Chapter 33 - Parseltongue
Praeris hadn't been inside the storeroom at all recently. The padlock's latch would never be facing left.
Professor Snape's eyes darkened. A moment later he stood, and strode toward the storeroom.
Praeris followed on her own accord, though she knew perfectly well she wouldn't spot anything useful from the materials themselves. The last person to use this storeroom before the thief was the professor, only he knew what had actually been touched.
But who said the materials were the only things worth observing?
Praeris always got the answers she wanted. Professor Snape's gaze lingered a few extra seconds on the bicorn horn and the African tree snake skin.
His face still showed nothing. His lips twitched, faintly.
"I believe you still have a great many cauldrons of Swelling Solution to brew. Don't you, Miss Praeris."
Praeris looked up at him in surprise.
Choosing not to investigate after someone had trespassed on his territory, that was not Professor Snape's way. He had always been merciless toward rule-breaking outside Slytherin, and he had been especially provoked today.
The professor could be overly patient at times. Last year he had tolerated that onion-head Quirrell, and this year he was tolerating Lockhart, that golden peacock preening at every opportunity.
But in truth, the professor's temper was rotten to the core. If you too worked year-round without rest, simultaneously managing destructive students, a crushing workload, and one new colleague each year who only added to the chaos, your temper would be even worse than his.
Yet right now, he was choosing to let it drop, and pressing Praeris back to work.
"This matter ends here," Professor Snape said. "If you have so much time on your hands, I wouldn't mind assigning you additional homework — to keep you from expending your surplus energy on probing my thoughts."
"As you wish, Professor."
Since the professor had spoken, Praeris turned and walked out of the storeroom, back to her cauldron.
There it was, another interesting discovery: beneath the professor's composed surface, that thread of disgust he couldn't quite bury, and emotions too tangled to name.
The investigation was interrupted by cauldron after cauldron of Swelling Solution.
Perhaps it was her offense that day, or perhaps he meant to smother her curiosity, either way, the professor actually produced a reading list: general-knowledge books on the Dark Arts and Defense, all available in the non-restricted section, to be finished before Christmas.
The professor had apparently mastered the art of suppressing an overly energetic child.
The method was simple: task after task after task, until she had absolutely no time left to think about Ginny Weasley.
Praeris wished she could split herself in two, one half for homework, the other for potions.
Slytherin common room.
"You're going to join the Duelling Club?" Pansy Parkinson asked, puzzled. "Millicent, the Heir wouldn't choose you. You're a pure-blood, after all."
Praeris hurried in, snatched a bread roll off the table, and stuffed it into her mouth. "What club? Sounds familiar."
"Oh, sweetheart. Haven't you eaten again? You walk almost as fast as the professor now." Millicent Bulstrode laughed. "There's a notice posted outside the Great Hall — they're starting a Duelling Club. I thought I'd go and see."
Praeris poured herself a cup of tea and knocked it back like an ox chewing peonies. "I remember now. The professor should be there."
"So Professor Snape is teaching us to duel? He actually has the time?" Pansy Parkinson said. "Draco's going too."
Praeris shook her head. "He doesn't have the time. You'll understand once you get there."
At eight that evening, the dining tables in the Great Hall had vanished. In their place stood an enormous stage, the floor below it packed with students.
"So this is what you meant by... 'you'll understand this evening'?"
Millicent Bulstrode's mouth twitched as she watched Lockhart up on that stage, apparently without a care in the world.
He had actually dared to make Professor Snape his assistant. Snape had been a Death Eater over a decade ago, he might well have fought Aurors in real combat.
One look at the professor's expression was enough. He was absolutely going to teach Lockhart a lesson. If Lockhart walked away with even a shred of dignity intact, that would be Professor Snape showing mercy to a colleague.
Sure enough, one Disarming Charm, and Snape didn't just send the wand flying. The man went with it.
Lockhart peeled himself off the floor, gathered up the shattered pieces of his self-esteem, and insisted through gritted teeth that he had deliberately chosen not to fight back, for the students' benefit.
Praeris was fairly certain she saw murder in the professor's eyes.
"Those Gryffindors probably didn't warn him," Millicent Bulstrode said, clutching her stomach. "When you see the professor with that look, you'd better turn tail and run."
Praeris felt like laughing too. "He probably thought the professor only knew how to brew potions. Never underestimate a desk-worker."
"As for you, Miss Granger — I trust you are not afraid to duel Praeris."
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What?
Pansy Parkinson shoved her forward. "Go, follow Draco. The professor's pairing you with Granger."
Praeris scrambled after Malfoy.
This was treatment Praeris had never experienced before: being stared at by 90 percent of the school. She who rarely answered questions in class, never provoked Gryffindors, whose entire existence traced a three-point line between the library, the classroom, and the Slytherin common room.
"Don't disgrace Slytherin," Malfoy muttered under his breath.
Praeris hissed back: "Worry about yourself first."
Lockhart had the students face their opponents and bow.
"One, two, three —"
"Expelliarmus!"
Hermione moved without hesitation. She remembered Lockhart's instruction: only the Disarming Charm.
Praeris had predicted the move. She sidestepped the red flash without pausing.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
Surprise crossed Hermione's face. She seemed to find it genuinely unbelievable that Praeris hadn't used the Disarming Charm.
Oh, please. The pair next to them had already gone full throttle. They were in a duel.
Hermione was clearly very familiar with the counter-curse for Leg-Locker. She reacted fast, rolled to dodge the follow-up spell, and freed her legs.
Lockhart rushed into the crowd, shouting. "I said, only the Disarming Charm!"
Hermione raised her wand. "Petrificus Totalus!"
Praeris countered. "Protego!"
Hermione dodged the rebound, but not Praeris's next spell. "Expelliarmus!"
Praeris thought she had it. Then Longbottom rolled in from nowhere and took the Disarming Charm for Hermione.
Hermione reacted instantly. "Expelliarmus!"
Praeris, completely thrown by Longbottom, didn't react in time. Her wand flew from her hand.
Hermione smiled.
Praeris showed no sign of stopping. "Accio wand!"
But she didn't have her wand. How could she cast a Summoning Charm?
Astonishingly, the wand flew back into her hand anyway. Everything seemed to reset to before the fight had begun.
Never mind Hermione, Praeris was shocked too. She had read about wandless magic in books. She had never once succeeded at it. The last time she had performed wandless magic was back when she couldn't control her magic at all, back at the convent, specifically, the plates flying around the room.
Neither Longbottom's sudden appearance nor the wandless magic made any sense. Both felt like twists from a third-rate script: absurd beyond belief, and yet they had actually happened.
They both wanted to keep fighting. But Lockhart had had enough and stepped in to stop the brawl.
Praeris smiled, helpless. "Brilliantly done, Granger. You're a worthy opponent."
"You surprised me too." Hermione looked slightly embarrassed. "Honestly, I should have lost. If not for Neville..."
"That's how combat works," Praeris said, cutting her off. "We can never predict what happens next. And if we're going to talk like that — I was the one who broke the rules first and caught you off guard."
A loss is a loss. A win is a win. A draw is a draw.
Praeris had no patience for "if only this or that had been different." If it didn't happen, it didn't count. You either won or you didn't. At least, that was how she saw it now.
She turned and walked toward Malfoy, grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him up off the floor. Across the stage, Professor Snape used the counter-curse to stop Potter from continuing his involuntary dance.
Praeris stepped off the platform. The Slytherins swarmed around her and Malfoy immediately. "It's all Longbottom's fault! You'd have won ages ago if not for him!"
Millicent Bulstrode ignored that entirely. She put both hands on Praeris's shoulders and turned her in a full circle. "Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?"
Praeris shook her head. "Alive and kicking. Where's Malfoy going?"
She watched Draco Malfoy climb back onto the stage.
"Lockhart wants someone for a one-on-one. The professor sent Draco up." Pansy Parkinson laughed, sharp and mocking. "Well, now. Let's see what kind of fool Potter makes of himself. Draco will beat him to a pulp."
Millicent Bulstrode muttered under her breath. "Good thing the professor didn't send Praeris up."
Praeris frowned, watching the professor murmur something to Malfoy.
Right now, Praeris was the stronger one, more spells, sharper instincts. But Malfoy was more vicious. Her mind was packed with Dark Arts, but she wouldn't use any of that on Potter. They had no quarrel.
By choosing Malfoy, the professor clearly intended to teach Potter a lesson. He knew that with Praeris's current talent, in front of this many people, she would be confident she could win, and she would do it cleanly, with something like a Disarming Charm, nothing more.
Wait. A lesson?
Something clicked. The firework debris in Goyle's cauldron. The lock on the storeroom door. At the time she had been more focused on the professor's reaction. But now, chaos had broken out during class, and by the time class ended, things had gone missing.
This was a clumsy scheme, even by low standards. The 2 incidents were connected. One person caused a diversion, the other sneaked in to steal.
The corner of Praeris's mouth lifted slightly. A pity there was no evidence. But a small lesson would do just fine.
"Serpensortia!"
A long black snake burst from Malfoy's wand. The students nearest to it screamed and scrambled back.
Praeris was nearly knocked over by the retreating crowd. Millicent Bulstrode grabbed her in time.
On the stage, Harry Potter seemed frozen with fright, standing perfectly still.
The professor looked considerably more cheerful. He said, unhurried, "Don't move, Potter. I'll deal with it."
Praeris watched him with a strange look. She had thought he was about to do something truly devastating, and this was just a harmless little scare?
Lockhart's voice cut through her thoughts. He shouted "Let me handle this!" and fired some unidentifiable spell at the black snake.
The snake did not vanish. It was enraged. It turned, hissing, and slithered toward a Hufflepuff.
What happened next froze the entire room.
Potter's tongue moved, flickering, serpentine, and he spoke to the snake.
Before anyone could process it, Professor Snape stepped forward and vanished the snake with a counter-curse.
"He's a Parselmouth," Millicent Bulstrode said, her voice stunned. "Harry Potter is a Parselmouth?!"
Praeris went quiet for a moment, searching through her memory. "But isn't that supposed to be a Slytherin ability? Salazar Slytherin's."
"So Potter is a descendant of Slytherin?" Millicent Bulstrode's mouth fell open. "Potter is the Heir!"
Praeris smacked herself on the head. She had been far too busy these past few days. She hadn't had a single moment to deal with the Heir situation properly.
She had originally thought the diary's original owner was the Heir, using it to control Ginny Weasley. But now Potter's Parseltongue had thrown the whole thing back into shadow.
Parseltongue was a Slytherin ability, unique to that bloodline. If someone could speak it, there was a very high probability they were the Heir.
So then what was the diary?
Praeris headed to the library and started looking for creatures capable of causing petrification. Her mind was always at its sharpest at times like this.
"Prohibition on Experimental Breeding... Basilisk... Herpo the Foul, Greek Dark wizard, Parselmouth... eats spiders?"
She stopped.
The corridor. The spiders she had seen crawling out of the walls.
"Direct eye contact with a Basilisk causes death. Indirect eye contact causes petrification."
A puddle of water, seeing a Basilisk's eyes in the reflection. Did that count as indirect? Colin Creevey's camera lens. Did that count as indirect?
Praeris exhaled slowly. All right. The whole thing was now a complete mess.
First: Ginny Weasley. She had a Dark Arts diary, and was possibly being controlled by it to harm people.
Second: a creature suspected to be a Basilisk. Indirect eye contact caused petrification, and it could only be controlled through Parseltongue.
Third: Potter the Parselmouth. Suspected Slytherin descendant. Capable of commanding snakes.
If all three held, did that mean the diary had controlled Ginny to make Potter use Parseltongue to command the Basilisk to indirectly petrify Mrs. Norris and Colin?
Absolutely impossible. Even a third-rate writer wouldn't come up with a plot that deranged.
Potter had grown up in a Muggle household. He had just exposed his Parseltongue in public, in front of the entire school, in the middle of a climate already churning with fear and suspicion.
He almost certainly had no idea what Parseltongue even meant. He had simply been trying to save that Hufflepuff.
But now she had a reason to point the Gryffindors, specifically Harry Potter, toward Ginny Weasley.
If he wanted to clear himself of suspicion, he couldn't afford to ignore whether her words held any truth.
And once there was suspicion, Ginny Weasley's abnormalities wouldn't stay hidden for long.
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