It was the day after the Quidditch match that I realized I had forgotten something important. I hadn't told Dumbledore that Harry was hearing a voice no one else could hear.
It was nothing short of careless, but I had been distracted by too many other things. The issue of pure-blood supremacy, the suspicion that I was the heir... and various other matters. It was only when faced with a Bludger aimed at taking Harry's life that I finally remembered.
Since it was a good opportunity, I compiled a list of other things I wanted to report... but come to think of it, I had never gone to see Dumbledore on my own initiative. Casually using an owl post and letting someone else know I had a connection to him was dangerous, considering my relationship with my father and future implications.
Left with no choice, I decided to rely on the most trustworthy person I knew: Professor McGonagall. I went to her office, which also served as her living quarters, on Sunday morning to ask how I should go about reporting something to Dumbledore.
In the less than half a year since last June, Professor McGonagall had already given up her room to the Headmaster twice because of me. I felt truly guilty, but perhaps due to the incident with the Vanishing Spell the day before, she willingly agreed to act as a go-between. However, despite the fact that her own house had won the Quidditch match—Harry's injury notwithstanding—Professor McGonagall seemed incredibly tense.
It wasn't until the next day that I found out why. According to the rumors at the breakfast table, Colin Creevey, Gryffindor's resident camera enthusiast, had been found petrified late Saturday night. We finally had a human victim. The rumor spread in an instant, and once again, all eyes turned to me.
After all, a Bludger had just tried to knock Gryffindor's Harry Potter out of the sky during the Quidditch match. To anyone who didn't know the full story, it would look as though I had petrified Creevey out of spite for failing to kill Harry.
What's more, my friends had been conspicuously teasing Creevey—or more accurately, Harry, who was being pestered by Creevey—right at the start of the new term. I had been getting an earful from Flint around the time Creevey was petrified, but of course, no one outside my house would know that. I was now being completely avoided by students from the other houses. My efforts from last year to painstakingly reduce the animosity toward Slytherin were, ironically, starting to be undermined by none other than myself.
Surprisingly, the second-year Gryffindors and students from other houses who knew me personally seemed to be defending me. I didn't think they had any reason to believe me, aside from the trio... but it appeared I had earned a certain degree of trust from the students I'd interacted with in class. I was grateful for that.
The upperclassmen were a different story. I was being painted as a devil who preyed on easily influenced underclassmen and secretly led the pure-blood supremacist Slytherins. I was clearly not cut out for such a role, but since I had, in fact, been running a "let's befriend the impressionable underclassmen" campaign, I couldn't say anything. But I'm still only a second-year. I was being seen as a twelve-year-old who was far too evil.
Because of this, I could no longer speak with the trio. Harry, in particular, was under heavy guard. The upperclassmen on the Gryffindor Quidditch team flanked their Seeker, swiftly hiding him in the shadows whenever I approached. I could hear Harry protesting each time, but they were adamant, and there was no point arguing with people who were mad about Quidditch.
My prediction that everything would be fine because Professor McGonagall had awarded me points for the Vanishing Spell that protected Harry was far too optimistic. Apparently, I was manipulating the teachers to divert suspicion from myself. It was true that I was flattering the teachers and pulling strings... but the fact that the rumors were partially correct was what made them so troublesome.
I had Potions with Harry, but Professor Snape would have mercilessly assigned detention if any of us—or rather, any Gryffindor—so much as tried to speak during his class.
Logically speaking, if I were the Heir of Slytherin, I would never let Pansy run wild spreading dishonorable rumors about me, but it seemed no one was capable of seeing that.
A palpable tension spread throughout the school. The first-years, who had only been here for three months, started moving in tight groups, and clearly ineffective self-defense trinkets were being traded everywhere. Of course, we Slytherins had no reason to fear being attacked, but we couldn't just ignore the fakes. It was a real pain having to debunk the possibility of strange curses being placed on these items one by one.
My own investigation into the heir was proceeding, albeit without any real leads. As far as I could observe, no Slytherin student was making any suspicious moves. The first incident, after all, happened in the middle of the Halloween feast. Out of about two hundred Slytherins, most of us, including myself, had an alibi for at least one of the incidents. There was the possibility of a powerful Imperius Curse, or that the culprit could commit the crime without being present, but entertaining such possibilities just opened up too many options. For now, I had to put them aside.
When you think of Slytherin's bloodline, the Gaunt family comes to mind, so I thought that would be my biggest clue... but unfortunately, things weren't that simple. The last male Gaunt, Morfin, died in prison, and Merope Gaunt went missing nearly seventy years ago. Even if the connection was through Merope, tracing it now would be impossible. The Dark Lord could speak Parseltongue, so it was probably related to him... but his parentage was unknown. There was no way to investigate.
I still had no idea what the monster was. The only new piece of information since the last incident was that it could also petrify humans. Was the legend that it could kill people false? Were there two of them, one that kills and one that petrifies? Or was the heir themselves using an advanced petrification curse through means unknown to us? The possibilities were endless. Perhaps I should go inspect the crime scene, but I only learned about Creevey long after the fact, and if people started saying "the culprit always returns to the scene of the crime," my movements would be even more restricted. To top it off, I could find no common link between the locations of the two attacks.
With a student victim, a new concern arose. The events happening at the school were not being reported to the outside world at all, but how long could that be suppressed? This was likely Dumbledore's doing, but if the anti-Dumbledore faction of influential figures, led by my father, got wind of it, it would undoubtedly become a pretext for ousting the Headmaster.
Normally, I'd say a Headmaster who covers up violent incidents within the school should resign immediately. But if we forced Dumbledore to take responsibility for an enemy's attack and leave his post, it would be the end of Hogwarts. Since Dumbledore himself is our strongest defense, it was entirely possible that forcing him to leave Hogwarts was the enemy's goal.
With the future far more unpredictable than last year, I was planning to spend the Christmas holidays at Hogwarts.
My grandfather Cygnus and my great-aunt Cassiopeia had passed away in October and November respectively (which was another reason I had forgotten to report to Dumbledore), and I had already been home twice this year. My father and mother also seemed busy disposing of what they could of the Black family assets (much of which was sealed away with the estate itself after their bodies were removed), so there was no point in going home this year.
I spent my days feeling like my head would explode from all the things I had to think about, but the painful part was that I couldn't just ignore everything else.
In our last Potions class before the holiday, some idiot threw a firework into a cauldron where a Swelling Solution was brewing, and we all suffered the consequences. I deeply regretted not standing back with my arms crossed and playing the role of supervisor, what with my mental exhaustion and all. Professor Snape, as usual, was convinced Harry was the culprit, and it was truly exhausting. I wished he would seriously try to find the real perpetrator.
It was on such a weary Thursday that the "Dueling Club" was held in the Great Hall.
I knew who had come up with the idea for this event even before it was announced: Lockhart. I hadn't heard it myself, but apparently, when a fourth-year Slytherin went to hand him a lesson plan, he had boasted about it.
His classes had become quite stable lately, so maybe he got greedy. Since the Creevey incident, Crabbe had taken over my delivery duties, as he was concerned about how I was being treated outside the dormitory, so I hadn't seen Lockhart outside of class.
Honestly, if I had thought it was Lockhart's idea from the start, I would never have participated. But I was curious to see how much his teaching skills had improved over the past two months, and since students from other houses would be there, it might be a chance to talk to Harry and the others. I also wanted to ask if he had heard "the voice" again since then, so I headed to the Great Hall with the rest of the Slytherins.
In the Great Hall, crowded with students, Lockhart began the club with his usual dramatic, narcissism-filled flair. To my surprise, he announced that he had enlisted Professor Snape as his assistant. I had no idea about Professor Snape's dueling prowess, but I couldn't imagine him meekly accepting the role of an assistant to be ordered around. I started to get another bad feeling.
As usual, it was as if Lockhart had had every nerve for reading the room removed from his spine. The sight of him continuing his explanation while provoking Professor Snape, who was clearly burning with a desire for revenge in front of everyone, sent a chill down my spine. The two, exuding contrasting auras, performed a demonstration, and my bad premonition came true.
With a skill that seemed impossible for a mere Potions master, Professor Snape disarmed Lockhart. Though he managed to avoid being sent flying, he was knocked off balance by the force that sent his wand flying and stumbled off the stage. How pitiful, I thought, but my sympathy was drowned out by the roar of the crowd, delighted to see the insufferable teacher get his due.
Afterward, a wobbly Lockhart instructed the students to practice the "Expelliarmus" spell that Snape had used and began pairing everyone up. And then, for some reason, I was granted the good fortune of being paired with Harry by Professor Snape himself.
Of course, we could only talk about things that were safe to say in public, but we managed to speak a little while casting spells at each other. Harry thanked me, saying he hadn't had a chance to since the Bludger incident. His consideration was a balm to my weary and jaded heart.
Even though it was his first time using the Disarming Charm, after a few tries, he was already better at knocking my wand out of my hand than I was.
Just as I turned a candy from my pocket into a frog and had Harry practice disarming it, Professor Snape signaled for us to stop. It seemed the pairs of upperclassmen from Gryffindor and Slytherin had gotten quite rough. Some even looked like they were wrestling. Barbarians.
After that, it was decided they would show another example, and Lockhart pulled our pair up onto the stage. Apparently, he wanted to show everyone how he could instruct Harry. He was a thoroughly despicable man.
For some reason, Professor Snape instructed me to conjure a snake with "Serpensortia." Did he realize that doing so in my current situation would make me look perfectly like the Heir of Slytherin? It seemed Professor Snape was determined to get one over on Harry, no matter what, by having me use an advanced spell.
I figured that if Harry could handle the candy frog like he just did, he could deal with a snake just fine. With that simple thought, I conjured the snake.
And that was a completely wrong choice.
Before Harry could do anything, Lockhart leaped into the center for some reason and sent my snake flying. The snake, thrown from the stage, landed on the ground and took a defensive stance. The target of its threat became the closest person, Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff.
I hurriedly raised my wand to vanish the snake, but before I could, it stopped moving.
—It was Harry who had stopped the snake. As Harry let out a series of hissing sounds, the snake coiled up as if obeying him and looked up at Harry.
The Great Hall fell completely silent.
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