The Riddle of the Heir
Wednesday, November 4th, 1992
“I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony,” Weasley said when the Gryffindors had taken Harry, who’d been waiting for them outside of Binns’ class, into a deserted classroom and explained everything. “But I never knew he started all this pureblood stuff. I wouldn’t be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I’d’ve…. Er…”
He trailed off as he met Harry’s eyes, looking quite depressed, and stuttered out, “I’d prove all the stereotypes wrong!” he exclaimed instead, punching his hand with his fist, “Given Salazar the ol’ one two!”
Somehow Harry looked worse. Draco and Hermione both turned to scowl at him.
“What? Oh c’mon, you were thinking it too, admit it!”
“You told me Slytherin wasn’t all bad,” Harry mumbled and Draco looked at him, horrified.
“Well I - It isn’t! I wanted to be a Slytherin, remember, it’s fine -”
“You wanted to be because your dad was,” he said, “And I’ve met him. He’s not exactly something to live up too.”
Draco scowled. Sure, he’d had his doubts about his father recently, but that didn’t mean someone else could insult him, much less Harry. “I happen to look up to him every day,” he proclaimed, lifting his chin, “and he may be a pureblood supremacist but he isn’t…” He faltered. “Evil.” he decided on saying, because he clearly at least had a hand in opening the Chamber of Secrets, and it was about time Draco swallowed that down.
They left the classroom quietly, each too uncomfortable to speak, and were soon thrown into the wave of people headed to dinner.
“Hiya, Harry!” called a voice and Draco suppressed a groan as they stopped to see Creevey being tussled by the crowd, as small as he was.
“Hullo, Collin,” said Harry with the air of someone who’d said it a hundred times already.
“Harry - Harry - a boy in my class has been saying you’re -”
But in a few seconds he was gone in the tide of people, with nothing more than a squeak of, “See you, Harry!”
“What’s a boy in his class saying about you?” Hermione asked.
“That I’m Slytherin’s heir, I expect,” said Harry, glaring down at his shoes. “They already thought I was Voldemort’s second coming last year, and, let’s be real here, I killed Quirrel last year, no way around it.”
“No!” Hermione gasped, “Dumbledore said - that he - sort of - died when You-Know-Who left his body… right?”
Draco had to admit that seemed like a very roundabout way of saying Harry wasn’t guilty of murder.
“People here’ll believe anything,” Weasley pointed out, but nothing they said seemed to cheer Harry up. He turned to Hermione. “D’you really think there’s a Chamber of Secrets?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, “Dumbledore couldn’t cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be - well - human.”
“Like Slytherin’s monster,” Draco noted.
They turned a corner, having been heading to Gryffindor Tower to drop off their bags, but stopped short at the sight at the end of the hall; they were facing the wall bearing the red lettered message, the sight of Mrs. Norris’s attack.
“That’s where Filch has been keeping guard,” Weasley pointed at an armchair positioned up against the wall. The group exchanged a look.
“Can’t hurt to have a poke around,” shrugged Harry, and dropped his bag, dropping to his hands and knees to crawl around, looking for clues.
“Scorch marks!” he suddenly declared, pointed at blackened parts running along the floor. “Here - and here -”
Hermione moved along the walls while Draco moved down the opposite walls, Weasley dropping to his knees as well.
“Come and look at this!” Hermione called, “This is funny…” They turned and ran over to the window, where there was certainly a funny sight indeed. At the topmost window pane, about twenty spiders were scuttling out through a small crack, clearly desperate as they appeared to be fighting, and a long thread of a spider web was hanging down from the window, some spiders still actively scuttling up it.
“Have you ever seen spiders act like that?” said Hermione.
“No,” said Harry and looked to Draco, who shook his head. He was faintly recalling something his father had joked at a party once.
“How’s that oaf Rubeus Hagrid? Still killing students with Acromantula, is he?”
“Have you, Ron? Ron?”
They turned around. Weasley was standing a good foot away from the window, looking horrified.
“What’s up?” asked Harry.
“I - don’t - like - spiders,” said Weasley and Draco snorted.
“I never knew that,” said Hermione, looking quite surprised. “You’ve used spiders in Potions loads of times…”
“I don’t mind them dead,” Weasley shook his hand and rubbed his hands together anxiously, “I just don’t like the way they move…”
Now Draco couldn’t help laughing and even Hermione giggled.
“It’s not funny!” Weasley told them fiercely, then sighed heavily, hands tightening to fists. “If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my - my teddy bear into a dirty great spider because I broke his toy broomstick… You wouldn’t like them either if you’d been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and…”
He broke off, shivering, which only made Draco laugh harder, gripping the windowsill to ground himself. Hermione had pressed her lips tight together, and occasionally made a snorting noise, clearly trying her best not to laugh too.
“Remember all that water on the floor?” asked Harry, clearly trying to get them back on track, “Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up.”
“It was about here,” said Weasley, also grateful for the change in conversation. “Level with this door.” He reached for the doorknob then flew his hand back, as if he’d been burned.
“What’s the matter?” Harry asked.
“Can’t go in there,” Weasley grunted, “That’s a girls’ toilet.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Seriously…”
“Oh, Ron, there won’t be anyone in there,” said Hermione, striding over to the door. “That’s Moaning Myrtle’s place. Come on, let’s have a look.”
She entered and the other two followed. Draco took one cautious glance up at the ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign, then stepped in as well to… possibly the worst bathroom he’d ever seen. Cracked mirrors, chipped sinks, it looked worse then the bathroom Hermione had hidden in to cry last year had looked after being wrecked by a Troll.
Hermione turned to them, pressing a finger to her lips, then set off towards the last stall. “Hello, Myrtle,” she said kindly, “how are you?”
The boys exchanged looks, all about to ask, ‘Who’s Moaning Myrtle?’ but not doing so as they realized no one knew the answer. Instead, they cautiously crept forward, peeking around the stall door.
A pale blue ghost was floating above the tank of a toilet, picking at a pimple. She couldn’t be much older than them when she died, complete with wearing old fashioned Ravenclaw House robes, and had big clunky glasses on a solemn face, and long, lank hair. She was a sorry sight indeed.
“This is a girls’ bathroom,” she said, eyeing the three boys suspiciously, her eyes lingering and Draco. “They’re not girls.”
“No,” Hermione nodded, “I just wanted to show them how er -nice it is in here.” She waved around at their horrid surroundings and Draco, turning on his best charm, nodded.
“Oh yes, it’s marvelous.” Myrtle remained staring at him, almost curiously.
“Ask her if she saw anything,” Harry mouthed to Hermione, and Myrtle’s eyes instantly tore from staring at Draco.
“What are you whispering?” she asked.
“Nothing. We wanted to ask -”
“I wish people would stop talking behind my back!” She unexpectedly burst out, in tears, “I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead -”
“Myrtle, no one wants to upset you,” said Hermione as gently as possible, which wasn’t much. “Harry only -”
“No one wants to upset me! That’s a good one! My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!”
“We wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything funny lately,” said Hermione quickly. “Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween.”
“Did you see anyone near here that night?” asked Harry.
It was Draco’s opinion they were rushing into this too fast; that they needed to be slow with asking her questions, as she was clearly unstable.
“I wasn’t paying attention,” she answered, “Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I’m - that I’m -”
“Already dead,” said Weasley and Draco turned to glare at him as Myrtle began to sob, and rightfully so.
“Ronald Weasley!” he yelled, “You can’t just - ugh,” he turned to the ghost only to see she’d disappeared, diving down the toilet and splashing water all over them.
“And… now she’s gone.” Weasley sighed.
“Of course she is!” Draco yelled, “She just told us she’s suicidal and you made fun of her for it! How would you feel if I did that to you and your were a ghost?”
He shrugged, and Hermione gave Draco a weak smile. “Honestly, she can’t be helped,” she said unhelpfully, “That was almost cheerful for Myrtle… Come on, let’s go.”
They started for the door and Draco yelled, “You three are all terrible people!” at their backs then, with one look at the toilet, followed after them. Only when they left the bathroom did he consider maybe he’d been strangely kind to the ghost, but was startled out of his thoughts by a sudden yell.
“RON!”
All four of them jumped and spun around to see Prefect Weasley was standing on top of the steps. After adjusting his Prefect badge, which was tilted, he began striding down the corridor towards them, looking very shocked.
“That’s a girls’ bathroom!” he gasped. “What were you -?”
“Just having a look around,” Weasley shrugged. “Clues, you know -” Prefect Weasley swelled and glowered down at them.
“Get - away - from - there -” The pompous Prefect ground out, flapping his arms so as to force them to move away from the corridor. “Don’t you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone’s at dinner -”
Weasley spun around, glaring at his brother. “Why shouldn’t we be here? Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!”
“That’s what I told Ginny,” said Weasley, “but she still seems to think you’re going to be expelled, I’ve never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first years are thoroughly over excited by this business -”
“You don’t care about Ginny,” said Weasley, making Draco now feel conflicted about whether he was listening to some rather juicy drama or something private that made him think looking at the walls was much more interesting. “You’re just worried I’m going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy -”
“Five points from Gryffindor!” The Prefect bellowed, adjusting his badge again. “And five from Slytherin! I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work, or I’ll write to Mum!”
As soon as he was out of earshot Draco burst out laughing, all the way down to dinner taunting him in his ear with “If you put one more toe out of line we’ll bring you straight home!”
-*-*-*-
Hermione slammed The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 2 shut and leaned towards the boys as they did their homework that night up in the Common Room.
“Who can it be, though?” she asked, speaking in a quiet voice and quite abruptly. “Who’d want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?”
Draco didn’t have a clue. He’d decided now that when Dobby had said his father was only partially working with someone else and that someone else almost had to be the Heir of Slytherin, but he didn’t have a clue who it could be, other than Hagrid, obviously, which narrowed down their options so well.
“I dunno…” Weasley groaned, leaning on his own copy of the book. “I guess you could point fingers at anyone in Slytherin, but my best mate’s in there so,” he shrugged, “It could be anyone in the school.”
Slowly, they turned to look at Draco himself, who startled, pointing a finger to his chest, and blinked. “Me?”
They kept staring.
“You’re only in Gryffindor because you thought Harry would be.”
“Who told you that -”
“You’re whole family’s been in Slytherin.”
“Okay, same with plenty of people -”
“And you just said you look up to your father right before admitting to his pureblood supremecist views!” Weasley waved his hands. “Sorry if it seems pretty obvious you’re suspicious.”
“Okay, okay,” Draco propped his elbows on the table, speaking to them reasonably, “Say I was the Heir of Slytherin, why would I choose to befriend you lot? Hermione, you’re my friend, right, and I’d never want to kill you because of your blood-status -”
“But you did call me a Mudblood -”
“I’m a kid!” He threw his hands in the air. “What do you want? A public apology for the way my parents raised me? Trust me, it’s - not - me.”
Hermione and Weasley exchanged a look and sighed heavily. “Then who could it be?” Hermione said hopelessly, propping her chin in her hand, and looking out the window solemnly. They all followed her gaze, thinking the same thing.
Who could it be, indeed?
-*-*-*-
November
In the morning, they ate breakfast with Harry and asked if anyone ever acted suspicious in the Slytherin Common Room - like they might be the Heir. Of course, there was no such activity, and Draco felt proud that he’d been right and they couldn’t suspect Slytherin that easily. However, he also felt quite downtrodden, especially as this report didn’t change for days afterward, and their visits to the library scouring family tree records didn’t trace anyone back to Salazar Slytherin.
There seemed to be a genuine idea of when he was born, but only theories to his heirs, and Draco knew the ‘Gaunts’ and ‘Peverells’ had all died out long ago.
One night, the night before the Gryffindor/Slytherin match, Draco hadn’t been able to sleep, feeling ill after all the stress Wood had put under them through the weeks, and decided to pull out one of the ancient tomes they’d taken out of the library and started flipping through the Peverell line, hoping he’d fall asleep from how boring it was.
But then his eyes found the name ‘Potter’ and he knew he might not get a wink of sleep that night at all.
He… He couldn’t be related to Slytherin, he just couldn’t be… right? Draco followed the line, flipping back, and saw it ended with a man named ‘Ignotus Peverell’ who was the brother of ‘Cadmus’ who was married to… A Slytherin.
Draco dropped the book on his lap and leaned back against his pillows, burying his face in his hands. It was too much. First his father being potentially quite evil, now this? Granted, and it even said in parenthesis that the man in question, Hardwin Potter, would only be a distant cousin to Salazar Slytherin, and Draco could reason out by the time you got to Harry that no way made him his Heir. But if all others had died out…
Draco snapped the book shut and tossed it under his bed, throwing his wand, which he’d been casting Lumos on to light up the page, onto his nightstand and turning to lay on his side, pulling his blankets tight around him.
Harry wasn’t the Heir of Slytherin, he thought persistently, driving the thought through his brain, but at the idea of Dobby saying he knew his father was working with someone else, and knew Harry would be in danger this year, and really didn’t want him to reach school in the first place…
Draco hardly slept a wink that night.
-*-*-*-
Saturday, November 7th
Draco groggily dunked his spoon in his cereal and slurped off his breakfast, trying to ignore Hermione and Weasley’s perturbed faces, as they both knew he’d take plain buttered bread over a bowl of cereal any day, and must be in a particularly bad mood. He was.
After a night of next to no sweet, sweet sleep, Wood’s manic reminders of their strategies at breakfast was enough to give him a headache, and the twins making a joke about how they could knock the Heir of Slytherin off his broom may have been met with hearty laughter from the rest of the team, who didn’t at all buy into the rumors against Harry, being such good hearted people, it only made Draco feel sick.
Thus, a bowl of milk and Cheeri Owls, making him feel like a five year old Muggle, were what he resigned himself to.
“Cheer up, Draco,” Weasley said in what he probably thought was a good encouraging tone, “You got a Nimbus Two Thousand-One now! You’ll destroy Harry!” He raised his hand for a fist bump but Draco only slowly looked up to scowl at him and he changed his gesture to running a hand over the back of his head.
“Why so glum, Ginny? Sad you won’t get to cheer on Harry because he’s in Slytherin?” Weasley turned and asked his little sister, trying to cure his embarrassment, clearly. Draco turned away and focused back on his cereal, scowling deeper as that familiar dragon uncurled and released a puff of fire unexpectedly at the mention of Weaslette’s crush on Harry.
It was certainly a strange reaction of his which was getting more common and more strange as people kept bringing it up.
The thought of Harry also reminded him of his family tree realization, so he drove back those thoughts and replaced them with images of a snitch flitting through the sky. Catching it, hearing the cheers of his schoolmates… Maybe Weaslette would even see that Harry wasn’t so great…
Eleven o’ clock just around the corner, the team stood and slumped out, followed by Slytherin, down to the Quidditch stadium. Weasley and Hermione wished Draco good luck, and he could see, before turning into the locker room, that they were dashing across the pitch to say good luck to Harry too. They’d completely split their support between Gryffindor and Slytherin, where scarlet hats and scarfs, and green face paint.
Draco turned and pulled on his own scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down at his usual spot in between the twins and Spinnet to listen to Wood’s pep talk.
“Alright men - and women - We’ve got the better team, we’ve trained harder than they have, we’ve been flying in all weathers -” The twins beside Draco nudged him in the side and said, “Too true. I haven’t been properly dry since August,” Draco managed a weak chuckle, “- and we’re going to make them rue the day they thought they could use our Seeker’s good sportsmanship to get a win.”
He turned to narrow his eyes onto Draco, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew, of course, he was referring to last year, when he had let Harry jump on his broom when Quirrell had jinxed his own, and it had led to Harry catching the Snitch via nearly swallowing it.
“That being said, I don’t want to see any of that sportsmanship nonsense today. Slytherin’s gonna play dirty, we might as well too. You’re on the fastest broom gold can buy, so I better see you putting it to good use. Get to that Snitch before Potter or die trying, Draco, because we’ve got to win today, we’ve got to.”
“So no pressure, Draco,” said the other twin with a wink, and Draco felt his stomach do an uncomfortable twisting.
They marched out to a majority of the crowd cheering on Gryffindor, basked in scarlet, and when he squinted at the stands Draco could just make out his friends, who had reused the banner they’d been holding up last year. Weaslette was standing leaning against the side of the pitch, waving a green flag that read “GO HARRY!” in silver letters. Draco had the sudden, involuntary urge to strangle her with it.
The team stopped parallel to the Slytherins in the middle of the field, and Madam Hooch asked that the Captains shake hands. Flint and Wood did, grip far tighter than it probably needed to be. Johnson looked at Bell and rolled her eyes. Clearly they were seeing something Draco wasn’t.
“On my whistle,” said Madam Hooch. “Three… two… one…”
And they were off. Within moments Draco had far outstripped everyone else, even a team riding Nimbus Two Thousand’s, and was now circling below Harry as he squinted around for the Snitch, smirking while doing circles below him to show off just how fast his broom was.
“All right there, Scarhead?” he called up to him, then pulled up and to the right to avoid a Bludger which was pelting towards Harry.
Draco rose to look around for the Snitch, but a minute in he braced himself, ready to shoot out a foot to the left to avoid the Bludger now coming towards him, when it suddenly changed course midair like a bizarre boomerang, and instead shot towards Harry.
Draco blinked. Never, had he seen a Bludger do that before.
Draco watched, bizarrely, as Harry began streaking down to the other end of the pitch, but no matter which way he turned the Bludger was at his heels, and when the Slytherin Beater knocked it off course, it only turned and raced off after Harry again.
With a crack of thunder, rain started coming down on them, but Draco paid the rain no mind as he raced after Harry, vaguely acknowledging the commentating in the background; “Tie game, twenty to twenty -”
Dodging past the Slytherin Beaters, who were both racing a few feet from Harry now, trying to get a hit on the Bludger, Draco flew below him, and called up, “What’s going on?”
“Something’s wrong with this Bludger!” Harry bellowed and Draco frowned as it was knocked off course and turned to Harry again, and he had to do absurd loopty-loops to avoid it. It would have been comical, like he was doing ballet, if it wasn’t worrisome that Harry could be in danger like last year.
“MALFOY!”
Draco stopped short and spun around to see Wood was screaming at him from the goalposts several feet above. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! ENOUGH CHATTER! FIND THAT SNITCH!”
But it just didn’t seem fair. “Wood, the Bludger is -”
He was cut off by Wood turning away to block a Slytherin goal and sighed, pelting back up into the air to scout out for the Snitch.
He was beyond grateful for the announcement of a timeout as he lowered to the ground with the rest of the Gryffindors and looked around to see Flint frowning down at Harry as he explained the situation.
“Alright, men,” said Wood to the rest of the team, and Draco turned away from watching the Slytherins, “We’re tied, but I think it’s clear we’ve got the better Chasers, they might just have a little more speed. Let’s focus on putting up points. Fred, George, make sure you have both Bludgers on Potter. That’ll give Draco as much opportunity as possible to catch the Snitch.”
“Won’t be too hard, Oliver,” said one of the twins, and glanced over at the Slytherins before saying, “I think one of the Bludger’s has been tampered with.”
Wood frowned. “What d’you mean?”
“It’s been following Harry all game!” Draco blurted, “Every time one of the Slytherin Beater’s shoots it off course, it just comes back at him.”
“Well then, we’ll have to use this to our advantage!” Wood declared, rubbing his hands together, and Draco’s jaw dropped. Seriously? “Hopefully Potter will be so busy avoiding the Bludger you can actually catch the Snitch, Draco.” He gave him an encouraging smile but Draco scowled back.
“That hardly seems fair -”
“What did I say, team?” he looked around at them all, “Slytherin’s not gonna play fair, and we aren’t either. Now go, go, Gryffindor!”
“Go, go, Gryffindor,” Draco mumbled and looked over at the Slythein huddle, frowning, and feeling as if the weather reflected his mood as the rain fell down harder than ever.
Madam Hooch checked with Flint, and he nodded, indicating that they were ready to resume play. Then, they were off, flying high into the sky, and Draco streaked off to the opposite side of the field than Harry, feeling quite upset with what he was doing as he scoured the pitch for any sign of the Snitch. Pointedly, he avoiding watching Harry, especially as Flint retorted to ripping the Beater’s bat out of his Beater’s hand and knocking the Bludger off course himself, all the while the Chaser’s took advantage of the Slytherin Beater’s being preoccupied and started scoring higher and higher.
“Gryffindor leads, sixty to twenty!” Lee Jordan cheered, and Draco heard a strange sort of whistling above him. Spinning around, he saw it, the Snitch. It had been hovering just above his head, but now was flitting across the field. Draco wasted no time in pelting towards it, Wood’s voice in his ears.
Get the Snitch or die trying.
Draco was gaining on it, and Harry was too, with the tampered with Bludger coming towards him on one side and a Bludger one of the twin’s had just hit coming on the other. Draco heard a WHAM and a sickening crack behind him but didn’t pay attention as he stretched out his hand to the Snitch which was so close now…
His hand closed around it and he sharply turned around in time to see Harry spiraling towards the ground. With a thud he hit the mud and rolled onto the ground, his arm hanging at a strange angle; it was broken. Ignoring the cheers that Gryffindor had won, Draco dived to the ground and hopped off his broom, fist still tight around the Snitch, bending down beside Harry, who looked about to faint.
“Harry, are you alright?”
“WATCH OUT!”
Draco ducked and fell backwards as the Bludger suddenly came towards them, and reached and pulled Harry out of the way. He really had fainted, limp and heavy in his arms, and as the Bludger came towards them again Draco thought maybe he’d get hit and faint too soon, but the next second the Slyhterin Beater’s had landed in front of him and were tackling the Bludger, wrestling it back to the chest where the balls were kept.
As the rest of the players landed and ran towards the Seeker’s, Draco lowered Harry back onto the ground and stared into his unconscious face sadly, looking down at his arm which looked quite painfully broken indeed.
He was wrenched off Harry a second later to be shaken triumphantly by Wood, his fist unclenched to check that he had indeed caught the Snitch.
“Two hundred ten to thirty!” Wood cheered, “We won!”
“Yay!” Draco weakly cheered, and looked behind his shoulder. The Slytherin team was crowded close around their Seeker, Flint lifting his arm and checking for permanent damage, probably, but in moments he was pushed to the side as a man in jade-green robes forced his way through the huddle.
Lockhart bent down over Harry’s face just as he opened his eyes groggily, smiling.
“Oh, no, not you,” Harry moaned.
“Doesn’t know what he’s saying!” Lockhart declared to the now growing crowd of students coming to stand around Harry. “Not to worry, Harry. I’m about to fix your arm.”
“No!” yelled Harry. “I’ll keep it like this, thanks…” He tried to get up, the persistent idiot, but slipped on the mud and winced from the pain as he fell back down on his back. A clicking sound, and a sudden flash made Draco wince. He looked up to see Creevey with his camera and groaned. “I don’t want a photo of this, Colin!” Harry snapped at him.
“Draco, can you raise the Snitch?” Creevey said, unbothered, as Draco turned to glare at him. “I want to have a winning shot for Gryffindor -”
“Colin, please!” Harry yelled, attempting to sit up again but Lockhart forced him back down.
“Lie back, Harry,” he said soothingly, “it’s a simple charm I’ve used countless times -”
“Why can’t I just go to the hospital wing?” said Potter with gritted teeth.
“That’s right, Professor,” said Flint, folding his arms, “Why can’t I take my Seeker to the professionals?”
Lockhart scoffed. “Like I’m not a Professional… Stand back!” He rolled up his sleeves, twirled his wand, and Harry could only wince before he’d pointed it at his arm and -
It was as if the arm suddenly turned to rubber as it fell limp, everything that once had given it support and formed - the bones Draco realized with a cringe - vanished. Lockhart had just deboned Harry’s arm.
Of course, Draco thought, it could’ve been a fluke. So many eyes on him… Lockhart probably just succumbed to the pressure.
Regardless, soon people were disgusted and gasping and Creevey was taking pictures faster than ever.
“Ah,” Lockhart couldn’t help wincing either. “Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That’s the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing - ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, would you please escort him? - and Madam Pomfrey will be able to - er - tidy you up a bit.”
Harry stood up, and with one glance at his arm he looked as if he might faint again. Draco could hardly blame him.
-*-*-*-
Sunday, November 8th
Draco stretched his arms over his head, yawning happily as he headed downstairs to the Common Room the next morning, having slept in quite late. With Harry safe in the Hospital Wing, he’d been able to appreciate the Gryffindor win and, more importantly, his win over Harry. Sure, it had been unfair, but he still had done it! Wood had been beyond pleased.
It was almost noon, so there weren’t many people in the Common Room. Draco headed to the usual corner where Hermione and Weasley sat and sat down with them, sighing.
“I’m surprised Creevey’s pictures aren’t posted on the notice board,” he nodded to said cork board beside the portrait hole. “What does he do with them anyway?”
Hermione and Weasley exchanged a look and Draco frowned, looking between them, confused. “What is it?”
“Draco,” Hermione looked quite upset as she leaned forward and said, very slowly, “There was an attack last night. Colin… Colin got petrified.”
Draco slumped back in his seat, regret and guilt flooding his veins as he imagined the small, little Muggle-born, frozen stiff as Mrs. Norris was, lying alone in the Hospital Wing…
“Merlin… Damn it.” He punched the arm of his chair and buried his face in his hands.
-*-*-*-
December
The attack on Creevey had certainly given the entire school a very foul mood to be in, as the first attack on a real Muggle-born seemed to solidify the fact that the Chamber of Secrets was open for any doubters, and left the students and staff all avid in theorizing who was the culprit - Harry was still the most likely suspect, especially now that Creevey was attacked, and people could point fingers that he had always found him to be a quite annoying shadow.
People traveled in packs now, and a sort of black market trade sprouted up as people bought talismans and amulets supposedly capable of warding off Slytherin’s monster. It seemed where Draco walked, if Harry was beside him, a crowd would jump out of his way instead of just part now, eyeing him with something like fear now that they knew he was supposedly capable of attacking people.
This meant Harry was in a terrible mood indeed, but Draco was too. He’d been informed, on Sunday, that Dobby had come to visit Harry in the middle of the night and told him that he was the reason the Bludger targeted him during Quidditch, and that the Chamber had been opened before.
This made Draco severely doubt whether or not he’d gone too far in asking Dobby to make sure Harry didn’t get hurt this year, not specifying he meant at all, and not just pertaining to the Chamber of Secrets. It also made things much harder around his friends as now they knew all the information he did, and it would only be a matter of time before Dobby blabbed that his father was behind it. Then it was bye bye to Daddy and a life sentence in Azkaban.
By the time December came around Draco was very much looking forward to Yule when he’d be back at the Manor and able to question Dobby more clearly, and hopefully figure out who the damn Heir of Slytherin was, if only to alleviate Harry’s depression thinking it was himself, but with December came a letter from his mother, saying the Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and Nott parents were taking a vacation to…
“Majorka?!” Pansy exclaimed in Potions that morning, slamming the letter on his table. “What is the obsession with Majorka this year?”
“Just accept it, Pans,” Zabini swiveled around in his stool to tell her, smirking smarily, “It’s the number one vacation destination of 1992.”
Pansy looked ready to strangle him, but all Draco could worry about was having to wait until the Easter Holidays instead to beg his parents to return to the Manor, and how many attacks could happen in that time.
-*-*-*-
Thursday, December 17th
On the day a horrid blizzard wrecked the castle, Draco, Harry, Hermione, and Weasley headed down to dinner and passed the school notice board, seeing Finnigan and Thomas motioning them to point at what a group of people were chattering about excitedly.
“They’re starting a Dueling Club!” Finniagan said excitedly. “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?” Weasley said dryly as he stepped up to the board and read the piece of parchment tacked there. “Could be useful,” he turned and told the rest of them. “Shall we go?”
They agreed, and at eight o’clock they were standing with almost the entire school in the Great Hall, standing before a long golden stage. The blizzard had ceased momentarily, painting the enchanted ceiling overhead a velvety black.
“I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” said Hermione while the four of them pushed to the front. “Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young - maybe it’ll be him.”
“As long as it’s not -”
It was.
Gilderoy Lockhart strode onto the stage to a good amount of groans and applause, swishing a cape of deep plum, Snape following behind in black.
“Gather round, gather round!” he called, waving an arm to silence the chatter, “Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!”
Draco grinned. Finally, he’d get to see some actual dueling from Lockhart, be taught actual dueling from Lockhart! Ever since the disaster with the pixies, his classes had been even more of a bust than Quirrell’s, as all he did was read from the textbook, occasionally attempting to act out the scenes by himself. Harry had told them in the Slytherin lessons he’d been forced to help act out, and on more than one occasion been forced to howl as a werewolf.
Lockhart and Snape demonstrated how it is always proper to bow before dueling, of course, and the two of them held their wands in front of themselves like swords.
“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart said, “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, and Draco shot him a look. He really didn’t want either of them to die.
“One - two - three -” With a grandiose swing over his head Lockhart pointed his wand at Snape but he’d already yelled out, “Expelliarmus!”
A flash of red light, then Lockhart was blasted into the air, off the stage, and into a wall, where he fell with a flump.
Draco spluttered, standing on tiptoe to try to see him. Hermione jumped up and down beside him, hands to her face.
“Do you think he’s all right?” She squealed.
“Of course,” Draco reassured her with a stiff nod, “He’s Gilderoy Lockhart!”
A moment later he was swaying as he stood back up on the platform, his hat gone, his usually immaculate hair wild.
“Well, there you have it!” he declared, “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 pretty 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…”
Lockhart smiled at Snape, who, to Harry’s credit, did look ready to kill him. Probably just upset he was outwitted by the magnificent Lockhart, Draco thought fervently.
“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 -”
Draco tried to shuffle close to his friends, waiting impatiently for Lockhart to come near them, but Snape reached them first.
“Time to split up the dream team, I think,” he said, and started pointing them off to people around them. “Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Granger - you can partner Miss Bulstrode. Potter -” Draco stepped ever closer to Harry. Snape shook his head. “No, no, no, Potter can go with Nott. Mr. Malfoy with Miss Parkinson.”
Draco gave Harry a weak smile as he walked over to Pansy, whom he gave a real smile to.
“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you, Drakey,” she said, checking her manicured nails then baring them like claws.
“I would never expect you to, Pans,” he said and they readied their wands in front of each other, smirking.
“Face your partners!” called Lockhart, from the stage, “and bow!”
Pansy did a little curtsy and he laughed as he made wild gestures with his hands while bowing, like Lockhart had. She rolled her eyes, then they held their wands out again as Lockhart shouted.
“Wands at the ready! 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 -”
“Locomotor Wibbly!” Draco declared, and Pansy’s legs snapped together and she teetered and tottered on them for a moment before saying, “Unfellify!” and standing properly again.
“Who knew the counter curse was just ‘Unfellify?’” Draco said, shrugging, then yelping and ducking as she fired red sparks at him.
“Flipendo!” With a shriek, Pansy flipped in the air and fell backwards into Harry, creating a lump of limbs on the floor.
“Stop! Stop!” Lockhart screamed atop the stage, and Snape yelled, “Finite Incantatem!” Waving his wand above his head before pointing it down, casting a green smoke across the Hall. The effects of every spell halted, including Nott who Draco now could see Harry had cast the tickling charm on, making him stop laughing uncontrollably.
Looking around, Draco could see that telling a school of teenagers they could fight each other was an absolute disaster, and now many people were collapsed as Harry and Pansy were, or otherwise recovering from the effects of jinxes which were most certainly not the disarming charm.
“Mille!” Draco barked at Millicent who was gripping Hermione in a headlock, “Let her go!”
With an eye roll, she dropped her and he, Harry, and Weasley ran to her side to help her to her feet and make sure she could still breathe properly.
Lockhart leapt from the stage and began weaving through the crowd, shaking his head. “Dear, dear… 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,” he glanced up at Snape, who still looked ready to murder him, and looked away to gesture to the nearest pair. “Let’s have a volunteer pair - Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you -”
“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,” Snape called, striding through the crowd with his robes billowing, “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. How about…” his eyes landed on Draco, and he smiled. “Malfoy and Potter?”
“Excellent idea!” said Lockhart, beckoning Draco and Harry forward to the middle of the hall. He grabbed Harry by the shoulder and began speaking to him, while Draco was swept a few feet away by Snape.
“Summon a snake,” he whispered in Draco’s ear, and he turned to look up at him with a frown.
“What?” Snape only nodded and he could tell from his eyes he was trying to reassure him. With a resigned hea shake Draco turned back to face Harry, who looked slightly unsure. With a wide smirk, he said, “Scared, Potter?”
“You wish,” said Harry, his green eyes brilliantly sparkling.
“Three - two - one - go!”
Immediately Draco held his wand straight before him and cried, “Serpensortia!”
With a loud blast, a long snake shot out of the tip of his wand and landed on the floor, uncoiling to rise, hissing. The crowd, which had already backed up to allow Draco and Harry space, jumped back several paces, and several people screamed.
“Don’t move, Potter,” Snape raised his wand lazily, “I’ll get rid of it…”
“Allow me!” Lockhart strode past him and brandished his wand. With a loud bang the snake flew up ten feet then fell back down with a smack, now looking quite angry as it started to slither towards the nearest student; Justin Finch-Fletchley, who looked positively terrified.
But then Draco became aware of a hissing that most certainly wasn’t coming from the snake, who had opened its jaw, fangs poised to strike. No, someone else was hissing, and when he looked up he saw Harry moving towards the snake, hissing and spitting, looking as if he was encouraging it.
The snake turned and slumped to the floor, eyes locked to Harry’s, and then he had the audacity to look up and smile at Justin, as if he hadn’t just been speaking Parseltongue.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” The terrified Hufflepuff yelled, and Draco, seeing the problem immediately as Harry looked around, confused, and was met with glares and terror, rushed forward, grabbing him by the arm.
“We gotta get out of here,” he muttered into his ear, and once he could see Hermione and Weasley pushing through the crowd he pulled Harry away and out of the Great Hall as fast as possible.
In the entrance hall, he pulled open the nearest door, shoved him into a broom closet, and they all crammed inside.
They were a little too close for Draco’s liking, but he was too upset with Harry to care.
“What in Merlin’s name was that, Potter?” he barked, “When were you going to mention, with the whole school having a target on your back, and us trying to defend you, saying you can’t be Slyhterin’s descendant, that you’re a Parselmouth?”
“I’m a what?” Harry stuttered.
“A Parselmouth!” said Weasley. “You can talk to snakes!”
“I know,” said Harry, and Draco scoffed, “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 -”
“Brazil!” Draco gasped as Weasley repeated, “A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?” in a faint voice.
“So?” Harry still looked bizarrely confused. “I bet loads of people here can do it.”
“Oh, no they can’t,” said Weasley shaking his head, “It’s not a very common gift.”
“It’s not really a gift at all,” Draco cut in.
“No, it isn’t. Harry, this is bad.”
“What’s bad? What’s wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn’t told that snake not to attack Justin -”
“Excuse me?” Draco asked, scowling at him.
“Oh, that’s what you said to it?” said Weasley.
“What d’you mean? You were there - you heard me -”
“I heard you speaking Parseltongue,” said Weasley, then lowering his voice. “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 -”
But Harry still looked very gobsmacked. “I spoke a different language? But - I didn’t realize - how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?”
Draco threw up his hands. “You tell me, Harry, but you were hissing and spitting and everything. I mean… it did look very… suspicious.”
Harry looked at each of them in turned and scowled more deeply. “So? D’you want to tell me what’s wrong with stopping a massive snake biting off Justin’s head? What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn’t have to join the Headless Hunt?”
“It matters,” said Hermione, in a sort of whisper, “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 jaw dropped, realization hitting his eyes at last.
“Exactly,” Weasley nodded. “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, his voice sort of high and panicky.
“You’ll find that hard to prove,” said Hermione. He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.”
Draco gnawed his bottom lip, trying not to think about how he could prove Harry was distantly related, but not by blood. Which meant he didn’t get the Parseltongue from Slytherin.
But then, who?
-*-*-*-
Friday, December 18th
The next day, there was another attack. A double attack, at that, on Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor Ghost, and guess what? Harry bloody Potter was caught at the scene of the crime.
“Caught in the act!” is what Ernie Macmillan had shouted, and Draco had almost believed him.
The evidence against Harry certainly was damning. In fact, anyone who didn’t believe it was him was considered to be mad in the eyes of the students. The fact was he was in Slytherin, he defeated the Dark Lord as a baby, he can talk to snakes, he’s been at two out of the three scenes of the attacks, and has reason to dislike all the people attacked. Granted, nobody liked Mrs. Norris, but the sentiment still held true.
Regardless, Draco, Hermione, and Weasley were at Harry’s side, except now, when they were holed up in the Gryffindor Common Room after Transfiguration, worrying about what Dumbledore might be saying to him at this very moment, as he’d been whisked off after being ‘caught in the act.’
Draco sighed as Hermione grabbed her homework and tried to distract herself with the drawing of Lockhart conquering the Ghoul in Gadding with Ghouls they were supposed to be drawing - which, yikes, Hermione could not draw - and leaned his forehead against the glass.
The blizzard that had been wrecking the school for two days now was having a standstill moment, showing him how beautiful the castle grounds looked in winter, blanketed in feets of snow. In the distance, he could see the tiny speck of Hagrid and his hut, bustling around in his garden where he’d caught Ginny Weasley months ago.
At the thought of Weaslette, Draco rubbed at the heart he’d been idly drawing in the condensation on the window with a scowl. In its place he saw another speck, even smaller, climbing through the snow.
“Harry?!” He exclaimed and the other two looked up, blurting out, “What?” but Draco had already leapt to his feet and ran up to the dormitories.
Moments later he was dashing out of the Common Room with his furlined traveling cloak over his shoulders, tugging on scarlet gloves and a red and gold striped Gryffindor scarf.
-*-*-*-
“Alright there, Scarhead?”
Harry, who had been staring moodily out at Hogsmeade, perched on top of a hill topped with snow, spun around in surprise when he heard Draco’s voice, but slumped when he saw who it was.
“Oh, it’s you.”
Draco scowled. “Yes, it’s me, that is very rude of you, Harry,” he plopped down in the snow beside him, sighing. “How did it go with Dumbledore?”
“Fine,” he mumbled and Draco turned to look at him.
There was no way around it; Harry looked depressed, and for the first time Draco really considered not the possibility that the Heir could be him, and not the fact that everyone thought it was him, but how Harry must feel. Surely, he felt very scared, alone, and confused. He didn’t have a friend in the Slytherin Common Room, and probably hated being there now; every second probably made him feel like he was more likely to be the Heir.
And it was Draco’s fault.
“Harry, I’m sorry,” he eventually said, sincerely, and Harry turned to look at him, confused, but he plowed on. “You wouldn’t even be in Slytherin without me and… yeah, it doesn’t have a good reputation. You probably belong in Gryffindor anyway. I should be in Slytherin. Everything’s just so…” he sighed, hugging his knees to his chest and scowling out into Hogsmeade, “Wrong.”
He flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Harry smiling at him. The strange fluttering in his gut came back, as if his stomach was doing somersaults.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m not mad, I think you’re a great Gryffindor. And… I talked to the Sorting Hat while I was in Dumbledore’s office; he really thinks I make a good Slytherin,” he sighed, staring out into Hogsmeade, “That still doesn’t mean I’m not the Heir though…”
“You’re not!” Draoc blurted, startling Harry again. “You can’t be! I mean, Hermione and Weasley and I… we were all with you when Mrs. Norris was attacked. You didn’t have any bones in your arm when Creevey was attacked! And… You aren’t having blackouts, are you?”
Harry frowned, and shrugged his shoulders. “No I… I suppose not…”
“So there you have it,” Draco dusted off his hands. “It’s not you.”
Bizarrely, he heard chuckling beside him and turned to see Harry rocking back and forth in the snow with laughter.
“What is it?” he asked, confused.
“You,” Harry blurted, “You’re just so… Why do you believe in me?”
Draco frowned. He really didn’t know, he just… “A feeling,” he said, thinking of the fluttering sensation in his stomach.
“A feeling?” Harry repeated, looking unconvinced.
“Yeah,” said Draco, straightening, deciding to go with it. “A feeling.”
“Well, how’s this for a feeling?” Before he could avoid it, Harry had removed a hand hidden behind his back and thrown a snowball at him, hitting him square in the face and causing him to roll backwards, tumbling down the hill through the snow.
Above him, he could hear Harry’s laughter, joyous and beautiful, and looked up to narrow his eyes on him.
“Oh, you’re gonna get it,” he growled, digging a hand into the snow and standing with a ball in his own hand, chucking it as hard as he could at him. Now Harry was knocked down to Draco’s level and he tackled him into the snow.
Laughing, they rolled down the hill together, and when they finally stopped, gathered up snow in their arms and were having an all out snowball fight. Draco couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one, too used to refined magical sports at the Manor, but it was thrilling having it with Harry.
Harry couldn’t be the Heir of Slytherin, he decided right then and there, and at least now, he didn’t even care who it was, because Harry was his friend, and he had a feeling. A fluttering sensation getting bigger and bigger until it was large enough to wrestle the dragon of anger there too.