. "Just leave it!" they called to their third companion, who had gathered as many belongings as he could hold in his arms before quickly hurrying away.

Malfoy flicked his wand to start gathering his things as well and Harry followed suit, picking up a few odds and ends with his hands while the spell sorted out the bigger stuff.

“Couldn’t resist the opportunity to play hero, could you, Potter,” Malfoy bit out.

Harry paused in his attempt to clean the ink stains from the floor with the corner of his robe. “Not a very altruistic hero, was I?” he asked. Harry leaned over to grab a book that had skittered a few feet away and only managed to blink in shock at the cover for a few seconds before Malfoy snatched it away.

“You can go now,” Malfoy hissed.

“I pick up books everyday before lunch,” Harry quipped easily.

“I don’t need-”

“My help,” Harry finished, rolling his eyes. “I know, Malfoy.”

Malfoy cast a spell to sew his bag back together and then started harshly packing his things away. “I could have handled it myself.”

“But you weren’t,” Harry protested. “You wanted to, I could tell, but your wand wasn’t even up.”

“Why does it even matter?” Malfoy exploded. “It’s not like anyone besides Professor Snape would take my word over theirs!”

Harry hesitated and handed Malfoy the quills he’d gathered- one by one, to give himself more time to think. Despite his grimace, Malfoy seemed to be allowing the stall.

“You’ve…this isn’t the first time this has happened,” Harry realized. Groupies, Malfoy had said before.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Astute as ever, Potter.”

Harry hummed dismissively. “It’s not very nice is it?” he asked quietly. “Being bullied.”

Malfoy stowed the last of his things with a huff. “Look Potter, I’m not interested in your moral mission of the day. I get it. You get it. The whole bloody world understands the irony! Why don’t you go laugh about it with your Gryffindor pals and leave me alone!”

Harry reached out for Malfoy’s wrist to stop his retreat in the same moment that King slithered over to wind around Malfoy’s ankle.

Dragon Boy is distressed, King said with concern.

Malfoy went rigid with embarrassment and Harry tightened his grip, gently tugging until Malfoy acquiesced and slid down the wall to sit beside Harry and King.

“Looks like you’ve been adopted too,” Harry observed. This must have been where King had been disappearing to lately.

“That’s a horribly embarrassing thing to admit, Potter,” Malfoy muttered.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. They sat in silence a few moments longer with only King’s concerned, supportive hisses to fill the air. Harry shifted three separate times before the need to talk won out. “Want to know another horribly embarrassing thing?” he offered.

Not the wisest move on his part but it was the first thing that came to mind.

Malfoy looked at Harry curiously, one hand outstretched to stroke King’s scales. “Do go on.”

Harry smiled crookedly before turning his gaze back to the floor and the stubborn ink stain that he hadn’t been able to remove. “I should feel bad, I guess, but it was kind of cool. Intimidating your bullies the way I was never able to do with my own.”

Malfoy sniffed pointedly. “Well I’m hardly an easy one to intimidate.”

“Before Hogwarts,” Harry specified.

Malfoy frowned. “By who? For what?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Did you think you were the only bully in the world, Malfoy? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but you’re not even in my top five. A bloody amateur, actually.”

Malfoy turned to level him with a dry, unamused glare that Harry thought was much closer to a pout.

Harry glared back for a moment, then he sighed. “For anything,” he answered reluctantly. “It was mostly kids at school- my cousin and his friends- or my relatives, too.”

King slithered over so that they were spread out over both Malfoy and Harry’s thighs and the boys shifted closer to accommodate.

“You and your friends never retaliated?” Malfoy asked, confused.

“Didn’t have any,” Harry said simply.

Malfoy frowned harder. “And none of your cousins ever took your side? Not one?” he pushed. “That seems unlikely. Even Pansy helps me swap all of Blaise's Bertie Botts for poor flavors when he starts getting a big head. And Pansy's always having a row with me.”

Harry smiled at the ground and ran a hand lightly over King’s scales, careful not to accidentally touch Malfoy in the process. “I only have the one cousin.”

Malfoy took to petting King as well, just as mindful to keep their fingers careful centimeters apart. “You said relatives. Plural. Or do you not know the difference between singulars and plurals?”

Harry swallowed and suddenly wished he had bitten his tongue earlier. Or left. Or been at all able to muster the strength to break this careful, almost friendly air existing between him and Malfoy right now to avoid answering his questions.

Why did Malfoy have so many bloody questions? Ron was right, Harry realized- Malfoy really was a swot- only the thing he was studying was Harry and the subject happened to be Harry’s least favorite thing to talk about.

Regardless, he said, “My aunt and uncle. Just typical stuff.”

Malfoy’s fingers briefly stilled, Harry’s clumsily crashing into them, before starting up his petting again as if nothing had happened. “I hardly think adults can be better bullies than myself,” he said warily. “I’ve been dedicated to the task of messing with you for ages.”

Harry knew, the same way he knew all the things he didn’t like to name or think about, that the crucial difference between the two was that Malfoy didn’t actually hate him and the thought made his chest constrict painfully. He was at Hogwarts now. This stuff wasn't supposed to matter. Not until summer.

“Well you’ve never locked me places or withheld meals or given me bruises so you’ll have to step up your game,” Harry snapped.

Malfoy’s fingers stilled again and this time when Harry’s crashed into his, like the world’s most predictable trainwreck, Malfoy grabbed them in his awkward, sweaty grip. In Parseltongue Malfoy whispered, “I think that’s just called child abuse.”

Harry didn’t turn to look at his face. Didn't want to know how or why Malfoy had picked up the vocabulary for those words either. “I’m suddenly very disinterested in this conversation,” he muttered.

“I’ve been disinterested since the beginning,” Malfoy shot back.

Harry yanked his fingers away and stood to leave. “Well I’m glad I’m such a bore,” he snapped irritably, unable to fully disguise the hurt in his tone.

“Wait!” Malfoy called, reaching up to take hold of Harry’s wrist. “That’s not what I meant, I just… ugh…sit down, Potter.”

Harry bit his cheek and looked consideringly towards the end of the hall.

“Harry,” Malfoy tried. Successfully, because the next thing Harry knew he was sitting back beside Malfoy, much closer than they were before. “I didn’t mean that I don’t care,” he clarified quickly.

“Why should you?” Harry replied. “We’re not friends.”

Malfoy sighed and finally relinquished his grip on Harry’s wrist, apparently satisfied that he’d stay seated. “Since we’re sharing embarrassing truths I should probably tell you that...well, I don’t actually dislike you.”

Harry looked at him disbelievingly.

“Much,” Malfoy amended with a grimace. “Regardless, I would have liked it if you shook my hand. Before.”

Harry looked down at his knees, picking at the material of his pants. “I just…wish that you were nicer.”

The hall went quiet after that. Harry listened to his heart pound in his ears.

“A lot of people wish I were things that I’m not.”

Malfoy’s voice was cold and Harry could imagine the careful neutrality pasted there to hide his hurt. Harry shook his head and said imploringly, “You don’t understand. I wish you were nicer but I still like talking to you as you are. More so when you’re not insulting me, I guess, but even then sometimes and that’s awfully embarrassing too.”

“It is,” Malfoy slowly agreed. “What if I used it against you?”

“What if you didn’t?” Harry shot back. “What if…what if we tried to be friends?”

Malfoy looked at Harry like he was being awfully slow. “Potter-”

“I saw your book on muggle racism,” he interrupted. “I think if you were really the wrong sort you wouldn’t have bothered.”

“Maybe I just got it because I like to know what I’ve been accused of,” he sniffed. Softer, he argued, “What if I’m still the same after I read it? What then?”

“Well…I don't know, but I don't think you will be."

"You don't know-"

"What if we just start by playing a seeker’s game?” Harry countered. “Just us.”

Malfoy hesitated. “I…could do that,” he decided. "I've been itching to fly lately. No one in Slytherin really gives me a challenge."

Harry grinned and fished two nutrient bars out of his bag, passing one to Malfoy. “Here,” he said. “Since we’ve all but missed lunch.”

Malfoy looked at it curiously before taking a bite.

Harry very suddenly remembered that their next class was Potions and swallowed roughly. “Hey Malfoy,” he started. “Since we’re together right now. And alone.”

Not alone, King protested.

“Alone with King,” Harry corrected. “How about we- and this is just an idea, here- we don’t go to class and we have the seeker’s game now?”

Malfoy gaped at him incredulously. “You want us to skip class?”

Harry tried to shrug very casually. “Well, if you’re too chicken…it was only a thought. Could be fun.”

“Could lose us house points,” Malfoy reminded him.

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Only if we get caught.”

Malfoy stared at him for another few seconds, probably trying to gauge his seriousness.

“Scared, Malfoy?”

Malfoy's incredulousness quickly faded into a delighted smirk. “Never, Potter.”

Harry stood first and offered his hand to Malfoy. “I think this whole friendship thing’s gonna work out,” he announced.

Malfoy accepted his hand. “Let’s find out if you still feel that way after I beat you.”

*

Harry ended up winning 3-2, though Malfoy hotly contested the acceptability of the second game since they had to pause halfway through to hide from Filch and by the time they were able to start up again the snitch had floated far too close to Harry to be truly fair.

By their fourth game, Harry had stopped trying to get Malfoy to call him by his first name again. Regardless, they walked back into the castle laughing and sweaty with twenty minutes till the end of Potions and the start of Charms to shower and store their brooms. They had taken two steps towards their respective common rooms when it happened.

Kill…

Malfoy and Harry both stopped short, turning to look at each other with concern.

Time to kill…

“Not again,” Harry groaned.

“Again?” Malfoy asked sharply, his eyes darting around fearfully in search of the voice. “Do the walls often express their murderous thoughts to you?”

Harry edged a little closer to Malfoy, who was turning paler than ought to have been possible. “Just this year, yeah.”

I smell blood… the voice hissed. Fainter this time.

“It’s getting further away,” Harry reassured. “Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?” Malfoy shouted.

“Is there an echo in here?” Harry joked.

Malfoy ignored him. “Excuse me for fearing mortality, Potter. Not all of us have survived the killing curse!”

King would swallow the curse, they interjected.

“What was that voice?” Malfoy demanded, ignoring King's boasting.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. You’re the only one to hear it besides me so far though.”

Malfoy huffed dramatically. “Oh well that’s just great-”

“Boys!” McGonagall called, striding down the hallway towards them. Harry and Malfoy swiftly, and pointlessly, tried to hide their brooms behind their backs. “If you’ve finished hissing in the hallways, would you care to explain yourselves?”

“Er-”

“Flying during lessons?” she continued. “You’re lucky I haven’t a replacement seeker or you’d be benched next week, Mister Potter.”

“But I-”

“As for you, Mister Malfoy, Severus will be hearing about this shortly.”

“Professor McGonagall,” Malfoy said. “Could you, perhaps, not tell him who I was with?” he asked pleadingly.

Harry tried not to feel too offended. He knew Snape would probably make Malfoy’s punishment worse if the greasy old bat heard who he’d been with.

McGonagall regarded them unsympathetically, though she offered Malfoy a curt nod. “Detention tonight and ten points from both your houses. It’ll be more if you boys don’t show up to your next class on time,” she added.

“Yes ma’am,” they chorused.

McGonagall continued on to wherever she’d been going and Harry hesitated. “Were we really speaking in Parseltongue that whole time?” he asked.

“Obviously,” Malfoy said, shooting Harry an odd look. "Can you really not hear the difference?"

Harry shook his head.

They dithered a second longer without saying anything else. King poked their head out of Harry’s pocket.

You’ve got a nasty basilisk problem.

“A nasty what?” Harry asked.