Harry returned to classes, but his recovery brought new challenges.
Word spread explosively that Harry, a Slytherin, stopped the Heir of Slytherin, losing his arm in the process—a fact the Hufflepuff couple in the infirmary ensured every Hogwarts student knew. Zabini said most doubted the rumors.
"Other houses think Percy Weasley solved it, not you. He stole the spotlight," Zabini teased.
"Ron destroyed the dark object, Luna provided it, and Percy protected them," Harry replied.
"Humility's annoying, Harry," Farkas said. "Percy says you killed the Basilisk. Slytherins know it was you, but other houses want to believe Percy did it."
"Percy's pissed, saying, 'I'm not Lockhart. Harry killed it.' That makes him popular. They can't explain how you did it, so they credit Percy," Farkas added, disappointed.
Harry felt for Percy, burdened with the aftermath. "Poor guy. We dumped the cleanup on him."
"Using dark magic can't go public," Azrael sighed. "Moral hazard risks aside, it's a shame your feat's buried."
Harry didn't care about his tainted glory. His friends' support was enough. "Dark magic in a petty fight's no joke," Zabini said. "Surviving a Basilisk's enough."
In the Slytherin common room, students stared—underclassmen, peers, and seniors. Some, like Theodore Nott, left abruptly. Harry noted Nott's pure-blood leanings, guessing he disliked a non-purist stopping the Heir.
(Theodore's a pure-blood supremacist, huh?)
Harry felt oddly fond of Nott's honesty. Then Pansy Parkinson approached, eyes teary, poodle-like. "I was worried, Harry! A Slytherin stopping the Heir! If you hadn't mingled with other houses, this wouldn't have happened! It must've been awful, fighting for Muggle-borns!"
(She's clueless…) Zabini thought, half-amused, half-exasperated.
Pansy invited Harry to tea. "Sunday, let's have tea. My father got fine leaves. You'll love them."
(Pure-blood obsession… I'd have done the same if Harry vanished) Azrael thought, pitying Pansy. With the Heir's terror gone, pure-blood extremists like Pansy and Draco would face other houses' ire.
Pansy's theatrics annoyed Harry. Smiling with Occlumency, he said, "I don't regret facing the Heir, Pansy. And sorry, I'm busy Sunday."
He rebuffed her coldly, her crushed expression easing his irritation.
Adrian Pucey and Garfield Galfgarion shielded Harry from overzealous Slytherins, especially Prefect McGillis Carrow. "You crushed the old Heir, forging a new Slytherin era, Potter. Splendid," Carrow declared.
Harry wanted to flee but was trapped. Carrow pressed, "As the new Heir, what's your vision for Slytherin?"
The room froze. Harry replied calmly, "Nothing changes."
"Status quo?" Carrow probed.
"The incident wasn't caused by pure-bloods, but a dark artifact," Harry said.
Ricardo Marceñas, twirling his hair, asked, "True about the diary causing it?"
"Yes, a dark magic diary. If a pure-blood did it, they'd face consequences. But they didn't, so no need to call me Heir, right, Carrow?"
"Your feat stands. You killed the Basilisk," Carrow insisted.
Farkas cut in sharply, "Want to be Harry's guardian? Useless. He's got Sirius Black."
Farkas, from an ex-Auror family, was harsh on Carrow's ex-Death Eater lineage. Carrow conceded, "Fair point," but added, "You defeated the Heir and survived. Strength makes you the Heir. What will you do?"
"Oi, McGillis, leave the kid alone!" Galfgarion snapped, shoving Carrow. Pucey pulled him back. "Potter needs to rejoin the team, not deal with this!"
Carrow's intense gaze reminded Harry of his political fervor. (Plan this beforehand, will you?)
Fed up, Harry declared, "The Chamber's closed. I won't exclude or attack Muggle-borns. If that's the Heir's role, I reject it. The Basilisk's dead. The Heir's history is over."
Surprisingly, Carrow smiled, relieved. "A new history, then."
Harry couldn't read him. (Is he an idiot or a massive idiot?)
Carrow's motives eluded Harry's measure. "Drunken prefect!" Draco scoffed from the sofa, lingering with Crabbe and Goyle. He left last, snorting.
"Draco," Harry called, "I'm back. Let's play Quidditch again."
Draco didn't reply but raised his right hand slightly.
Galfgarion sat Harry down, eyeing his arm. "Couldn't believe you lost it, Potter."
"It's fine. I can cast with it," Harry said, demonstrating a Transfiguration spell.
Galfgarion nodded. "Think Pansy's wrong?"
"Of course. Badmouthing friends makes me mad."
Galfgarion sighed. "True, but… she's worried about you, in her way. Just doesn't know how to show it."
"?"
"Forget it. You don't mesh with her. You did great, Potter. Really. So take care of yourself a bit more. Rest today."
Harry, puzzled by Galfgarion's kindness, returned to his room. With Asclepius coiled on his arm, he played Gobstones with his friends.
Harry's dark magic defeat of the Basilisk can't be public. Poor Percy, catching the flak…
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