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Laocoon's Children: Secret Tongues
Chapter 17
By copperbadge
AU. When Sirius and Remus go looking for Peter Pettigrew, they make a wrong turn and someone else finds him first. Eight years later, Sirius owns a book store and Remus manages it for him. When Harry stumbles into the store and they find out the truth, they decide it's time to be Stealing Harry. (SB/RL slash relationship in later chapters.)
Draco was late to dinner, having had to dash back to the dormitory to make sure Dobby was reasonably well-hidden; he found the house-elf more-or-less cheerfully redecorating the inside of his
trunk, piling all the clothing (shirts carefully on top) on one side so as to make a cozy little hut, lined with handkerchiefs and worn socks, in which to sleep. He had even dug up a photograph of
Draco from somewhere and hung it on the inside of the trunk in a place of honour. In addition, he had refilled every inkpot in the entire dormitory.
"I don't see how you're going to pull it off, you'll have to keep him a secret," Neville said, as they sat in the library, homework abandoned in front of them.
"Well, I think it's going to be great fun having a valet. He can..." Draco reached deep into the recesses of his memory to dig out a book he'd once read with a valet in it. "...he can brush down my
clothing and help me dress, and shave me."
"You don't shave," Harry pointed out.
"Yet!"
"Catch me letting a house-elf near me with a razor," Neville said. "Is it time yet?"
Harry checked the big clock at the front of the library. "Nearly. We can go down, anyway."
"Down to where?" Padma asked, not looking up from the book she was taking notes in.
"The Dueling Club!" Neville said. "Didn't Harry tell you?"
"I thought Draco would, he has class with her," Harry said. "I signed you up, so that's all right."
"Signed me up?" Padma said irritably.
"Dora and Professor Snape are going to teach us about dueling," Neville said. "We're all going, come on."
"Fine." Padma closed her book and stuffed it into her bag. Draco mouthed "Girl Problems" at Harry.
They reached the Great Hall just ahead of a large crowd of Gryffindors. Inside, the tables had been transfigured into a long, elevated stage with soft padding on the floor on either side of it. Snape
was pacing back and forth on the stage; Dora sat on the edge, talking quietly with a few seventh-years.
"All right, everyone quiet down," she said finally, pulling her feet up onto the stage and standing in a single, swift motion which would have been graceful if her toes hadn't gotten tangled in her
robe. She staggered a little before Snape grabbed her elbow to pull her back into balance. A few students laughed. "Yeah, laugh it up now," she warned with a grin. "You'll feel differently when
you're up here at the business end of my wand!"
"She's a good teacher," Draco said.
"She's the best teacher," Neville replied proudly.
"Welcome to the Dueling Club!" Tonks was saying, her voice echoing a little off the enchanted ceiling, which at the moment was illuminating the Great Hall with a combination of floating candles and a
meteor shower. "I am Professor Tonks, for those of you who are failing my class, and this is my assistant, Professor Snape," she added with a grin.
Snape looked furious at being called anyone's assistant, but far too dignified to retort.
"Before we begin instruction, we're going to give you a little demonstration. Those of you who are unfamiliar with wizards' duels should probably pay special attention. Miss Brott, will you give us
the count?"
Anastasia Brott, a sixth-year Gryffindor, nodded with proud solemnity. Harry was very close to the slightly rounded center of the stage where Snape and Tonks now met; otherwise he never would have
heard what they said.
"Don't play nice just because I'm a girl," Dora said under her breath.
"Do I ever?" Snape answered, equally quietly.
They turned their backs on each other and paced the length of the stage, turning when they reached the painted full moons at either end. There was a perfunctory bow, more graceful on Snape's part,
and then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.
"One -- two -- three -- " Anastasia counted.
They moved almost in unison, swinging their wands over their heads and pointing them directly at each other; Snape cried "Expelliarmus!" at the same time Dora shouted "Referio
Erubescaete!" and there was an explosion of light about five feet in front of her. Harry felt Padma pull him back just as a ball of pink light flicked past, striking Snape in the chest and
knocking him flat.
When he sat up, the room burst into uproar. Cricket Creevey's flashbulb popped.
Snape's short-cropped black hair, as much a halmark to his current students as the three long scars on the side of his face, was now bright pink.
Dora was moving towards him cautiously, looking like she was trying very hard not to smile. Snape aimed his wand at his own head and muttered a charm that seemed to wash the pink out of his hair. She
offered him a hand to help him up, and Harry could see her lips form the words "Told you not to play nice."
He ignored the hand and swung to his feet with startling grace; she didn't back down, and for a moment they stood toe-to-toe, faces only a few inches apart, though Snape's head was inclined slightly
to stare down his considerable nose at her.
"What have we learned, children," he said, loudly, without moving, "about the strategy of dueling?"
"Don't play nice," Neville called. Snape's head snapped down and he glared at the boy, but Dora was backing off and so he began to pace again, up and down the left half of the stage.
"Anticipate what is to come," he said clearly. "There was no time for Professor Tonks to hear what I was saying before she had to reply or be defeated. She therefore chose a rather dangerous but
effective anticipatory gamble. Betting that I would attempt an expelliarmus, she used a countercharm instead of a hex, one which is only effective against some forms of attack. Had I, for
example, hurled an incendite at her -- " he flicked his wand, apparently by accident, and sent a screaming jet of flames in her direction, which she quickly ducked, " -- her countercharm would
have been ineffective, and you would now be minus one Dark Arts professor."
"Instead, I deflected the hex he did throw and added a small spell that made use of the expended energy to...redecorate Professor Snape a little," Dora added with a smile. "So you see, even in
dueling, you must be willing not only to defend yourself against what is coming, but to anticipate it. Now, who'd like to try something a little more basic? Let's see -- Patil, why don't you give it
a go?"
Padma looked around, searching for her sister, until she realised Professor Tonks was pointing at her. Almost reluctantly, she clambered up on stage.
"Professor Snape, would you like to pick a champion?" Tonks asked politely. Snape smiled.
"Potter," he drawled. Harry, who had seen this coming, used Neville's shoulder to hoist himself up next to Padma.
"Don't go easy on me just because I'm a boy," he said with a grin. Padma smiled back, miraculously.
"Face and pace," Tonks ordered, slipping off the stage. Snape jumped down lightly on the other side. Harry and Padma faced each other, turned around, and walked down the stage in opposite
directions.
"Turn and bow," Snape ordered. Harry turned, bowing stiffly, and saw Padma flick her braid back over her shoulder when she was done.
"One -- two -- three -- " Dora said, and Harry -- who had anticipated that Padma would probably try Dora's trick -- decided on a little dirty pool.
"Serpensoria!" he shouted, just as Padma let loose an entirely ineffective "Referio boletus!" which would have turned Harry's ears into mushrooms if it had worked. Instead, Harry was
unharmed, while a large black snake was crawling towards Padma. It was bigger than he'd intended. There were shrieks from the onlookers, many of whom were backing away hurriedly.
"It's only a snake," Harry heard Goyle say, from the audience. "Here, I can fix it -- "
"Goyle, don't you dare," Dora began, but it was too late; he'd pointed his wand at the snake and bellowed "Aterte!" just as Padma tried an expelliarmus on it. The combined force of her
hex and Goyle's garbled attempt to kill the thing sent it flying through the air even as poisonous fangs began to grow from its mouth.
It landed in front of Cricket, who couldn't resist taking a picture. The flash only seemed to make the snake angrier.
"Don't move, Creevey," Dora said. She was running forward even before Snape cleared the stage, but she tripped on the hem of her robe again and crashed down amidst a cluster of fifth-year
Ravenclaws.
The snake, undeterred, raised itself up -- as tall as Colin was -- and hissed. Harry knew the posture; it was going to strike if someone didn't do something.
Without thinking, he shouted.
Don't you dare!
The snake paused, confused.
Leave him alone! Shame on you! Bad Snake!
The hissing ceased, and the snake turned its head to regard Harry with two beady, stupid black eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape flick his wand at the enormous black snake, and it
dissolved gently into smoke.
Ow, it said, as it went.
Through the haze of black smoke, Harry saw Cricket staring up at him confusedly. Others were staring as well, including Padma, still standing at the far end of the stage.
"I think that's enough for today," Dora said, clapping her hands for attention. Harry swallowed, wondering if by some miracle nobody had noticed him. "We'll meet again next week -- off you go,
now..."
The crowds slowly dissipated, breaking up into small, muttering groups. Harry heard one boy say "Parselmouth" under his breath as they passed by.
No such luck, then.
He barely saw Snape's dismayed look as the professor helped him down from the stage. Instead what he saw were Neville and Draco standing together, eyes round as saucers, watching him.
"What did you do to that snake?" Draco asked in a hushed whisper.
"Saved Creevey's life, much thanks I get," Harry replied. Cricket had fled the room as soon as the snake had vanished.
"That's...not what it looked like," Neville answered hesitantly. "You sort of hissed at it..."
"What, you think I told it to attack him?" Harry demanded.
"We don't know what you said," Draco answered.
"How long have you been a Parselmouth?" Padma asked, from behind him. The other two winced.
"How long have you been a nosey-parker?" Harry said sharply. "All my life, not that it's your business or anyone's."
"Hardly difficult to make it our business when you start speaking in tongues in front of the whole ruddy school!" Neville blurted.
"I'm not the one who turned it poisonous, I'm not the one who threw it across the room so that it landed practically on top of Cricket," Harry protested.
"But you made it," Padma said. "And then you talked to it. Why didn't you tell us?"
"Because it doesn't matter! It's like...having double-joined thumbs or an extra toe or something, it's just always there and you don't think to go around handing out cards reading by the way, I
talk to snakes," Harry said angrily.
The Great Hall was echoingly silent, except for the sound of Harry's own breath.
"Wish I could," Neville said finally.
"Could what?"
"Talk to snakes, idiot," Neville replied. "Are they very interesting?"
Draco looked at Neville incredulously. "They're snakes! They bite things!"
"So do you."
"Not living things!"
"Snake eats bacon, I've seen him do it," Neville said calmly.
Harry had almost forgotten about Padma, as silent as she was, until she cleared her throat.
"It would have been nice to know," she said, scoldingly. "But there's nothing to be done about it now. Everyone's going to be talking about it so you might as well get used to being asked awkward
questions. I'm tired; I'm going to bed."
She walked out of the Great Hall, and Draco gave Harry a regretful look.
"I'll...make sure she's okay," he said, following quickly. "See you at breakfast!" he added over his shoulder, as if to reassure Harry that there were no hard feelings.
"I always wondered how you got your snake to do tricks," Neville said. Harry sat on the edge of the stage, brooding. "Dora knew, didn't she? She didn't seem surprised at all."
"Probably. All the grownups know -- Remus and Sirius and Andromeda and Ted, I mean, and Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore. It's not like it was any big secret, it was just...something that
was mine." Harry sighed. "Besides, a lot of Dark wizards have been Parselmouths. I'm already in Slytherin, it's not as though that's a glowing recommendation of moral character."
"I don't mind," Neville said. "And Draco doesn't. Padma'll come round if she does. Girl Problems," he added, so gravely that Harry laughed.
"Sure. Like me. I've got snake problems," he answered, grinning. "Want to go raid the kitchen?"
"That was a bloody big snake," Neville said, following him out the door and down the stairs. "Did you really tell it to stop?"
"They're all big softies if you talk sternly enough," Harry replied, tickling the pear in the still-life.
***
News got around the school quickly, as it always did; Harry found himself the target of unpleasant stares and even more unpleasant whispers in the halls the next day, and someone put a handful of
rubber snakes in his cauldron during Potions that Friday. He'd thought it was just stupid rumour and that it would pass, but an encounter on Saturday made him aware that there were deeper
undercurrents to the sudden hostility of some of the students.
The old rumours about the Chamber of Secrets had started up again, that much he knew, but surely nobody really believed them. It was all Dobby's doing. He hadn't given it a second thought.
Now, however...
He'd been looking for a book on magical creatures for Potions -- more specifically, what bits of which magical creatures were used in some of the size-changing potions they'd been making -- when he
heard giggles and whispers from the next row over. Curious, he'd leaned forward and peered through a gap in the shelf, wondering if it was some of the sixth years breaking the library's decency rules
again.
Instead it was a group of second and third years. Ravenclaws, mostly, with a few Hufflepuffs around the edges. The shortest of them, a Ravenclaw named Morag MacDougall, had a book open in her hands,
and the others were leaning over it.
"What makes you think it's a snake?" one of them asked. "Stop shoving," she added, over her shoulder.
"But I want to see!"
Morag hushed them. "Because it makes sense," she said. "If Salazar Slytherin put a monster in the Chamber of Secrets it's bound to be a snake of some kind, isn't it?"
"How do you know what Salazar Slytherin would do?"
"It stands to reason, that's all," Morag replied irritably.
"I think that's faulty logic," said a Ravenclaw boy. "You just want it to be a snake because Potter talks to snakes."
"It's not faulty logic if it the sequence works both ways," Morag said. "Slytherin liked snakes so he put one in the Chamber. Snakes like eggs; the thing that killed the chickens might have been a
snake. Potter talks to snakes; Potter set a snake on Cricket Creevey; clearly he has practice with snakes, of which the beast in the Chamber is one. Potter is the Heir of Slytherin."
"Or there is no Chamber of Secrets, no beast, no monstrous snake, a dog got at the chickens, and Potter played a tasteless joke," the boy retorted.
"Are you going to bet your life on it? The last time there were rumours about the Chamber being opened, a student died. He's already gone after the Slytherin Muggle-borns. You think he'll stop with
his own House? Even the ghosts are afraid of him. Look what happened to Completely Headless Nick."
"But he's always been friends with Nick," protested a Hufflepuff.
"So? I hear when a wizard goes bad he'd turn on his own family."
"Oh, that's rubbish, he's twelve years old, he hasn't gone bad."
Harry, who had been listening in a stunned sort of silence, quietly crept away as they began to bicker about what age was appropriate for a wizard to go bad, citing old rumours about teenage Death
Eaters and even managing to bring up the age statute on first communions in church. It was all academic to the Ravenclaws but as he sat at the study table, completely ignoring Padma, Draco, and
Neville, he watched the group emerge from the stacks, each student going their separate ways. He watched them join other groups, heads bent low in quiet discussion, and occasionally those groups
would break up and spread out again.
There was no doubt he was a Slytherin and a Parselmouth, but he would know if he were opening the Chamber, wouldn't he?
The voice in his head, the deep, primal hunting voice that begged to be freed to kill, had not been silent, though it had haunted him mostly in his dreams. Was that the snake Salazar Slytherin had
left behind him when he abandoned Hogwarts? Was it drawn out because Harry was a Parselmouth?
Sirius was the blood-descendant of Salazar Slytherin, and he wasn't Harry's blood relation at all, but...well, magic did funny things to family trees. Sirius was his father in all but name and Harry
was his Heir in name as well as wardhood. His parents hadn't been parseltongues as far as he knew, but then neither was Sirius.
He couldn't recall a time he hadn't been able to talk to snakes, but he wasn't sure if he'd ever tried before coming to live with Sirius. He'd never tried to recall his life with the Dursleys and the
memories had faded into merciful oblivion for the most part.
Harry knew enough about genetics to wonder if Sirius hadn't passed on some recessive gene, somehow, magically. People often said they looked enough alike to be father and son, though Harry knew that
his resemblance to James Potter, his father, was much stronger.
"Harry?"
Harry glanced up at Neville, who looked more worried than usual.
"What?"
"I said, do you want to go down to the kitchen and get cocoa?"
"Oh...yeah, okay," Harry said. He felt the eyes of other students on him as he gathered his books and followed the others out of the library.
"Hey Potter!" Fred Weasley called from the other end of the hallway, as they were going out and the Weasley twins were going in. "I hear you're the Heir of Slytherin! You need henchmen, you know who
to call!"
It was going to be a long few months until summer.
***
Only the oldest and most adventurous of the Hogwarts students knew that on the far side of the lake, east of the route the first-years took across it in the enchanted boats, was a series of hot
sulfur vents cut off from the main body of the lake by a narrow inlet. The Giant Squid often spend his nights there and flocks of late-migrating birds sometimes roosted there for the winter, building
nests in the branches overhanging the steaming springs. The only way to the hot springs by land was through the Forbidden Forest without a map; the easiest way was by water, either in a boat or by
swimming across the lake.
In a way, it was ideal; one dove into the cold water of the lake from an overhanging rock, and the cold shock became unpleasantly pervasive just as a fast swimmer would reach the warmer water.
Contrary to what his students might write on their desks when they thought he wasn't looking, Severus Snape bathed daily -- just not always in a bathtub. He found it invigorating to be up at dawn for
a sulfurous soak and return from the lake in time for a hot bowl of porridge for breakfast. He was hygenic about it, of course; his bathing costume would have put most Victorians to shame, but he
rather liked it. It was black, of course, and it reached his knees and elbows -- suitably modest, to his mind. He was aware that as it grew warmer dozens of students would go swimming in the lake
clad in little more than a pair of specially-designed boxers, but the young had no shame.
He was just beginning to really feel the icy chill of the freezing water in his fingers and toes as he reached the inlet, and he plunged gratefully into the warmer water without a break in his
stroke, dodging around the high chimneys of stone which jutted up from the sulfurous lake floor.
There was one broad, flat rock which was particularly good to stop at; it had a natural seat built into the side, and was long enough to stretch out on if he liked. He made for that, barely lifting
his head from the water, and was therefore much surprised to find himself grasping not the edge of the stone, but something soft and rather more yielding.
"Bloody Merlin!" someone yelped, and Snape drew back, shaking his head and wiping water out of his eyes. Someone clubbed him upside the head and he nearly went under; he did go under in order to duck
a second wild flail, and opened his eyes on quite a lot more of Nymphadora Tonks than either he or her mother would be at all happy with.
"Desist!" he gurgled, surfacing. "Stop clubbing me, you little fool!"
"Severus?" she gasped. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Writing a novel, what does it bloody look like I'm doing?" he demanded. "I think the question of what you are doing here in the quite altogether is a much more important one!"
"It's not even dawn yet and there's nobody around for miles! I came down for a soak!" she answered. "Why shouldn't I be in the altogether? And I'll thank you not to go staring at my
altogether!"
"I wouldn't have if you hadn't hit me in the head!" he snapped.
"You grabbed my thigh!"
"I was trying to grab the rock!"
"Well you missed, didn't you?"
"Are you insinuating that I go about in the early morning looking for naked bathers to grope?" he demanded.
She stared at him for a moment, open-mouthed, and then burst out laughing.
"Oh Merlin, the look on your face..." she gasped. She was treading water a little ways from the rock-seat now, still quite naked, and he concentrated on continuing not to look down. The water was
very warm, and it was also very clear. "You're blushing!"
"I most certainly am not! It's hot here."
"You're blushing because you have a puritan streak in you a mile wide. Your bathing suit has sleeves."
"All proper wizarding bathing suits have sleeves."
"Mine doesn't."
"Clearly," he drawled.
"If you're wearing that for your morning soak, you're missing half the fun," she said, and gave him a look that would put an imp to shame. He barely had time to register it, however, because she had
hoisted herself out of the water completely and was standing on top of the rock. He stared at the rock because there was nowhere else that was safe to look; he could see the pink of her bare heels
and about six inches of ankle, which was six inches more of Dora Tonks' ankle than he ever wished to see in these circumstances.
"I guess I'm not the only one the Headmaster told about the hot springs," she said, as bright purple fabric swirled around her ankles. "You can look now, my altogether is decently hidden."
"Not from this angle," he said, pulling himself up alongside her. She tightened the belt on the robe she was wearing and sniffed deprecatingly at him.
"There's no need to be insulting."
"You hit me in the head!"
"Haven't we had this part of the argument already?" she asked. "Don't sulk, I promise I won't come here again if you'll tell me when you're going to be here."
"Why? I think I've already had as much of an eyeful as it's possible to get," he sulked.
"I'm trying to be giving, here."
"Don't bother, no-one else does," he said bitterly, before he'd caught himself. She half-sat, half-slipped down next to him. "I don't mean that," he added reluctantly.
"Shouldn't see why not. You're not exactly the popular one, are you?"
"By no stretch of the imagination, but self-pity is a disgusting habit. Besides, it's untrue. Your parents -- "
" -- yes, my parents," she said with a grin. "Stray cat number five, I think you are."
He glanced at her, inquisitively.
"That's mum for you. There were two actual cats, and before that there was my father, who really is quite lost without her, and Neville of course, and you," she said. "Well, dad's debateable. She's
pretty lost when he goes off for the weekend, too. But the good news is she only takes in the strays she really likes."
"So I'm a beloved boot-faced cat. How nice."
"Yes," Dora said seriously. "You are."
He wasn't really sure how to reply to that, so he sulked some more.
"I really won't come back in the mornings if that's when you come here," she said. "I could just as easily come in the evenings, only there are more bugs out at night."
"If you weren't sitting indecently in my spot -- "
"Indecently!"
"If you managed to wear something -- something you wouldn't be ashamed to be seen wearing in the Great Hall," he added, when she opened her mouth, " -- I feel the springs are big enough that we could
enjoy them while barely even seeing each other."
"Well, in that case how will you know I'm not being indecent?"
"Cheek!"
He knew, somewhere in the back of his head, that if he hadn't reacted to her nudity she wouldn't have made such a point of it. Still, one really couldn't bathe naked in the lake, hidden in the hot
springs or otherwise, without some kind of comment needing to be made.
"I don't see what the fuss is. It's much more fun when you're not wearing yards of wet swimsuit," she said. "You can look away if you like, but all my clothes are on the shore at the other end of the
lake, so I'm going to have to swim out there and get them."
"What if a student saw you?" he demanded. "Do you think about these things at all?"
"There's a big high hedge near the spot I dress in, and they can't have reacted any more indecently than you did."
"I beg your pardon."
"Close your eyes or be offended," she warned, and he looked away long enough to hear her splash back into the water and swim for the inlet.
When he was sure she was quite out of view, he settled down into the underwater seat and leaned back, closing his eyes.
Certainly one could encounter worse things in the lake than a naked Nymphadora Tonks, of course. In fact there were very few things which were less unpleasant. But the fact remained that this was his
place, and she had invaded it with her purple robe and really quite stunning breasts and taunts about puritan streaks.
The thought slipped by him without his even taking notice; it wasn't until he was back in the Great Hall, eating his porridge down the table from a dry and decently clothed Dora Tonks, that the
surreality of the situation hit him fully.
He was unusually stern and unforgiving with his students for the rest of the day.