Chapter 73: Christmas Eve

That night, Harry couldn’t sleep. He lay in bed, staring blankly out the gap in his curtains as snow began falling from the tower windows, drifting through the air.

Though Ron and Neville said nothing, Harry couldn’t help wondering if he might have Slytherin blood.

In that era eight hundred years ago, when pure blood was everything, hadn’t Cadmus’s daughter or son married a relative of Ignotus’s daughter or son? Cousin marriages were common in the Middle Ages—was his lineage inherited from then?

In the quiet night, Harry tried speaking Parseltongue. But not a single word came out. It seemed he could only do it when facing a snake directly, as if it were an instinct.

“But I’m in Gryffindor,” Harry thought. “The Sorting Hat is reliable—if I really had Slytherin blood…”

“Ah!” a nasty little voice in his head said, “but the Sorting Hat strongly urged you toward Slytherin—don’t you remember?”

“Damn it, forget it,” Harry rolled over. “Even if I do have that blood, I didn’t open the Chamber.”

After tossing and turning, Harry finally fell asleep—but poorly. Several times he woke, convinced a snake lurked beneath his bed, yet he didn’t dare get up to check, forcing himself back to sleep.

Friday’s first class was Charms. Harry felt half-asleep and drifted through it mechanically. When he came to, he found himself standing at the door to Potions class.

“Hey, Harry,” Malfoy greeted him. “I wanted to let you know—the meeting this week is canceled because of Christmas. Nobody wants to talk about heavy topics before the holidays.”

“I see,” Harry thought. Christmas was coming—this was one of the few good pieces of news.

During the afternoon Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Donald also used the approaching Christmas as an excuse. After the usual laps, he skipped new lessons and allowed them to roam freely on the field.

“It’s strange—I feel like everyone’s looking at me differently,” Harry noticed while jogging. His classmates avoided eye contact with him, as if afraid.

“Could it be the Dueling Club incident got out?” Ron said. “It’s definitely Malfoy’s doing—he’d love to ruin your reputation.”

“But that benefits him nothing,” Harry said. “Just like opening the Chamber benefits me nothing.”

“Too bad not everyone thinks that way,” Ron sighed.

When they sat down at the edge of the field, a group of Hufflepuffs huddled in the corner. Harry could see their heads close together, as if engrossed in some compelling conversation.

Out of pure curiosity, Harry strained his ears, listening intently.

“Anyway,” said a fat boy, “I told Justin to hide in our dorm. I mean, if Potter makes him his next target, he’d better lie low for a while. Potter knows he’s Muggle-born—last year, when Justin said he was going to Eton, Potter was right there listening.”

“You’ve already decided it’s Potter, Ernie?” asked a blonde girl with a ponytail, eager. Harry was startled to recognize Hannah.

“Ah, yes,” the fat boy said seriously. “He’s a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that’s the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard a normal person talk to snakes? Only Slytherin descendants can do that.”

This sparked murmurs. Ernie continued, “Remember the writing on the wall? ‘Beware the heir of Slytherin.’ Potter had a grudge with Filch. Then Filch’s cat was attacked. Then Creevey annoyed Potter during the Quidditch match by photographing him lying in the mud—and then he got attacked.”

“But I never thought he was evil,” Hannah said uncertainly. “At least he defeated You-Know-Who. In other words, he’s not entirely bad, right?”

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously. All the Hufflepuffs leaned in. Harry crept closer to hear.

“No one knows how he survived You-Know-Who’s attack. I mean, he was just a baby—he should’ve been torn to pieces. Only a true Dark wizard could survive such a curse.” He whispered almost inaudibly, “That’s probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him—he didn’t want a rival Dark wizard. I wonder what else Potter’s hiding.”

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He cleared his throat loudly. The front-row students turned around—and froze the moment they saw him. Ernie’s face turned ashen.

“Tell them, Harry,” Hannah urged. “Tell them it’s not true.”

“Hey, tell Justin,” Harry said. “I was supposed to go to Eton too. I’m Muggle-born myself—why would I attack other Muggle-borns?”

“We understand. Thank you,” Ernie said, suddenly relieved. “Sorry for talking behind your back. Hope you don’t hold it against us.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said generously. “Everyone’s panicking over the Chamber. I can understand that.”

“By the way, I want to tell you something,” Ernie looked nervous. “My family has been pure-blood for nine generations. Macmillan is one of the Twenty-Eight Pure-Blood Families.”

“I see, Mr. Macmillan,” Harry said, biting back his anger.

“Harry, are you going home for Christmas?” Ron quickly changed the subject.

“If I’m going to Avalon—oh, right,” Harry remembered. “I need to tell Ivy. The list for staying over is due soon.”

“I’ll tell Percy and the others too,” Ron nodded, trying hard to chat about Avalon to distract Harry from the bad mood the Parseltongue incident had caused.

After dinner, back in the common room, Harry saw Ivy whispering with Ginny. He went over and stopped her.

“Ivy, are you going back to Tang Dun this Christmas?” Harry said. “I might not be going.”

“Then I won’t either,” Ivy said happily. “That way we won’t miss the Round Table meeting.”

“Alright, but what about Sir Crowley… wait, what Round Table meeting?” Harry suddenly realized something was wrong.

“It’s a meeting we diary holders have every two weeks to discuss who might be opening the Chamber,” Ivy said, as open and honest with Harry as if he were the diary itself.

“So you’re meeting this week too? Christmas is coming soon,” Harry asked casually.

“Yes, but we moved it to tomorrow night,” Ivy made a face. “You had a chance to join too, but you kept refusing the diary.”

Ivy didn’t know she’d been eavesdropping the previous times—but now Malfoy clearly didn’t want him listening. Was he watching him? Harry felt suddenly upset, but there was nothing he could do. Malfoy had lied to save face; if Ivy hadn’t slipped up, Harry wouldn’t have had this reason to be upset.

He couldn’t confront Malfoy directly—it would make things hard for Ivy.

“Never mind. Back to Sir Crowley—did he write to you?” Harry changed the subject.

“Oh, he said he’s busy on a business trip to Estonia and didn’t write you a separate letter,” Ivy said. “So if you’re going home for Christmas, only the two of us will be left.”

“Where’s Estonia?” Ginny asked curiously, her eyes fixed on Harry.

“Dunno. Some small European country,” Harry didn’t care. “Keep gossiping about girls’ secrets. I’ve got homework to finish.”

Back in the dorm, Harry noticed Ron wasn’t there. He remembered seeing him talking with Fred and George in the common room earlier.

As Harry packed his books, Neville approached.

“The Polyjuice Potion is ready,” he said. “I need a partner to impersonate Crabbe and Goyle and investigate Malfoy. Hermione will disguise herself as Millicent to search the common room for other clues.”

“Good idea,” Harry agreed, then asked hesitantly, “But why not ask Ron?”

“Ron’s my friend. I don’t want him risking himself for this—we’d be breaking at least thirty school rules,” Neville said.

Seeing Harry’s confusion, Neville explained: “But you’re different. We’re fighting Voldemort together. We can’t retreat from the truth just because of a little risk.”

“Do you feel the same about Hermione and Hannah, Neville?” Harry said. “You like Hannah, so you don’t want her to take risks?”

“Yes,” Neville admitted. “And Hermione’s Muggle-born. Even if she didn’t go after Voldemort, Voldemort would come after her.”

“What are you thinking, Neville?” Harry snapped. “You believe the two of us, plus a few Muggle-borns, can defeat You-Know-Who? Do you think this is an epic poem or a children’s book?”

“But you know pure-blood families can’t be trusted,” Neville said coldly. “During the first war, they either sided with Voldemort or played both sides—you won’t find a single true ally.”

Harry frowned. He remembered correctly—Longbottom was also a pure-blood family.

“We must fight alone. We have no other choice,” Neville said firmly, clapping Harry’s shoulder.

“If you’re determined to think that way,” Harry sighed, “we’ll go tomorrow night. Malfoy’s holding a gathering then—maybe we’ll find more clues.”

“And,” Harry added, “on the bright side, at least the Communist International will help us—Chinese or Soviets.”

Neville narrowed his eyes, studying him. As Harry turned to leave, Neville murmured, “But they won’t give their all. Only the British will sacrifice for Britain.”

“No,” Harry replied. “People with ideals will sacrifice for the world.”