Chapter 332

Under intense pressure, Harry used Parseltongue, and he hoped everyone in the Hope Hut knew it.

The snake grew still in his hissing.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake dissolved into a wisp of black smoke.

Snape looked at him with an inexplicable gaze, as if confirming something.

He vaguely sensed everyone around him whispering ominously.

Just then, he felt someone tug at the hem of his robe.

Wizard Sean pulled him behind him, and the murmurs lessened considerably.

“Come on, Harry.”

Justin and Neville appeared, following Wizard Sean’s gaze, without anyone noticing.

Both seemed worried.

“Don’t you remember? I told you not to reveal it. Even in the magical world, speaking sounds no one else understands isn’t a good thing.”

Ron was growing impatient.

“What did I say?”

Harry saw Wizard Sean watching him leave, and saw his friends’ uneasy expressions.

“You spoke Parseltongue again!”

Only when they reached the empty Hope Hut did Ron speak.

“But I’m not the Heir of Slytherin—what does it matter!”

Harry said.

“Harry, others won’t think that way.”

Hermione sighed.

“Now, the whole school will think you’re his great-great-great-grandson or something…”

Ron said.

Harry froze in stunned silence.

“I know Parseltongue—but the Heir of Slytherin?”

Justin frowned; he and Neville had not been involved in the Chamber mission.

“Wizard Sean must’ve said nothing again—I knew it.”

Hermione was exasperated; she even suspected that if Wizard Sean ever faced Voldemort alone, no one would ever learn a thing.

And the Basilisk? They’d merely stumbled upon it by accident.

“I should’ve explained earlier: on Halloween, Harry heard a strange voice…”

Hermione recounted it slowly, remembering that shattering night.

Behind the daytime bustle of Hogwarts, someone had carried a sword into the night and confronted the Basilisk.

Even now, her spine chilled—Voldemort had always wanted the Basilisk to attack them, but he clearly overlooked a wizard whose combat power was terrifyingly immense.

Ten minutes later.

The pale faces were no longer just Harry’s; Justin and Neville sat with him, all three hunched low, lost in thought.

…

Dueling Club had ended; a rumor stirred again in the Great Hall.

—The Chamber, and the Heir of Slytherin.

As Wizard Sean passed through the corridor, he still heard Hufflepuffs talking.

Their heads leaned close, discussing a topic intriguing enough to draw them together.

“So, Ernie, you’re sure it’s Potter?”

A girl with a golden ponytail asked eagerly.

“Hannah,”

the large boy said seriously,

“he speaks Parseltongue. Everyone knows that’s a Dark wizard’s mark. Have you ever heard of a good wizard who talks to snakes? They even called Slytherin himself the Snake-Talker.”

“But Harry always seems so friendly.”

Hannah hesitated,

“And besides—he’s the one who made Voldemort disappear. He can’t be that evil, can he?”

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously; the Hufflepuffs leaned in closer.

“No one knows how he survived Voldemort’s attack back then. I mean, he was just a baby when it happened. He should’ve been blown to pieces. Only a Dark wizard with truly boundless power could survive such a curse.”

His voice dropped even lower, nearly a whisper:

“That’s probably why Voldemort wanted him dead—he didn’t want another ‘Dark Lord’ rising to challenge him. I don’t know what other powers Potter’s hiding from us.”

It made sense.

On spreading rumors, Wizard Sean believed wizards had a certain innate talent.

But once the truth came out, the rumors would die down—nothing to worry about.

Harry’s Parseltongue reminded him of the Basilisk, so he headed toward the Headmaster’s office.

At the same moment he left, a forlorn figure passed by—Harry wandered dazedly, unaware how he’d returned to the Gryffindor common room.

Shortly after, the Headmaster’s office.

Wizard Sean finally saw Headmaster Dumbledore seated at his desk.

“Perhaps we need a new teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Goodness, how quickly they burn out, don’t they?”

Headmaster Dumbledore smiled and winked.

“Professor Lockhart…”

Wizard Sean hadn’t expected it to be this serious.

“Oh, not that. The next one. Frauds always get exposed; falsehoods can’t withstand scrutiny.”

Headmaster Dumbledore smiled calmly.

His gaze seemed to pierce through the room, resting on a young witch flipping through Lockhart’s books.

“Sincerity, Mr. Green, is always the thing people lose easiest. I’m glad you’ve grasped that.”

Dumbledore spoke with implication.

Wizard Sean stared into his eyes; Dumbledore’s smile faltered slightly.

“Headmaster Dumbledore, you’ve been…”

Before Wizard Sean could finish, the Headmaster changed the subject:

“Before we discuss anything, we must wait…”

His fingers twitched; Wizard Sean realized he and the Headmaster had become invisible.

He looked up—a figure peered curiously at the door.

Seeing the room empty, he slipped around the desk, picked up the hat on the shelf, and slowly placed it on his head.

Wizard Sean turned back; Headmaster Dumbledore watched kindly, one finger pressed to his lips.

The hat, too large, slipped down and covered Harry’s eyes.

“Oh, yes, it’s me.”

Harry mumbled softly,

“Oh—sorry to disturb you—I just wanted to ask—”

Wizard Sean knew he was speaking to the Sorting Hat. The next moment, Harry grabbed the hat’s top and yanked it off in anger.

The hat hung limp in his hand, dirty and faded.

Harry placed it back on the shelf and said loudly:

“You’re wrong! I don’t belong in Slytherin! I could never belong there!”

The hat didn’t move. Harry stared at it, stepped back, and left, troubled.

His murmurs echoed in the silent office:

“Parseltongue… cunning… determined… and some defiance of rules—nonsense!”

Only after Harry left did Headmaster Dumbledore call Wizard Sean forward, smiling warmly:

“Do you have your answer now?”

“Regardless, it never chose him. So though the soul in darkness may be guilty, the true sinner is the one who created the darkness.”

Wizard Sean said.

On a winter night, snow fell again over Hogwarts.

Restoration Day (︶`)