"They don't get snakes, Asc," Harry said, cradling Asclepius in his dorm. "They think talking to them is weird."
"Humans don't know our tongue? Teach 'em," Asclepius hissed, flicking its tongue at Zabini's finger. Zabini offered it food gently.
"Maybe it's my imagination," Harry said, turning to Zabini, "but Justin being targeted right then feels like a setup to frame me."
"A half-blood as Slytherin's Heir?" Azrael scoffed. "That'd be a disgrace to their pureblood dogma." His usual bite was dulled, his tone heavy with concern.
"Too quick from rumor to attack," Zabini said. "The Heir's unhinged."
"I'm an easy scapegoat," Harry said. "With incidents piling up, just being 'suspicious' or 'there' makes you a suspect. And I'm a Parselmouth."
"Wizards suspect first, prove innocence later," Azrael said. "Thanks to Banarge and Hermione, you're barely in the clear, but you could be pinned anytime."
Azrael's words rang true. Though some trusted Harry, most students wanted him guilty for their own peace of mind. "We can't just take this," Zabini said. "We need to hit back. Got any ideas?"
Farkas crossed his arms. "Someone purebloodist with a grudge against Harry, wanting him gone. Marthinus comes to mind. Let's investigate him."
In the common room, they observed Marthinus, visibly irritated, venting to McGillis. "Purebloodism matters, Mackie, but I'm focused on exams. You get it, right?"
"Hmm… but are you sure it's not you?" McGillis pressed.
"If I had that skill, I'd use it to ace exams," Marthinus snapped.
"When the Hufflepuff kid was petrified, Marthinus was with me in the library, solving Potions problems," Isabella Selwyn added. "Madam can vouch. No way he cast anything."
"Bloody Heir," Marthinus muttered, returning to his Charms work, ignoring Slytherin's suspicious glares. Whether genuine or not, Isabella and Madam's words held weight. Harry's group found no leads.
Slytherins weren't immune to Hogwarts' oppressive mood. After Colin, Justin's petrification hit hard, prompting the school to suspend Quidditch indefinitely until the Chamber case was resolved. Captain Flint, deflated, told Harry's team to skip practice and study.
"Never seen him like that," Adrian Pucey said, stunned, watching Flint swap his uniform for textbooks. Derrick fumed, "Why cancel Quidditch over Mudbloods? Protest, Draco!"
"My father says to stay quiet until the Heir's caught," Draco replied.
"It's their problem!" Derrick shouted. "Slytherins are fine!"
Harry intervened. "It's because Slytherins think like that that we're in this mess."
He stormed off with Draco, leaving Derrick to yell, "You're angry too! They betrayed you! They know how hard you fought for Hogwarts last year!"
At the Quidditch pitch, Harry felt like a pawn in someone's game. His outburst at Derrick was just venting, not progress. Many Slytherins harbored resentment, trivial compared to Muggle-borns' fear. They weren't attacked, yet felt scapegoated. Why are we vilified? Even Pansy, a purebloodist, feigned glee at the Heir to secure her status. Few Slytherins, like Harry, could openly defy norms. Those who befriended other houses did so covertly, like true Slytherins.
To other houses, this was irrelevant. Victims saw bystanders as complicit. A well-meaning Slytherin was indistinguishable from the rest. Trusting someone who didn't openly show goodwill was hard. Charismatic Slytherins like McGillis won friends like Banarge, but most faced fear and avoidance.
"I'm angry at the other houses too," Harry declared, turning to Derrick. "That's why I'll find the real Heir."
It wasn't a whim—Harry had decided. This can't continue. For Slytherin's sake.
"The Heir's Slytherin!" Derrick shouted. "You're betraying us?"
"No," Harry said. "I'm clearing my name, for me, for Quidditch, to remove the obstacle."
Derrick stared, fear in his eyes. Harry turned and left the pitch.
At the Duelling Club, Banarge taught Protego. A top student, he'd been instructing them like a teacher, reviewing theory today. "Protego creates a magical barrier, blocking most spells. It's a game-changer in duels. Why does it block most spells?"
"Yes!" Luna raised her hand.
"Go, Luna," Banarge said.
"It sends spells to Narnia with mysterious power!" she said.
Zabini and Harry chuckled; Banarge gave a wry smile. "Not quite. Anyone else? Granger?"
"Many spells, like Harry's Expelliarmus, release effects as flashes," Hermione said. "They store magic in that state. Protego's barrier, charged with magic, blocks or deflects these flashes before they activate."
She wrote equations on the board, mastering sixth-year Protego theory. Harry, McGillis, and the others watched, impressed. "Exactly," Banarge beamed. "Gryffindor, one point. Even spells unblockable by objects can be stopped by Protego pre-activation. It's vital in duels."
"Why doesn't everyone learn it?" Ron asked.
"Good question," Banarge said. "Protego's hard. First, duration depends on magic input and skill. Sustaining it long is for experts—beginners get seconds. Some think practicing it's a waste or skip it for other spells."
"That's irrational," Hermione said.
Banarge nodded, writing spell types: charms, jinxes, hexes, curses. "Second, Protego can't fully block curse-class spells. Older spells, designed against magical creatures, have piercing enhancements. Protego weakens them but can't stop activation. Those are classified as curses. Another reason?"
Harry, Hermione, Farkas, and Luna raised hands. "Farkas," Banarge called.
"Protego's exploitable gaps?" Farkas said.
"Gaps?"
"It's time-limited. Set traps with transfiguration during Protego, then strike when it drops."
Banarge nodded. "Spot on. Slytherin, one point. Using Protego means pausing attacks, giving skilled opponents time to set up. Some prefer offense over Protego's hassle."
He concluded, "Protego might be advanced for you. Cedric's the only recent success—many fifth-years struggle. Don't stress if you fail. Learn other spells, build magic control, and Protego will come."
Under Banarge, Harry and Hermione grasped Protego's basics, deflecting McGillis's charms for seconds. Luna, Azrael, and Ron struggled with control; Zabini and Farkas faltered shaping the barrier.
I did well… but it's not enough, Harry thought, anxious. A few seconds of Protego wouldn't stop an invisible Medusa. Glancing at Hermione, praised by McGillis, Harry feared she'd be targeted next. If he was being framed, those close to him were at risk. The Heir wouldn't spare Hermione.
His scar throbbed, a warning. "Hermione," Harry said, "can we talk alone after?"
"Sure, I'm free," she replied.
"Confession time?" Zabini teased.
"Really?" Luna's eyes sparkled.
"It's not that," Harry said, annoyed. "It's about the Chamber. I'm not sure, so I need Hermione's input."
Azrael and Farkas exchanged looks. McGillis sighed in relief. "Can I join?" Ron asked.
"Sorry, it might be silly," Harry said.
"Tell me anyway!" Ron said. "Sounds fun."
"I'll share if it's worth it," Hermione said. "Banarge-senpai, can we use the classroom?"
"Lock it magically," Banarge said. "And never be alone."
Banarge's trust in Harry, letting a Slytherin and Muggle-born stay alone, was unwavering. Ron glared as Azrael and Zabini dragged him out.
Alone, Harry thanked Hermione. "You and Ron believing in me saves me—and Zabini's group too."
"That's obvious," Hermione said. "We know you're not the Heir. Enough preamble—what's this about?"
"It's early, but I got you a Christmas gift." Harry pulled a package from his bag.
"What's this?" Hermione asked.
"A Sneakoscope," Harry said. "It detects dark magic, wizards, or creatures. I got it through Azrael's contacts."
The hourglass-shaped device sat silently in Hermione's hand. "It's just a toy," Harry admitted. "Not advanced enough to read intentions, but better than nothing."
Hermione shouldn't have to thank him. Without the Heir, she'd be enjoying classes, not living in fear. "If the Chamber's monster attacks, what'll you do?" Harry asked.
"I'd use Protego," Hermione said. "With the Sneakoscope, I might have time to cast it."
"That's not enough," Harry said, sweating, his scar aching. "The monster's curse-class. To protect yourself… you should learn curses."
It's the only way, Harry thought. To save Hermione, he'd use any means, but he couldn't always be there.
"Harry!" Hermione gasped. "What are you saying?"
"Look at this." Harry showed her a notebook, disguised by transfiguration as Conjuration equations. It held dark magic—curses. Hermione's sharp mind grasped their nature, use, and control instantly.
"H-How do you know these?" she stammered, fear in her voice.
"Last year, when Bludgers targeted me, I got permission to read defensive books. Some had curses," Harry said, truthful but omitting that Quirrell, a dark wizard, recommended them.
"I tested a curse; the Sneakoscope reacted," he said. "You should practice too."
"That's not the issue!" Hermione snapped. "Curses can cause disasters if mishandled! They're heavily restricted! Do you realize what you're doing?"
She protested for Harry's sake—his dive into dark magic was unthinkable. "I learned it to survive," Harry said, pained but resolute. "Against a Medusa or Basilisk, hesitation could kill you. Curses on people are crimes—Unforgivables mean life sentences, I know from Farkas. But other curses, used in emergencies, have legal precedents for leniency."
Hermione wavered, flipping through the notebook, memorizing it. "It's life or death," Harry pressed. "I'd use it to protect myself, everyone. I know it's wrong, but dying or being petrified…"
"I understand you showed me this for my sake," Hermione interrupted, conjuring a bird. "Expulso! (Blast!)"
A blue flash from her wand obliterated the bird, leaving no trace in a fiery burst. "Impressive," Harry said. "Bombarda can't do that."
Hermione, unsmiling, met his eyes with resolve. "Next one, then."
Harry thought she'd master more, ensuring her safety. But she stepped forward and slapped his cheek lightly. "Huh?" Harry blinked.
"Do you hear yourself?" Hermione said, tears welling. "Practicing Protego Diabolica alone? You could've died if you failed!"
"I… but…" Harry faltered.
"Does Sirius know?" she asked.
"No…"
"I'm writing to him," Hermione declared.
"Wait, Hermione!" Harry pleaded, but she stormed out. Chasing her to Gryffindor's common room, Harry faced students' scorn for making her cry, driving him away.
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