The moment Harry stepped into the common room the next morning, he could feel it: tension. Buzzing. Sharp. Heavy with something unspoken.
Heads turned. Whispers rose like smoke.
Ron stood at the fireplace, scowling. "You made the papers."
"What?" Harry blinked.
Hermione handed over The Daily Prophet, her expression unreadable. "It's not front page, but it's spreading."
Harry unfolded the paper. There, in a cramped column on page five:
> "Is the Heir Among Us?"
Speculations around the recent attacks at Hogwarts have taken a sinister turn, with rumors pointing toward a student speaking the language of serpents…
He stared at the article, jaw tight. No name was printed—but the implication was clear.
Parseltongue.
"Someone's talking," Ron muttered. "That's not just a guess."
"And it's only going to get worse," Hermione said quietly. "People are scared."
---
Meanwhile – In the Slytherin Common Room
Draco slammed the paper down on the table. "This is ridiculous."
Pansy arched a brow. "Come on, Draco. You've been obsessed with this heir nonsense since day one."
"Not like this," he snapped. "They're making it sound like Harry's responsible."
Blaise smirked. "Aren't you supposed to hate him?"
Draco didn't answer.
His mind was still stuck on last night—the moment in the corridor when Harry had looked at him like he trusted him. Like he wanted him there.
And then this.
The whispers had already started in Slytherin. Some thought Potter was cursed. Others thought he was the Heir.
Draco knew neither was true. But saying so out loud?
That would cost him.
---
Later – Potions Class
Snape moved through the rows, robes billowing, voice sharp with every correction.
But his eyes kept flicking between two students.
Harry. Quiet, shoulders stiff.
Draco. Distracted, stirring counterclockwise when it should've been clockwise.
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said coldly. "Do try not to confuse your potion with dishwater."
A faint snicker rippled through the class.
Draco's ears pinked, but he said nothing.
Snape stepped past him and paused at Harry's table. Their eyes met.
The Professor's voice dropped just for him. "They're scared. That's when the world becomes most dangerous."
Harry stared. "So what do I do?"
Snape didn't answer.
He just moved on.
---
That Afternoon – The Courtyard
As snow began to fall, Harry found himself near the courtyard fountain, alone—until a voice called out.
"Potter!"
Draco approached slowly, hands in his pockets.
Harry braced for a snide remark.
But none came.
Draco glanced around, then said, "You should keep your head down."
"I've done nothing wrong."
"I know," Draco muttered, almost to himself.
There was silence between them. Cold wind passed.
Then Draco looked at him. "If you ever do figure out who's behind this—don't go alone."
Harry blinked. "Are you… worried?"
"I'm not stupid," Draco said quickly. "I just don't want to watch you throw yourself into a trap. Again."
He walked away before Harry could answer.
But Harry didn't miss the glance over Draco's shoulder—or the way it lingered.
---
That Evening – Snape's Office
Snape stood at his window, hands clasped behind his back, watching the snowfall blur the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Behind him, his fireplace flared green.
A voice crackled out.
"Any progress, Severus?"
It was Dumbledore.
Snape didn't turn. "The attacks are escalating. Fear is growing."
"And the boy?"
Snape hesitated. "Potter is holding steady—for now. But the whispers are taking root."
"What of Draco Malfoy?"
Snape finally turned, eyes hard. "He's changing."
"That could be dangerous."
Snape nodded once. "It already is."