Chapter 22
The Great Hall was alive with activity as the Founders worked to bring their vision of Hogwarts to life. Harry had been helping Helga enchant a section of the kitchens when it happened.
“Harry, could you hand me the—oh, wait, there’s a snake by the door!” Helga’s voice rose an octave, her wand already halfway drawn.
Harry turned his head, spotting a sleek black snake slithering leisurely across the unfinished stone floor. Its scales gleamed in the light filtering through the enchanted windows.
Helga took a cautious step back. “Do you think it’s dangerous?”
Before anyone could act, Harry spoke. Without thinking.
*“Careful, little one,”* he hissed, his tone soft and lilting. *“This isn’t the best place for a stroll. You might get hurt.”*
The snake paused, tilting its head toward him, tongue flickering. *“Hurt? I was only curious. Where should I go, then?”*
*“There’s a sunny patch by the oak tree outside,”* Harry replied smoothly. *“It’s warm and safe.”*
The snake gave what could only be described as a grateful hiss before turning and slithering toward the open doorway.
The moment it disappeared, the silence in the room was deafening.
When Harry straightened, he realized every single Founder was staring at him like he’d just grown a second head.
“Did… did you just *talk* to that snake?” Helga stammered, her hands frozen mid-gesture.
Harry blinked. “Erm… yes?”
Rowena dropped the stack of parchment she’d been holding, her face pale. “Parseltongue. That was Parseltongue.” Her voice was sharp, accusatory, and filled with more than a hint of fear.
Godric’s hand immediately went to the hilt of his sword, his expression thunderous. “That’s the language of dark wizards! Explain yourself, Evans!”
Harry’s stomach dropped. *Brilliant, Potter. Just brilliant. Well done.*
“I think you might be overreacting,” he said cautiously, raising his hands. “It’s just… a party trick, really.”
“A *party trick*?” Rowena snapped, her face a mixture of outrage and disbelief.
“Erm, yes. You know, good with animals, all that,” Harry lied, his voice faltering slightly under her glare.
“That’s not a skill learned by happenstance,” Godric growled, his grip tightening on his sword. “You don’t just *guess* how to speak Parseltongue!”
“Actually,” Salazar interrupted, his voice calm but tinged with intrigue, “some people are born with it.” He stepped closer, his sharp eyes fixed on Harry. “Though it’s exceedingly rare. And usually… inherited.”
Helga looked between Harry and Salazar, her brow furrowed. “You mean…” She trailed off, glancing at Harry with newfound suspicion.
“Exactly,” Rowena hissed, her wand now in her hand. “It’s a mark of dark magic! And he just casually starts speaking it in front of us, as if that’s normal!”
Salazar’s expression remained unreadable, but his tone took on a softer, more dangerous edge. “You surprise me, Evans. I thought I was the only one here who could speak the tongue of serpents.”
Harry swallowed hard, his mind racing. “Oh, you speak it too?” he said, feigning surprise. “Well, there you go! Nothing dark about it, then.”
“That’s not how it works,” Godric said coldly, taking a step forward. “You’re going to tell us the truth, Evans. Right now.”
Harry sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Look, it’s not as sinister as you’re making it out to be. I’ve always had a way with animals—snakes included. Sometimes, it just… happens.”
“‘It just happens,’” Rowena repeated mockingly. “Do you take us for fools?”
Helga, though still wary, looked more concerned than hostile. “But Harry’s been nothing but helpful since he arrived. Surely there’s a reasonable explanation?”
Godric snorted. “Helpful or not, this cannot be ignored.”
Salazar, however, chuckled—a low, almost predatory sound. “Relax, Godric. Parseltongue isn’t inherently dark. It’s merely a gift. And quite an impressive one at that.” He turned his gaze to Harry, his sharp features curling into the faintest smirk. “Though I must admit, I am curious how a wizard like you came by it.”
Harry met Salazar’s gaze, trying not to show how unnerved he was. “Lucky genes, I guess?”
Salazar’s smirk deepened, his expression unreadable. “Indeed.”
Godric, however, was still bristling. “I don’t like it,” he muttered. “I don’t trust it.”
Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, can we all just… calm down? I’m not plotting to overthrow the castle, I swear. It’s just a skill. Like baking, or… or whistling.”
“Whistling,” Rowena repeated flatly.
“Exactly,” Harry said, nodding. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll promise not to talk to any more snakes while you’re watching.”
Helga stifled a laugh, though her expression remained conflicted.
Salazar, meanwhile, leaned closer to Harry and whispered, “You’re a terrible liar, Evans. But I’ll let this slide. For now.”
As the group reluctantly returned to their tasks, Harry exhaled quietly, already regretting every decision that had led him to this moment.
*Secrets, Potter,* he thought grimly. *You’ve got to do better at keeping them.*