"Do you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping...?" he started to say, before realising. "Oh. Slytherin was a parselmouth, wasn't he?"
"Yes," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice. "That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent." Harry sighed.
"Exactly," said Daphne. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something..."
"I probably am," said Harry.
"You'll find it hard to prove you're not the heir now," said Hermione. "He lived about a thousand years ago. For all we know, you could be."
Harry lay awake for hours that night. Through a gap in the curtains around his four-poster he watched snow starting to drift past the tower window and wondered Could he be the true descendant of Salazaar Slytherin? He didn't know much about his father's family, after all.
Quietly, Harry tried to say something in Parseltongue. The words wouldn't come. It seemed he had to be face-to-face with a snake to do it.
The next few days before leaving for Christmas break were going to be difficult.
The next day, between classes, Harry was fretting about what had nearly happened to Finch-Fletchley; so told the group he was going to go and track the boy down to try and explain what had happened in the duelling class. Daphne kissed him on the cheek and wished him well, but didn't think it would make a difference.
Harry tromped down the stairs almost to the ground floor and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark. The torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft blowing through a loose windowpane. He was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor. He turned to squint at what he'd tripped over, and felt as though his stomach had dissolved.
Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor - rigid and cold - a look of shock frozen on his face. His eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sight Harry had ever seen.
It was the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Finch-Fletchley's.
Harry got to his feet, his breathing fast and shallow, his heart doing a kind of drumroll against his ribs. He looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side. He could run, and no one would ever know he had been there. But he couldn't just leave them lying here. He had to get help. But, would anyone believe he hadn't had anything to do with this?
As he stood there, a door right next to him opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.
"Why, it's potty wee Potter!" cackled Peeves, knocking Harry in the head as he bounced past him. "What's Potter up to? Why's Potter lurking..."
Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry could stop him, screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!" Crash - crash - crash! Door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Finch-Fletchley was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Harry found himself pinned against the wall as the professors shouted for quiet.
Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat that Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the scene.
"Caught in the act!" Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry. "That will do, MacMillan!" said Professor McGonagall sharply.
Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene. Peeves always loved chaos. As McGonagall bent over Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song. "Oh, Potter, you rotter; oh, what have you done? You're killing off' students, you think it's good fun..."
"That's enough, Peeves!" barked the Professor. And Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry.
Finch-Fletchley was carried up to the infirmary by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. But, nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Harry and Professor McGonagall alone together.
"This way, Potter," she said.
"Professor," said Harry at once, "I swear I didn't..."
"This is out of my hands, Potter," said the Professor, curtly.
They marched in silence around a corner and Harry found himself in the corridor leading to the entrance to the Headmaster's office.
"Lemon drop!" McGonagall said to the gargoyle. They stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Harry to wait and left him there, alone.
He also wasn't alone. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was Fawkes looking like a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey.
Harry stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making a gagging noise. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.
Harry was just thinking it looked as if it was approaching a burning day, when the phoenix burst into flames.
Harry nearly yelped in shock and backed away. The phoenix, meanwhile, had become a fireball. It gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smouldering pile of ash on the floor.
The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very sombre.
"Albus," said Harry, gesturing towards Fawkes's perch. "Your phoenix…"
Dumbledore smiled. "About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days. I've been telling him to get a move on."
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