Secrets of the Serpent House

The dungeons of Hogwarts were as chilly and unwelcoming as ever, the stone walls echoing with the soft shuffle of feet and the murmur of students. Harry descended the stairs to the Potions classroom, his new Slytherin robes feeling oddly heavy on his shoulders. The weight of the morning's events—the argument with Hermione, the cold reception from Ron—had made each step feel like a burden. He missed Astra but his snake had preferred the warming rock Harry had set up for her in the dorms so he was going solo to class.

As he entered the classroom, the sight of cauldrons bubbling softly and the sharp tang of potion ingredients greeted him. The room was dimly lit by the flickering flames beneath the cauldrons, and the greenish light from the lake outside cast eerie shadows on the walls. Harry spotted Malfoy already seated at one of the workstations, his usual air of superiority tempered by a relaxed demeanour as he waited, presumably, for Harry. The rest of the Slytherins were paired up in front and behind of Malfoy, like a guard.

"Potter," Draco said, glancing up as Harry approached. If Harry was deluding himself he could almost hear an edge of concern in his voice. "You weren't at breakfast."

Harry sighed as he took his seat beside Draco. "Wasn't hungry."

Draco's eyebrows furrowed slightly, but he didn't press further. Instead, he focused on the potions book splayed out before them. 

As if on cue, Professor Snape strode into the room, his long, dark robes sweeping behind him. The room fell into an expectant silence as Snape's cold gaze swept over the students. His eyes briefly locked with Harry's before moving on, and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. Harry always felt secure in the knowledge that Snape hated him but now Harry was a Slytherin and things were changed, it left him feeling all out of sorts.

Harry settled into his seat, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his stomach. Ron was seated across the room, near Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. Harry could hear Ron's muttered insults drifting over from their corner. The words were too low to be clearly understood, but the scornful tone was unmistakable.

"Stupid snake," Ron grumbled, staring at Harry, his voice laced with anger. "Should've known he was up to something, making friends with Malfoy."

Dean and Seamus exchanged uncomfortable glances, clearly unsure how to react. Hermione, seated next to Ron, was visibly annoyed. She shot him several reproachful looks, but Ron seemed oblivious to her discomfort.

Harry felt his jaw clench as Ron's comments continued. It was hard to ignore the stinging words and the underlying hostility. He was trying to focus on the task at hand, but Ron's ongoing mutterings made it difficult to concentrate.

"Ignore him," Draco said softly, placing a calming hand on Harry's elbow. His touch was firm but gentle, and it seemed to anchor Harry in the present. "Focus on the potion. It's better than letting Weasley get to you."

Harry nodded and tried to follow Draco's advice, but found his attention drifting more towards Draco than the potion. Watching Draco's deft movements as he measured and mixed the ingredients was oddly comforting. Watching Malfoy was a habit Harry had developed over the years right now it was the only thing that Harry felt normal about. 

The process of potion-making became a secondary focus, as Harry's gaze repeatedly returned to Draco's hands and face. Draco's occasional reminders and quiet guidance helped Harry stay on track, but it was Draco's steady presence that truly anchored him. It was odd to be cordial with Draco Malfoy, Harry knew they would have to talk about it sooner rather than later but it was surprisingly nice, being with Malfoy.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Slytherins were making a mess of Ron's potion. The cauldron in front of him was producing an unsettling fizzing sound, and the potion was turning an unappealing shade of yellow. The Slytherins were clearly enjoying their small act of revenge, and Harry couldn't help but feel a small pang of satisfaction.

Snape's sharp eyes darted around the room, catching every misstep and lapse in concentration. When he reached Ron's table, he paused, his gaze narrowing as he overheard Ron's muttering.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape said, his voice cold and stern. "If you continue to disrupt the class with your incessant complaints, I will be forced to take further action. Your focus should be on your potion, not on undermining your peers."

Ron's face flushed with anger and embarrassment, and he slammed his potion ingredients down on the table in frustration. Hermione shot him a reproachful look, her annoyance evident as she tried to salvage their potion.

The rest of the class proceeded in tense silence, broken only by the occasional clink of glassware or Snape's curt instructions. Harry did his best to keep his focus on the potion, his irritation with Ron fading as he worked alongside Draco. The task at hand helped to distract him from the uncomfortable atmosphere.

By the time Snape's class ended, Harry was exhausted, the day had only just begun and he was already so over it. As the students packed up their things, Snape walked over to Harry's table, his usual stern expression etched into him features.

"Meeting in the common room tonight, eight." Draco whispered to Harry quickly before leaving him alone with Snape.

"Potter," Snape said, his voice low. "A moment, if you please."

Harry nodded and followed Snape to the front of the classroom, where the professor handed him a worn book with a heavy leather cover. "I expect you to familiarise yourself with its contents. It outlines the rudimentary parts of potion-making that you seem to be unfamiliar with."

Harry took the book with a nod, his fingers brushing against the worn cover. He could feel Snape's eyes on him, and for a moment, he wondered what the Potions Master's opinion of him was now.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, trying to keep his voice respectful.

Snape's gaze lingered on Harry for a moment longer than necessary, and Harry could sense a shift in the way the Potions Master regarded him. "See that you use it," Snape said curtly. "I will be expecting significant improvement in your potions grades henceforth."

Harry nodded, feeling the weight of the book in his hands. "Yes sir." 

~

Over lunch the Gryffindor common room was almost deserted except for one corner where Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were standing toe-to-toe, their faces flushed with emotion as they argued.

"I can't believe you're being like this!" Hermione's voice cracked, frustration evident as she threw her hands in the air. "Harry's still our best friend, and you're acting like he's turned into a Death Eater overnight!"

Ron's face was red, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "He's a Slytherin now, Hermione! How am I supposed to just ignore that? It's like... it's like he's joined the enemy or something!"

"That's so unfair!" Hermione snapped back, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He didn't ask for this! The Sorting Hat put him there! You're supposed to be his friend, not—whatever this is!"

Neville Longbottom, who had been sitting nearby trying to focus on his homework, looked up nervously. He'd been trying to avoid getting involved, but the argument was impossible to ignore.

"Um, maybe we should just all calm down a bit," Neville said cautiously, his voice trembling slightly. "We're all upset, but yelling isn't going to help anything."

Ron turned on Neville with a scowl. "What do you know about it, Neville? Harry's in Slytherin now. He's—he's turned his back on us!"

Neville flinched. "I just thought—"

"Just stay out of it, Neville!" Hermione snapped, her voice harsher than she intended. She immediately looked guilty, but her frustration was too overwhelming to back down. "This isn't something you can just 'calm down' about. We're talking about Harry!"

Neville's shoulders slumped, and he started packing up his books, his face red with embarrassment as left the pair alone. "Sorry... I didn't mean to interfere."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should've thought of that before butting in," Ron muttered, still glaring at the spot where Neville had been sitting.

Hermione rounded on Ron, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. "Why are you being so awful? Harry's still the same person! You're acting like he's done something wrong just by being sorted into Slytherin!"

Ron's eyes flashed with hurt. "Because he has! We're supposed to be Gryffindors together! And now he's off being chummy with Malfoy and the rest of the snakes, like we don't even matter anymore!"

"That's not true!" Hermione's voice wavered as she tried to hold back tears. "Harry still cares about us, Ron. He's probably just as confused and scared as we are. But you're pushing him away instead of trying to understand!"

Ron's face crumpled with a mix of anger and sadness. "Well, maybe I don't want to understand! Maybe I'm just tired of everything changing all the time!"

Hermione shook her head, her voice cracking as she fought to keep her composure. "We have to try, Ron. We can't just give up on him."

But as Ron turned away, Hermione felt a sinking feeling in her chest. It wasn't just Harry she was worried about—it was the whole trio. And as much as she wanted to believe they could fix things, she couldn't shake the fear that everything was already falling apart.

~

~

As he hesitated, the wall before him shifted, revealing the dimly lit common room beyond. Harry had no idea what to expect of this meeting and it sets his nerves alight.

He hadn't noticed anyone approach, but when he turned, he found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy. Draco's expression was calm, lacking the usual smirk that Harry had grown accustomed to over the years.

"You're not going to stand there all night, are you, Potter?" Draco asked, his tone almost teasing.

Harry blinked.

"No," Harry replied, stepping forward as the wall closed behind him. He glanced around the common room, taking in the dark green and silver décor, the polished leather armchairs, and the crackling fire in the hearth. He hadn't truly had a chance to take it all in since he sorting. The atmosphere was different from Gryffindor Tower—less lively, more subdued, but not unwelcoming. Harry found it a nice change.

 "We have a meeting."

"A meeting?" Harry repeated, not sure what to expect.

Draco nodded, gesturing for Harry to follow him deeper into the common room. "With the others—our year's cohort. We usually have on at the end of every week but we thought it better to have one sooner rather than later, especially now that you're one of us."

Harry felt oddly warm at being referred to as “one of them.” With a small nod, he followed Draco past the fire and into a secluded corner of the room where several familiar faces were gathered.

Daphne Greengrass was seated on a plush sofa, her legs crossed elegantly as she flipped through a book. Pansy Parkinson lounged beside her, one arm draped casually over the back of the sofa. Blaise Zabini stood near the fireplace, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe were seated in armchairs, talking quietly among themselves.

As Harry and Draco approached, the conversation ceased, and all eyes turned to him. Harry’s instinct was to tense up, to prepare for whatever insults or accusations might come his way. But instead, Daphne closed her book with a soft thud and gave him a nod.

Daphne was the first to speak. “Potter,” she said, her voice as cool and polished. “Or should we say Black?”

Harry swallowed, the weight of his heir ring suddenly feeling heavier. He had barely had time to adjust to the idea of being the Black heir, and now he was being confronted with it by his new housemates.

“It’s quite a shift,” Blaise remarked, his tone measured. “From the Gryffindor Golden Boy to the heir of one of the oldest pureblood families in Britain.”

Harry could feel the weight of their gazes, each of them assessing him, calculating what this new development meant for them—and for Slytherin. The ring wasn’t just a symbol; it was a statement. Harry had been thrust into a world where every word, every action, had implications far beyond the walls of Hogwarts.

"I thought Draco would take the heirship." Theo muttered but Draco quickly waved him off. Harry was glad he had already spoken to Malfoy about his feelings on the matter.

Draco took a seat, gesturing for Harry to do the same. “You understand, Potter, that this changes everything. Not just for you, but for us. The heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black doesn’t just join Slytherin without it affecting the rest of us.”

Harry sat down, feeling the tension in the room. “I’m still figuring out what it all means,” he admitted, deciding that honesty was his best option. “But I know it puts me in a different position. I’m not just Harry Potter anymore.”

“Exactly,” Theo said, leaning forward. “The Black name carries weight, and not just in the wizarding world. You’re not just a student at Hogwarts; you’re a player in a much larger game now.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed as she studied Harry. “You realise that being the Black heir means you’re expected to uphold the family’s legacy. That includes alliances, traditions, and the power dynamics that come with being part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

Harry nodded, though the concept was still somewhat foreign to him. He had learned about the Sacred Twenty-Eight only recently, when Sirius had explained the significance of his inheritance. The Black family was not just any pureblood family—they were one of the most influential, with connections and expectations that extended far beyond what Harry had ever imagined.

“And what does that mean for us?” Blaise asked, his voice silky smooth. “You’re part of our cohort now, which means our actions reflect on you, just as yours reflect on us.”

It was a subtle reminder that in Slytherin, individual actions had collective consequences. Harry was beginning to understand that this wasn’t just about being sorted into a new house—it was about navigating a web of alliances and rivalries that stretched back generations.

“It means,” Draco said, his tone carefully controlled, “that we need to be on the same page. Slytherin isn’t Gryffindor, where everyone does whatever they want. We’re a unit, a family. And now that you’re one of us—especially as the Black heir—we need to make sure we’re aligned.”

Harry didn’t miss the emphasis on “family.” In the pureblood world, family wasn’t just about blood relations; it was about loyalty, legacy, and power. Being the Black heir placed him at the centre of that web, whether he liked it or not.

“I understand,” Harry replied, meeting Draco’s gaze. “I’m still learning about what it means to be the Black heir, but I’m willing to work with you.”

Daphne’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Smart,” she said. “In Slytherin, making the right alliances is key to survival. And right now, aligning with us is in your best interest.”

Pansy leaned back in her seat, her expression thoughtful. “It’s not just about survival, though. It’s about positioning. You’re in a unique spot, Potter—or is it Black now?" 

Harry simply shrugged at that, he wasn't sure yet, so Pansy continued. "You have the potential to influence more than just what happens here at Hogwarts.”

Harry considered her words. He had always thought of himself as a fighter, someone who took action when needed. But this was different. This was about strategy, about playing a long game that he hadn’t even known existed until now.

“So, what happens next?” Harry asked, looking around at the group.

“We take it one step at a time,” Draco said, his voice steady. “For now, we present a united front. Slytherin has always been about strength through unity. If we stand together, we’re stronger than any of the other houses. And with you as the Black heir, that strength is only magnified.”

Blaise nodded in agreement. “We watch each other’s backs, and we don’t betray our own. But more than that, we think ahead. We don’t just react—we plan.”

Harry nodded, understanding the unspoken message. In Slytherin, it wasn’t enough to be strong or brave. You had to be cunning, strategic, and always two steps ahead.

“There’s something else you need to consider,” Daphne added, her tone serious. “As the Black heir, you have access to resources and information that the rest of us don’t. That could be an advantage—for all of us—if you’re willing to share.”

Harry hadn’t thought about that. The Black family’s influence extended into many areas of the wizarding world, from politics to finances. He realised that his inheritance wasn’t just a way of warding of hateful blood purists; it was a potential tool.

“I’m still figuring out what I have access to,” Harry admitted. “But if it can help us, I’m willing to use it.”

Draco’s expression softened slightly, and for a moment, Harry thought he saw something like respect in his eyes. “That’s all we can ask for now,” Draco said. “We’ll help you navigate this—being the Black heir, being in Slytherin. But remember, Potter—this isn’t just about you anymore. Your actions have consequences for all of us.”

Harry felt the weight of those words settle on his shoulders. He had always been used to carrying the burden of responsibility, but this was different. This was about more than just his own life—it was about the lives of those around him, and the legacy of a family he had just joined. He wouldn't fail Sirius, he would work as hard as he needed to until he could make the man proud.

"Alright I think we should call it a night, we've got Umbridge first thing tomorrow." Theo suggested, Harry hadn't realised so much time had passed.

As the others began to disperse, Draco lingered for a moment, his gaze locked on Harry’s. “One more thing,” he said quietly. “The Black name carries power, but it also carries expectations. Don’t forget that. People will be watching you, waiting to see what kind of Black you’ll be. Make sure you don’t disappoint.”

Harry nodded, the weight of Draco’s words sinking in. He wasn’t just a Gryffindor who had been sorted into Slytherin. He was the Black heir, and that meant something in this world—a world of pureblood politics, alliances, and power plays.

As he made his way to the dormitory, Harry couldn’t help but feel a mix of anxiety and determination. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with complexities he had never faced before. But for the first time, he felt like he was beginning to understand what it meant to be in Slytherin—and what it meant to carry the Black name.

"You may call me Aunt Burga if you wish."

"Thanks, Aunt Burga." Harry beamed, he really was apart of the family now.

And whatever happened next, Harry knew he could face it.