Chapter Text
If anyone asks, it is totally the Basilisk’s fault.
Harry’s quite certain of this.
Except technically it’s the Dursley’s fault that Harry can’t stand the idea of being trapped. Or it’s Sirius Black’s fault for escaping from wizard prison (which Harry didn’t even know existed until this year – why does nobody bother to tell him these things?) Or it’s the Dementors’ fault, for deciding to stake out the castle’s entire perimeter, on the off chance that Sirius Black comes marching up to the front gates. Or the countless other reasons why this term somehow feels even more terrible than that whole deal with Slytherin’s giant evil snake hiding in the second floor girls’ toilets.
Or maybe it’s Harry’s fault for deciding to cope with, well, everything by wandering the school corridors in the early hours of most mornings instead of trying to sleep. But he has an invisibility cloak, and what’s a bit of teenage rebellion if not indulging in occasional reckless behaviours that might get him killed by an insane escaped convict?
Harry would rather blame the decaying snake corpse under the floor.
Anyway, it is true that the Basilisk killed Myrtle, which meant that Hermione had somewhere to brew the Polyjuice potion, which allowed Harry and Ron to sneak into the Slytherin Common Room. And as a consequence, Harry now knows exactly where the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room is, which... really doesn’t help Harry’s ability to not make impulsive decisions.
Hogwarts’ dungeons are freezing at night, and endless deserted corridors can only do so much to help him outrun the trapped feeling he woke up with.
It doesn’t help that Sirius Black managed to sneak past the Dementors again last night. Apparently not via the front gates.
Even someone as insane as Sirius Black wouldn’t think to look for the Boy Who Lived anywhere near the Slytherin Common Room. If Harry looks at it that way, it’s almost safer for him to be wandering the corridors than tucked away in Gryffindor Tower – not that he thinks Professor Snape would agree with this particular twist of logic.
Doesn’t matter either way, because Harry doesn’t plan for Snape to ever find out how long Harry’s spent loitering in this corridor, trying to work out if he can guess the password.
Reckless decisions: blame the Basilisk.
Harry gives in to the impulse to hiss at the wall. He isn’t exactly trying to form words, but parseltongue never seems to do what he means for it to do anyway.
In this case, it does.
Harry takes an instinctive step back as the wall slides open, silent as a snake, spilling an emerald green glow into the dimly lit corridor.
Not creepy at all.
Still, Harry has been wanting to explore all of the castle, which means that he will bloody well explore all of them, thank you very much.
He walks through the door.
The Slytherin Common Room is exactly the same cavernous expanse of green that he remembers from last year, complete with all the velvet and ornate furniture and fancy decorations that even Aunt Petunia might say were a bit ostentatious (thanks Hermione, for teaching him that word!)
It really is so green.
Now Harry wants to know if the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws are drowning in yellow and blue too, or if it was just two of the Founders who decided on excessive demonstrations of house pride.
Still, it’s actually quite peaceful in here, when it’s empty, with its soft gleaming light, and the murkiness of the lake wrapping around the expanse of clear windows on the other side of the room.
No magical alarms start shouting their unhappiness as Harry crosses the room, and that is an excellent start.
He wonders, if he presses his face to the glass, if he’ll be able to see further into the depths of the lake, and if-
Harry stops mid-step, frozen in shock and mild terror, because there is someone pressing their face against the other side of the glass.
They’re-
Well, it’s not a human, that’s for sure, but Harry had not planned on meeting the non-muggle version of mermaids today! Or ever! He’s never learnt to swim, and he has absolutely no intention of falling into the Black Lake any time soon!
He didn’t even know that mermaids were real before today, but apparently they are, because there is one looking right into the Common Room, right now, while Harry stands in the middle of the room, clearly where he is not supposed to be, frozen still and not moving.
For a moment, he forgets that he is invisible.
In a sudden panicked flurry of movement, Harry tries to duck behind one of the chairs nearest to the fireplace. He moves too fast, trips over his own feet, the cloak catching on the arm of the chair, pulling in the wrong direction as he flails. Frantic, he grabs at it as he starts to slip, half crouched and twisted at an awkward angle-
He teeters for one gold-spun second of precarious balance.
-and collapses in a heap on the floor.
Very subtle, he thinks viciously to himself. Luckily the Common Room’s empty or there’d be real trouble.
“If you’re going to sneak around invisibly, you might consider not making so much noise.”
Oh no.
Harry doesn’t freeze. He still hasn’t moved to get up off the floor; he’s already doomed.
The voice… sounds amused more than anything else, though, and when Harry twists his head, he sees that it belongs to a man in the portrait above the fireplace.
The painting is vaguely familiar. Harry wasn’t paying much attention to it while he and Ron were doing a bad job of interrogating Draco Malfoy, but he doesn’t remember there being a person in it.
It’s difficult to tell from the angle that Harry is sprawled on the floor, but the man doesn’t seem upset. He has brown hair, and robes that even Harry can recognise are probably ancient, and he looks familiar for reasons that Harry could not begin to describe.
“Are you going to introduce yourself?” the portrait prompts, the slightest hint of impatience entering his voice.
Introduce himself? Right, yes, of course. Give his name to the Slytherin portrait who is currently the only witness to Harry’s inelegant infiltration of this Common Room. Sounds like a great idea.
Harry has still not finished panicking.
He inhales slowly as he can, and pushes himself up to a seated position, still mostly hidden under the cloak.
Maybe he can just sneak back out again?
But, no. The portrait knows that he’s there now. Which means that Professor Snape will know soon.
Dumbledore knows that Harry has an invisibility cloak. And everyone knows that he can speak parseltongue. And this portrait probably knows how he managed to get the door to let him in. All of which means that it’s going to take them all about five minutes to figure out what Harry did.
If he’s already doomed, Harry reasons, then he might as well try to be polite about it.
He pulls the rest of the cloak off, and stares up at the painting. Maybe they won’t realise that Harry is a Gryffindor.
The portrait raises both eyebrows.
“Um. Hi,” Harry says. “I’m Harry.” This is fine. “Sorry for being bad at sneaking around invisibly? ...not that I was trying to be sneaky! I was just—” He slams his mouth shut.
It is possible that he needs more practice speaking formally with terrifying portraits.
“Hello Harry,” the portrait says. “I am Nizar. And you are not one of my Slytherins.”
Well, there goes that plan. Forget Voldemort, Sirius Black and the Dementors, Harry is going to be murdered by Professor Snape.
“Are you going to tell everyone?” he asks the portrait. It probably won’t make a difference, but some of the portraits are gossips.
Nizar shrugs and gestures to the empty room. “That would be difficult to achieve currently.”
Helpful. Harry squints up at them. This might be the first civilised conversation he’s ever had with a Slytherin, and he’s already completely lost.
Luckily Harry is a nosy Gryffindor, and he is absolutely inclined to do his best to turn this disaster into an opportunity.
He stands, still holding the invisibility cloak bundled in front of him like a shield, and shuffles towards the fireplace.
Nizar is perched cross-legged on a painted wooden chair, in a way that looks like it should be uncomfortable. Then again, Harry sits on chairs like that all the time almost without noticing, so maybe it’s just a thing.
There’s something in Nizar’s hands that Harry couldn’t see properly from the floor. Something green, that glitters as it twists and twines around his fingers.
Harry tilts his head, considering. Nizar looks… kind, he decides. Kinder than he’d expect from a portrait in the Slytherin Common Room, but he supposes it’s possible that they weren’t all evil murdering lunatics with magic snake powers.
Well, he’s also got an air to him like he’d climb out of the portrait frame and kill Voldemort with his bare hands if he felt like it, but at the moment Harry can’t quite see that as a negative personality trait. It’d solve a couple of problems for everyone, if nothing else.
Nizar is still watching him with an odd half smile, as if he can tell what Harry is thinking. Or maybe he can. Harry has never really interacted with portraits like this before.
The glittering green-gold-black ribbon lifts its head from Nizar’s hands and flicks its tongue at him, flashing bright green eyes.
Not a ribbon.
Harry hesitates for a single moment. He might still be a bit put off by the whole Basilisk experience, but this definitely isn’t a Basilisk, and he’s always liked normal snakes. He’s been cautious talking to them after that whole incident with the duelling club last year, but this is a Slytherin portrait in the Slytherin Common Room and, well, it’s kind of their thing, isn’t it?
Harry is already in trouble anyway, and he wants to talk to the pretty snake.
“Hello,” he hisses, immediately catching its attention. “I’m Harry. It’s nice to meet you.”
The snake curls its head, obviously smug. “I know.”
Nizar taps her on the head. “Be polite, dearest!” He gives Harry an apologetic look. “This is Kanza. She understands English though she cannot speak it.”
“And I’m brilliant,” Kanza adds, before she twists and crawls away up the inside of Nizar’s sleeve.
It takes several seconds for Harry to process that exchange, and then several more seconds to realise that Nizar- that Nizar-
Harry stares at him in wide-eyed speechless surprise.
Nizar gazes back, entirely unconcerned about the snake somewhere up the inside of his sleeve, and he is looking at Harry like Harry is the weird one who can suddenly and unexpectedly speak parseltongue.
“You- you’re a parselmouth,” Harry gasps, in what might have been a mixture of snake and human languages. This is ridiculous, this is-
Bloody Slytherins!
Nizar gives him a very odd look. “And you are…?”
“Um, yes. But.” Harry’s heart is racing, and he really wishes that it wouldn’t. Maybe it’s meeting another parselmouth apart from Tom Riddle, maybe it’s that this is the first time that no one has acted like he’s a freak for speaking parseltongue. Maybe it’s, maybe… “Wh- who are you? Really?”
Nizar tilts his head with an amused expression. “I am Nizar.”
Maybe it’s part of his brain telling him that something about this meeting is important, even though it hasn’t yet bothered to explain why. “My full name’s Harry James Potter.”
Nizar smiles as if Harry just got something right. That’s good, because Harry has absolutely no idea what’s going on.
“I am Nizar Hariwalt Deslizarse. Slightly more properly, Nizar Hariwalt de León, Casa de Deslizarse de Castilla y Moravia, but naming conventions tend to shift over time and space, and sometimes it is simpler not to argue about it.”
Harry blinks. That feels… like a gift? Or a trade? Slytherins don’t make any sense. “What does it mean?”
“Nizar Hariwalt is half-Euskaran and half-Germanic. It means little war leader.”
Harry bites his lip before he can ask what Euskaran is. He doesn’t want the portrait to think he’s stupid. “Harry sounds a bit like it could be a nickname for Hariwalt,” he offers, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar word. He likes it, but he doesn’t think he’d ever suit a name like that. “I don’t think my name was meant to mean anything special.”
Nizar gives him a long scrutinising look which makes Harry feel sure that this man was a teacher or something at some point. It’s a bit intimidating, but Harry already decided that there’s no point in running away.
“That name was a gift from parents who loved you,” Nizar finally says. “That can be special.”
“Oh,” Harry whispers, a tiny helpless noise that escapes before he can stop it. No one has ever said anything like that before. He clears his throat, trying to swipe away at emotions that he really doesn’t want to deal with. “So… er, what do the other parts of your name mean?”
The expression on Nizar’s face is fondness tinged with concern. Except it’s not, obviously, because very few people are fond of Harry, and certainly not a weird Slytherin portrait that he’s never met before.
“This region of Scotland used to be known as the Kingdom of Moray. My family is from Castile and León. And my family name is Casa de Deslizarse, although we quickly grew to be known as Slytherin amongst the people of this isle.”
Lecture voice. Definitely a teacher.
Castile and Leon. Harry was good at Geography in primary school, even if he never got the grades to prove it. “You’re Spanish?” he blurts out in excitement.
Nizar’s foot slips off the chair, and he uncrosses his legs to avoid falling, giving Harry a surprised look. “Are you not going to ask me about- no? Alright, that is fine. Spain was not a unified country in my time. But yes, technically that region is the place that my family comes from.”
“Oh, okay,” Harry says. If only Hogwarts’ current teaching staff could explain things so clearly.
But Nizar is giving him another look, so maybe Harry’s missed something obvious again. “I did finish explaining the meaning of my family name?”
“Uh, your family name is Casa de Desli- something, but everyone said it wrong, so it became Slytherin instead?” Harry says uncertainly, trying to see what he’s missing. This is a Slytherin Common Room, he already knew that. This is a Slytherin portrait, in the Slytherin Common Room.
“Oh!” Harry exclaims, “so that’s why you’re a parselmouth!”
Nizar blinks. “That is not the exact reaction I was expecting.”
“Well, it makes sense, this is the Slytherin Common Room,” Harry says, grinning, with a bit of relief. “It’s not like you’re telling me that Salazar Slytherin was your brother or something.”
A pause.
Nizar presses his lips together and goes very quiet and still.
Harry’s eyes widen.
“Do you have any Divination talent?” Nizar tilts his head. “You are reminding me of… someone—”
Then he breaks off, and is staring at a point somewhere past Harry’s shoulder for long enough that it gets worrying.
“Er… Nizar?” Harry can’t really step closer without literally standing on the dying embers of the fire, but he does his best. “Hello? Are you okay?”
Nizar blinks and shakes his head before refocusing his gaze on Harry, brow furrowed. “Are you alright?”
Harry nods. “Are- are you? You… Um, you’re really Salazar Slytherin’s brother?”
“I am the brother of Salazar Slytherin,” Nizar confirms, eyeing Harry like he’s about to leap away screaming at the revelation.
“That’s so cool,” Harry whispers. “What’s Spain like?”
Nizar stares at him for a second, and bursts out laughing.
Harry’s mouth falls open before he can stop it.
This- The brother of Salazar Slytherin. The literal actual real-life brother. Of Salazar Slytherin. Is laughing hysterically in his chair in his portrait. Because Harry wanted to know about Spain.
Rude.
Nizar points at him, still gasping for breath. “You are the oddest Gryffindor I have met in at least five hundred years.”
Harry wants to be offended by that but it’s probably true. He’s the one who decided to invisibly infiltrate a Slytherin Common Room. “How do you know I’m a Gryffindor?”
Nizar pulls himself upright with the dignity of a portrait that almost didn’t fall off his chair from laughing. “You came here.” He raises an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”
“Will you tell me things about Spain?” Harry counters. Nizar doesn’t need him to state the obvious, and there are more important questions to be answered now.
Yes, it’s incredible that this portrait actually knew the founders, but Harry’s never been abroad anywhere before. He’s not likely to ever meet the founders unless some lunatic decides to yank him backwards in time, so right now he’s quite sure of his priorities, thank you.
“I’ve never been to Spain!” Harry protests, while Nizar looks at him like he’s completely insane. “The Dursleys never- stop laughing!”
“Sorry! Sorry!” Nizar wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. “Why are you awake, Harry?”
“Nothing really. Couldn’t sleep.” Harry shrugs when Nizar gives him another concerned look. That still doesn’t make sense. There’s no reason for a random portrait to be concerned for him, of all people.
“Do you frequently invade the Common Rooms of other houses when you cannot sleep?”
“No,” Harry admits reluctantly. He takes a step backwards so that his feet are no longer melting in the embers of the fire. “I haven’t found a way into Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw yet.”
Nizar gives a muffled snort and grins widely. Harry has decided that there is definitely something strange about this portrait. Not that Harry has experience with talking to portraits, but Nizar has probably never had to deal with the 3am invasion of a single invisible Gryffindor parselmouth, so maybe they’re both weird. Or maybe Nizar is just really bored.
He doesn’t realise he’s said that out loud until Nizar dissolves into laughter again. Maybe he’s just really tired.
“You remind me of Slytherin’s Head of House,” Nizar tells him, and looks delighted by whatever face Harry makes in response.
He’s not sure that he wants to be compared to Professor Snape, but he’s not going to tell that to the Slytherin portrait. More importantly; “You know Professor Snape?”
Nizar nods and sits back in his chair. “All the Slytherins, in fact. I see them quite a lot, you know,” he says seriously.
“Is Malfoy as annoying in the Common Room as he is outside of it?” Harry asks.
Important. Questions.
Nizar looks amused. “Tiny Gryffindor, I have no idea. I literally cannot leave the bounds of this portrait.”
Harry tries not to wrinkle his nose – Gryffindor isn’t his only character trait. “You really must be bored then?”
Nizar nods solemnly, but his eyes are still bright. “And you should go back to your tower, Gryffindor. If it is truly 3 o’clock in the morning.”
“Are you—” Harry hates how uncertain he sounds. “Are you going to tell Professor Snape?”
Nizar gives him yet another strange look. “Do you want me to?”
“No! He’d actually murder me!” Harry says immediately and then blushes. “I mean, he’d probably only give me a million detentions for the rest of my life.”
“He probably would.”
That feels like a non-answer, but Harry thinks it’s the best answer he’s going to get from one of the literal original Slytherins. Still, uncertain death might be a slight improvement on certain death. “You still haven’t told me off for sneaking around at night,” he adds, just in case.
Nizar waves his hand dismissively. “The curfew is stupid.”
“You are not like Professor Snape,” Harry declares, at the same time as he realises that it’s a really weird thing to tell someone. But before today, Professor Snape was the only adult Slytherin that Harry had ever interacted with – Voldemort definitely doesn’t count – and part of Harry had still expected Slytherins to all be the same.
Nizar is nice though, and surprisingly funny. Harry has a feeling that Nizar already knows far more about Harry than Harry knows of Nizar, even though Nizar is still being polite enough to pretend not to.
Either way, Nizar seems friendly, if a bit insane and possibly bored out of his mind, and familiar somehow, even though there’s no way they could have met before now.
As Harry makes his way through Hogwarts’ dark and deserted corridors back towards the Gryffindor tower, he thinks, with more finality than he probably should, that he might have found someone like a friend.
Apart from that, he really, fervently hopes that no one is ever going to be stupid enough to turn him into a portrait.
Who is he kidding, he’s supposed to be the Boy Who Lived. It’s probably already guaranteed.