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.”