Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the infirmary blazing with winter sunlight, and his arm reboned but very stiff. He sat up quickly and looked over at Colin’s bed, but it had been blocked from view by the high curtains Harry had changed behind yesterday. Seeing that he was awake, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray and then began bending and stretching his arm and fingers.

“All in order,” she said as he clumsily fed himself porridge left-handed. “How do you feel?”

“Stiff,” Harry confessed.

Madam Pomfrey coughed slightly, but carried on with barely a hint of a smirk. “You’re making good progress. I should expect your arm to be good as new by the time you finish eating.”

“So sometime after Christmas,” Harry said, only half joking.

“I’d better not see you in here again this term, young man,” Madam Pomfrey huffed.

“I won’t make any promises,” Harry smiled.

“If only I could take that as a joke,” said Madam Pomfrey. Harry was sure she was concealing a smile, though. “When you’ve finished eating, you may leave.”

Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to Gryffindor Tower, desperate to tell the others about Colin and Dobby, but they weren’t there. Harry left to look for them, wondering where they could have got to and feeling slightly hurt that they weren’t interested in whether he had his bones back or not.

As Harry passed the library, Percy strolled out of it, looking really rather pleased.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” he said. “Excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Those fifty points gave Gryffindor the lead for the House Cup!”

“And that’s why you’re so happy?” Harry asked.

“What?” said Percy, looking more than a little bit too taken aback. “Of course! How’s your arm?”

Percy was apparently not the most accomplished of liars, but Harry decided not to press him on it.

“Fine, thanks,” Harry said. “Have you seen Ron or the others?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Percy. “I hope Ron’s not in another girls’ toilet.”

Harry sniggered. “Not without permission, I’m sure.”

“I do hope you’re not holding your breath,” Percy said, smirking slightly as he turned to leave. “Well enjoy everyone’s gratitude. I’d best see to my duties.”

“See you, Perce,” said Harry, waving after him and feeling only a slightly uncomfortable twinge from his healed right arm. Magic truly could do incredible things.

Something told Harry to head downstairs, and before long he found himself standing outside Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Harry frowned, staring blankly at the door and wondering what could possibly have brought him here. Then he had the realisation that he could sense Ginny’s presence within. Shaking his head free of the apparent cobwebs, Harry entered to the sound of a hurriedly shut cubicle door.

“It’s me,” said Harry.

“Oh,” said Neville. “How’d you...?”

Harry shrugged. “If you were doing something, I figured this would be a good place to check. So what’s happened?”

“We decided we don’t have enough information,” said Hermione.

“We certainly don’t have a great deal of time,” said Ginny.

Ron poked his head out from behind Neville. “So we’re going to dig around in the Slytherin common room.”

“Why not just use the invisibility cloak again?” said Harry.

Luna appeared from Ginny and Hermione’s cubicle, and Harry knew for sure that he’d said something stupid. He also became very confused as to exactly how large the girls’ cubicles were.

“Far too risky,” Hermione sighed. “At peak hours the chances of being discovered would be intolerable. And we could spend days skulking around there just from 11 until 5 in the morning without hearing anything of note.”

“The point is, with a good enough disguise, we can get in there, get people talking about the Chamber and wait,” said Neville. “So we’ve been trying to sort that out. How’s the arm?”

“It’s fine,” said Harry. “What’s the disguise?”

“This bit you’ll like,” Ron grinned.

“Or not,” said Neville. “Depends how much we tell you.”

“And I was only just put back together,” Harry sighed. “Anyway, there’s something you’ll all want to know. The Chamber has been opened before.”

Ginny raised a curious eyebrow. Hermione’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“If it does turn out to be Malfoy I want you all to know that I bloody well called it,” Ron griped. “Bet his father passed down the key or something...”

“How do you know, anyway?” said Neville.

“Got a visit from Dobby last night,” Harry grimaced. “Turns out a Bludger is his way of trying to make me go home and be safe.”

Ron snorted, while Hermione looked even more horrified than before.

“Tell you what mate,” said Ron. “If that elf doesn’t stop trying to save your life he’s going to kill you.”

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion.

The first years were moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone. Ginny was distraught, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares. Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school.

“There’s a fifth year trying to sell people a big onion,” Neville said one day, exasperated, as he sat down in the common room. “Worse, I think a couple of people were tempted.”

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. The five young Gryffindors all signed her list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as very suspicious.

Harry really thought that Ginny should have taken a break from Hogwarts, an opinion he was sure was becoming quite commonplace. However, seeing as neither he nor Ron was likely to turn down the opportunity to find out what was going on with the Chamber, it might have been quite difficult to convince her to return to the Burrow alone. Besides, he reasoned, here she had her friends to keep an eye on her.

Luckily for them, several Slytherins also seemed to want to enjoy the Scottish winter. It was hardly typical for them to want to see many Slytherins at all, but the prevalence of snakes over Christmas would be uniquely useful for their plans. For the disguise the Gryffindors were brewing was a Polyjuice Potion, a concoction which Hermione had heard Professor Snape mention in a lecture. The potion would allow the user an hour of complete resemblance to a person of their choice. It was perfect, in fact, apart from one small detail. Much to their disgust, they would need to add a part of their target person to the potion, which, according to their current plan, meant ingesting parts of such appetising individuals as Crabbe and Goyle. Ron had suggested that the girls simply switch places with Ginny’s Slytherin friends, Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass, but Hermione had insisted they choose targets who were close to Malfoy. They would need him to be comfortable enough to confess.

The potion itself was still only half finished, bubbling away in the girls’ bathroom. They still needed the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only place they were going to get them was from Snape’s private stores. Harry privately felt he’d rather face Slytherin’s legendary monster than let Snape catch him robbing his office.

“What we need,” said Hermione briskly as Thursday afternoon’s double Potions lesson loomed nearer, “is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape’s office and take what we need.”

Harry and Ron looked at her nervously. “I think I’d better do the actual stealing,” Hermione continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “Out of the lot of us, I’m the least likely to get into serious trouble.”

Harry smiled feebly. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape’s Potions class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.

“Why not just mail order them?” said Neville. “Hedwig is a fast owl. We could have it in days!”

“I like this idea,” said Harry.

“There is definitely less Snape in this idea,” Ron agreed.

Hermione, however, looked almost disappointed as she nodded.

“Don’t tell me...” Harry laughed. “You were looking forward to it!”

“Professor Snape is horrible to all of us,” said Hermione.

Such a pronouncement was enough to draw a surprised laugh from Ron, but Harry had a niggling feeling... “It’s a little more than that, though, isn’t it? I think our Hermione’s gotten a little taste for breaking the rules.”

That got a round of laughter.

“Oh shut up, the lot of you,” Hermione said, rather more vexed than Harry would have expected. “Who’s going to pay for the ingredients?”

That did shut everyone up.

“We’ll all pay,” said Ron uneasily.

“Harry has to make the order, though,” said Neville. “They might turn us down otherwise, say we’re too young to buy this stuff.”

Harry couldn’t imagine that Neville would run into problems, being heir to an old and respected family. Then again, Neville’s argument has obvious merit with the added weight of Harry’s name. At least the attention it brought him was good for something.

As they filed into the classroom, Harry felt rather glad that they didn’t have the added pressure of making a run on Snape’s stores. Potions was a difficult enough class to deal with in the first place. They were working on Swelling Solution today, and Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors’ work while his Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy kept flicking pufferfish eyes at Ginny and Harry, who knew that if they retaliated they would get detention faster than you could say “Unfair.”

Not that that would have stopped them usually. However, as Harry ground down their nettles and eyes, he contemplated how little Ginny had said that day. She’d spoken not a single word since they entered the dungeon classroom. Last year, Harry might have expected silence, for they would be deep in telepathic conversation. But for all the fuss Ginny had made of their bond in the summer, Harry wouldn’t be surprised to find that it had atrophied of late.

Looking around at his girlfriend, who was staring blankly into the distance, Harry realized that he could barely feel anything from her. He could sense that she was there, as normal. However, attempting to read her emotions, which had once been completely unavoidable, was now almost impossible. Ginny’s presence in his mind had all but faded.

Harry froze, staring at her. How could that be? He opened his mouth to say something. He hadn’t decided what he would say. Why was she, who had dragged him to the library to read about it, freaking out that their bond wasn’t strong enough, so blasé about it having almost entirely atrophied? Had she even noticed?

Alarm became despair. Had he lost her? Was this how it ended? Not to vanish in a furor of fire and lightning, but to quietly fade into the night?

And despair became apathy. Why should it matter? Nobody was hurt. Certainly Ginny didn’t seem to have grieved.

Apathy too was finally forgotten. Harry frowned, looking at Ginny and wondering what thought had distracted him from his work. And, shaking his head, he returned to it.

Noting that the dried nettle and pufferfish eyes were now an indistinct mess at the bottom of his mortar, Harry added the prescribed amount to the cauldron and drew out his wand, intensifying the fire until he could feel its heat tickling his face. Ginny began stirring, and he noticed the subtle variations in speed as she worked. Whatever she was doing, it was having an effect. Whereas Hermione’s potion was a rather pale pink, theirs was soon the desired vibrant fuchsia colour noted in the textbook.

Harry was becoming rather pleased with their progress when everything went utterly pear-shaped. There was a violent eruption from the other end of the room. In desperation, Theodore Nott vaulted over his table, which had started growing in front of him and blocking him into the corner of the room. This proved a rash tactic, however, as his own hand and feet began to increase disproportionately in size. This was only the tip of the iceberg. Swelling Solution had gone absolutely everywhere. One of Crabbe’s eyeballs wasn’t quite fitting in its socket, and as he screamed Harry found himself feeling sympathetic to the bully for the first time in the far too lengthy period that he’d known him. Pansy Parkinson had kicked off a rapidly inflating shoe and was hiding on a chair, oblivious to the fact that her morphing robes were soon going to rob her of her decency as well as her dignity. Not that she was the only person in such a predicament.

“SILENCE!” Snape roared. “Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draught — when I find out who did this…”

Harry tried not to laugh as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon. It seemed that organic tissue was affected more than inanimate objects, which gave him more than a few ideas he thought best not to repeat aloud. Just as the blush was dying on his cheeks, he noticed Hermione slip out of Snape’s office through the small throng of moaning students.

‘That little…’ Harry thought, trying to hide his smirk by staring intently into his potion. Luckily, his work seemed unaffected. Not that that was likely to benefit them in the long run. The majority of those affected by whatever had happened were Slytherins, and Harry was sure that would mean nothing good for him or his friends.

Sure enough, when everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle’s cauldron and began chanting softly while waving his wand in intricate patterns. There was a sudden hush.

“An Eruption Hex,” Snape said quietly. “Whoever cast this would expect detention even without having caused such a… scene. Potter.”

Harry looked up, startled. “Yes, professor?”

“Your wand,” said Professor Snape.

Now more than just slightly concerned, Harry passed his wand to the angry looking professor.

“Prior incantato,” Snape said, almost humming the words. Golden light shot out from his wand to Harry’s, which vibrated slightly before the most remarkable thing happened. The wand began leaking a thin mist, regurgitating an immobilized mouse, a floating mouse, and a floating paper airplane.

There was a moment of silence as the ghostly images faded.

“Five points from Gryffindor for inappropriate use of charmwork,” Snape spat, before returning to the front of the classroom. “And as the Gryffindors were unaffected by this… incident, they can stay behind to clean up the mess.”

Lavender Brown seemed like she was about to protest, having developed lips the size of particularly fat slugs. She thought better of it.

Nobody said anything until the five of them were safely ensconced in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

“Hermione…” said Ron.

“No,” she said sharply.

“Who else could’ve done it?” said Harry, grinning. “Nobody knows that spell.”

“It wasn’t me,” Hermione said, vexed. “I saw an opportunity and I made use of it. I wasn’t about to start throwing hexes around in Professor Snape’s classroom of all places!”

“That would be an exceptionally silly move,” Neville snorted. “I really thought you were screwed, Harry.”

“Me too,” Harry breathed. “I just hope he doesn’t find whoever did it.”

“You don’t think one of the Slytherins did it?” said Neville. “To try and get us in trouble?”

“Wouldn’t put it past them,” said Ginny.

“Well, let’s get to work on this Polyjuice Potion, then,” Hermione huffed. “Now that we’re all done questioning my innocence.”

Ron flexed his index fingers in the air as she turned.

A week later, the five young Gryffindors were walking across the Entrance Hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus and Dean beckoned them over, looking excited.

“They’re starting a Dueling Club!” said Seamus. “First meeting tonight! I wouldn’t mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days...”

“What, you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest.

Neville stroked his heirloom wand holster, and fired the wand out. Harry and Hermione made admiring noises as he caught it. It was still rather clumsy, but definite progress was being made.

“I’m up for it,” said Neville. “Have to start somewhere.”

“Could be useful,” Ron agreed as they went into dinner. “Shall we go?”

The rest of them were all for it, so at eight o’clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited. Seeing Luna across the hall, Harry gave her a small smile, which she absently returned. It was becoming rarer and rarer for them to spend any time with her, he found.

“I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. “Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young – maybe it’ll be him.”

“As long as it’s not –” Harry began, but he ended on a groan:

Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, “Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

“Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions – for full details, see my published works.

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. “He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry – you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!”

“Wouldn’t it be good if they finished each other off?” Ron muttered in Harry’s ear.

“Should probably be more worried about himself,” Seamus sniggered.

Snape’s upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that he’d have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. There was certainly a general consensus to back away from Lockhart’s end of the duelling platform.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed. At least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart told the silent crowd. “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth.

“One – two – three –”

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: “Expelliarmus!” There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet. He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. “Do you think he’s all right?” she squealed through her fingers.

“Who cares?” said Harry, Ron and Neville together. Ginny was too busy laughing.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

“Well, there you have it!” he said, tottering back onto the platform. “That was a Disarming Charm – as you see, I’ve lost my wand – ah, thank you, Miss Brown – yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy – however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see...”

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, “Enough demonstrating! I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you’d like to help me –”

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, and moved on to Ron, but Snape reached Harry and Ginny first.

“Time to split up the dream team, I think,” he sneered.

“Weasley, you can partner Rayne. Potter –”

Harry moved automatically toward Hermione.

“I don’t think so,” said Snape, smiling coldly. “Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let’s see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger – you can partner Miss Bulstrode.”

Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked the relatively rather intimidating Millicent. She was large and square and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile that she did not return.

“Face your partners!” called Lockhart, back on the platform. “And bow!”

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.

“Wands at the ready!” shouted Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents – only to disarm them – we don’t want any accidents – one... two… three –”

Harry swung his wand high, but Malfoy had already started on ‘two’. The imminent sense of danger filled Harry with a familiar sensation of controlled panic, and as he rolled deftly under the oncoming spell, Harry felt rage flood his system.

A startled Malfoy squeaked, “Protego!”

It was too little too late. Harry came to his feet with his entire arm crackling with electricity, and punched the silvery-blue shield with such force that he felt it right through his spine. The magical shield buckled under the impact, shattering into pieces as lightning surged over its surface. Malfoy threw down his wand in shock, scrambling away just in time as the remaining charge flowed directly through the wand into the ground. A slight mist rose from the scorched wood as it rolled towards Harry.

“I’d call that disarming,” said Harry. “Do try to play fair, Draco.”

“Stop! Stop!” screamed Lockhart.

Harry frowned, taking note of their surroundings. A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting, each of them holding the other’s wand. Ron was on the floor at the mercy of a mildly amused looking Su Li, while Ginny was in the opposite position of casual dominance over a cowering Carina Rayne. Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode, however, were still moving. Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor.

Harry snarled at Millicent, aiming his wand into her eyes with lightning crackling around his hands once more. “Let. Her. Go.”

She gave him a hard stare, but stood down all the same. Hermione sniffed as she crouched to retrieve her wand, but dismissed Harry angrily when he inquired as to her wellbeing.

“Dear, dear,” said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. “Up you go, Macmillan... Careful there, Miss Fawcett... Pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second, Boot...

“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. “Let’s have a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you –”

“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,” said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. “Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We’ll be sending what’s left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.”

Neville looked about ready to put Snape in a matchbox. A little burst of silver and red sparks rushed out of the end of his wand, but few who weren’t stood next to him paid it any mind.

“How about Malfoy and Potter?” said Snape with a twisted smile.

“Excellent idea!” said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room. Malfoy didn’t look the least bit pleased with this arrangement, but Harry just flexed his fingers, entirely ready to punch something a little fleshier this time.

“Now, Harry,” said Lockhart. “When Draco points his wand at you, you do this.”

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, “Whoops – my wand is a little overexcited –”

Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too.

“Don’t worry, Professor Lockhart,” said Harry. “I’m sure I’ll pick it up.”

“Scared?” muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn’t hear him.

“Terrified,” said Harry. “I’m so anxious I might drop my wand.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, and Harry found himself slightly concerned that he was about to be subjected to something less than legal.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. “Just do what I did, Harry!”

“I wasn’t serious about dropping my wand, professor.”

But Lockhart wasn’t listening.

“Three – two – one – go!” he shouted.

Harry dodged the first spell, a basic Knockback Jinx. The second, a Winter’s Grasp Hex, sailed overhead as Harry dodged under it. Slowly, Harry began advancing on Malfoy, lightning coursing up each arm and spitting from the end of his wand, making those on the right hurry backwards.

“Tsk, tsk, Malfoy, I told you to play fair,” said Harry.

“Rictusempra! Locomotor Mortis! Tarantallegra!” Malfoy cried.

The first fizzled out on a mysterious barrier surrounding Harry. The second was swatted into the ground. The third spell, Harry punched squarely with his wand hand. It rebounded to miss Malfoy’s ear by a whisker.

“Serpensortia! ” Malfoy squealed, eyeing Harry’s electrified body with mounting terror.

The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

“Don’t move, Potter,” said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. “I’ll get rid of it...”

“Allow me!” shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Harry wasn’t sure what made him do it. He wasn’t even aware of deciding to do it. All he knew was that his legs were carrying him forward as though he was on casters and that he had shouted stupidly at the snake, “Leave him alone!”

Perhaps the loud noise and the lightning intimidated it. Maybe Harry was just incredibly lucky. Whatever the explanation, the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him, and his lightning faded away, taking much of his energy with it. At least he knew the snake wouldn’t attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn’t have explained.

He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful – but certainly not angry and scared.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and Harry didn’t like it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.

“Come on,” said Ron’s voice in his ear. “Move – come on –”

Ron steered him out of the hall, the others hurrying alongside them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something.

Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on, and nobody explained anything until they had dragged him all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room. Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said, “You’re a Parselmouth. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’m a what?” said Harry.

“A Parselmouth!” said Ron. “You can talk to snakes!”

“I know,” said Harry. “I mean, that’s only the second time I’ve ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once – long story – but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to – that was before I knew I was a wizard –”

“A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?” Ron repeated faintly.

“So?” said Harry. “I bet loads of people here can do it.”

“Oh, no they can’t,” said Ron. “It’s not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad.”

“What’s bad?” said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. “What’s wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn’t told that snake not to attack Justin –”

“Oh, that’s what you said to it?” said Neville, sounding rather relieved. “I did hope…”

“What d’you mean? You were there – you heard me –”

“We heard you speaking Parseltongue,” said Ron. “Snake language. You could have been saying anything – no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something – it was creepy, you know –”

Harry gaped at him.

“I spoke a different language? But – I didn’t realize – how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?”

Ron shook his head. Everyone looked as though someone had died. Harry couldn’t see what was so terrible.

“D’you want to tell me what’s wrong with stopping a massive snake biting off Justin’s head?” he said. “What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn’t have to join the Headless Hunt?”

“It matters,” said Neville, “because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That’s why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent.”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“Exactly,” said Ron. “And now the whole school’s going to think you’re his great-great-great-great-grandson or something –”

“But I’m not,” said Harry, with a panic he couldn’t quite explain.

“You’ll find that hard to prove,” said Hermione. “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.”