"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart's voice echoed.
Facing Draco, Harry felt his mind sharpen, his anger cooling. Draco's taunts were a calculated ploy to rattle him, but Harry's wand thrummed with heat. After a good duel, his body felt sharper, brimming with a fleeting omnipotence—a dangerous distraction in combat.
I know what to do. Just give it my all.
Lockhart's countdown began. At "two," Draco's wand flicked upward. Harry dove left, shouting, "Depulso! (Blast away!)"
"Lumos! (Light!)" Draco countered.
A white flash from Draco's dragon-carved wand missed Harry, striking Zabini, his second, who groaned. Draco's strategy was textbook: a simple charm to seize the initiative. Inexperienced duelists favored one-shot spells like Expelliarmus—risky but decisive. Draco, cautious, knew myriad charms and hexes, planning to overwhelm after a quick opener.
But Harry had honed his skills in the Duelling Club. Dueling Ron taught him to disrupt opponents' accuracy with simple spells. Lumos, a basic charm, produced a blinding light that, with enough power, could steal seconds of vision. Harry's intense flash blinded Draco and the crowd, leveling the field.
"Serpensortia! (Serpent, arise!)" Draco, retreating right, conjured a snake to attack Harry instinctively, a near-perfect response despite his impaired sight.
"Wingardium Leviosa! (Levitate!)" Harry countered, enchanting his shoes to float. In a heartbeat, he soared over Draco's head.
"Where are you, Potter?!" Draco shouted. "What did you levitate?!"
"Expelliarmus! (Disarm!)"
Draco, vision clearing, saw no Harry. The idea of Harry levitating himself never crossed his mind. A red flash from above snatched Draco's dragon-carved wand, sealing Harry's victory.
Had Draco been Crabbe, Goyle, or Millicent, he might've closed the gap for a counterattack. But Draco's athleticism matched Harry's, and the distance was too great.
The snake…! Harry's triumph was cut short. Draco's conjured black serpent, ignoring the vanished Harry, lunged toward Justin in the crowd. Harry raised his wand, aiming to stop it.
"Tarantallegra! (Dance!)"
"Understood! Is this acceptable?"
A strange sensation hit Harry. No magic left his wand, yet the serpent halted, coiling toward him instead of Justin. Cute… Harry smiled reflexively at the fleeting creature, alive only seconds.
"What's this prank?!" Justin's voice snapped Harry back. His gaze—fearful, angry, like Vernon and Petunia's when they saw Harry's magic—cut deep. "You think scaring people is fun?!"
"No, I didn't mean—" Harry stammered. "I'm just glad it didn't attack you…"
"Liar! You meant to sic it on me!" Ernie Macmillan, a blond Hufflepuff, accused.
Before Harry could explain, Justin turned and fled the club. "Justin, come back!" Banarge called. "Listen to people! Harry, explain yourself clearly—no dodging!"
But Justin didn't return. Harry, clutching Draco's wand and his own, stared at Justin's retreating figure, stunned.
Why?
Anger surged. I just spoke to a snake. Snakes aren't evil!
Returning Draco's wand, Harry heard him whisper, "That's the true nature of Mudbloods, Potter. They don't like you—they just use you for convenience."
"Not everyone's like that," Harry hissed back.
He trudged to Zabini, Azrael, and Farkas, who looked worried. Ron and Hermione urged him toward the hall's exit. Luna, unfazed, chirped, "Nice win, Harry!" Her casual praise was his only solace.
The Duelling Club's mood collapsed. Lockhart, claiming a sudden errand, ended the session. Most students, avoiding Harry, left swiftly. Banarge forced Ernie to stay, demanding Harry explain.
"You're a Parselmouth, Harry," Banarge said, nodding. "And Slytherin kept it secret until now."
"I hid it because I feared this reaction," Harry pleaded. "I'm not the Heir. Believe me."
He explained, "A year ago, my pet snake told me Peter was human. Snakes are gentle, wise creatures."
"So that's how…" Ron muttered, then bristled. "You could've told us, Harry! Friends don't care if you're weird."
"A Slytherin chummy with Gryffindors? Already a freak," Zabini quipped.
Banarge accepted Harry's story, but Ernie didn't. "There's no proof you're not the Heir! Justin was terrified—you scared him in that duel! Hiding Parseltongue, who knows what else you're hiding?"
"I won't talk to Justin anymore," Harry said. "Happy, Ernie?"
"Yes! Stay away from him!" Ernie, protecting his friend, embraced the villain role—or couldn't back down.
"Idiots like him are infuriating!" Azrael snapped. "We hid Harry's ability to avoid this—ignorance breeds prejudice and persecution."
"True, but you don't get to say that, McGillis," Banarge retorted. "Only those who've earned it can."
McGillis watched Ernie with resignation. Harry lost the will to engage Justin or Ernie, but Banarge persisted. "Harry, Ernie, stay. We need to talk."
Clearing the room, Banarge pulled a device from his pocket. "A… radio cassette player?" Harry asked. "Why?"
Hogwarts' anti-Muggle tech wards should've blocked it, but this enchanted, compressed cassette played or recorded anything with wand flicks. "For dorm lectures or history programs," Banarge said. "Harry, speak Parseltongue."
"I need a snake," Harry said. "I didn't mean to earlier—I thought I cast a spell."
Banarge conjured a snake with Serpensortia. Harry's recorded Parseltongue, played back, controlled the snake, stunning Ernie. "See? Harry didn't sic it on anyone," Banarge said, smiling. "Ernie, apologize. Justin should too, tomorrow. You're capable of that, right?"
Ernie apologized, and Harry accepted, relieved the misunderstanding cleared quickly. Without it, he'd have harbored resentment. Yet, being saved by a Muggle device—more than Sirius, Ron, or Hermione's words—unsettled him.
"Thanks, Banarge-senpai," Harry said.
"No problem," Banarge replied, scratching his nose. "Prejudice is universal. So is fearing it. Neither you nor Ernie are to blame." He patted Harry's shoulder. "Keep this from Ron and Percy, though."
"Got it."
Surveying the silent club, Harry asked, "How many will come back tomorrow?"
Banarge shook his head. "Quiet's good for studying. Don't worry. It happens."
Maybe, Harry thought, but as long as the Heir's free, this won't stop.
Gilderoy Lockhart, wand raised, targeted his own shame: fear of Parselmouths, Slytherin, and his defeat. Realizing he hadn't cast, he gasped, "Merlin, I forgot to incant! Obliviate! (Forget!)"
His silent spell mastery and speed—erased from his own memory—wiped away his humiliation through vocal casting.
The next day was brutal for Harry. His Parseltongue revelation made him a pariah beyond Slytherins, Ron, Hermione, and Luna. At breakfast, students gawked at the Daily Prophet's headline: "Sirius Black's Mystery Woman: Fiancée or Fling?" A photo showed Sirius with a woman Harry recognized from a party, staring at him.
"Great news, Potter!" a student jeered. "Your guardian's marrying a fine pureblood?"
"Let Sirius marry who he wants," Harry said, feigning indifference. "Doesn't bother me."
But he decided to avoid burdening Sirius, who seemed preoccupied. Shoving down his unease, Harry wolfed down oatmeal.
The day worsened. Meeting Justin as promised, Harry found him and Nearly Headless Nick petrified. With his friends already at the Duelling Club to avoid intimidating Justin, Harry had no alibi. Ernie, frantic, pointed at him as the Heir's prime suspect.
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