A Darker Form of Magic, book two: Parseltongue

Chapter twelve

Looking back on that day, Harry will never be sure what exactly hit off the chain reaction of what had occurred following the attack on Hermione. What caused his world to shift so profoundly as it had, but he does know that it started around a week before the first of June, when McGonagall had made an announcement at breakfast, three days before their first exam.

"I have good news," the temporary headmistress said, speaking too slowly to stop the slew of conspiracy theories that started flooding the hall.

"Dumbledore is coming back!" Some of the students yelled with hope that none of the Slytherins quite understood.

"You've caught the Heir of Slytherin!" A Ravenclaw squealed as Harry was surprised to see that none of the eyes within the Great Hall flitted over to him at that.

"Quidditch matches are back on!"

Harry enjoyed watching Flint look at the other Quidditch captain in defeat at that. It was always an entertaining sight to watch how the older boy reacted to the Gryffindor.

"We're getting a competent defense Professor next year!" Harry yelled out just to watch Lockhart scowl at the implication, and shrugged as his friends looked at him in a similar manner as Flint had just looked at Wood. "What?" Harry asked with a shrug, but smiled cheekily - and almost truly - as Blaise pulled him back down to the bench.

The Transfiguration Professor scowled at the boy, but Harry didn't care as Snape was looking at him in a way that could almost be called amused and Blaise was still holding onto his shoulder, the weight grounding in a way that Harry hadn't thought that touch could still be.

The mood shifted as McGonagall revealed that the mandrakes were ready and that the petrified students would be revived by the end of tonight, and possibly reveal the culprit to them if they had seen them. It wasn't that the mood was any less excited than before - it was more so - but the air of suspicion that had faded from constantly hovering through the castle since the attack on Hermione rose once more, though none of it was directed at Harry this time. The scarred boy figured that it would always be there when the attacks were mentioned.

Though everyone was obviously relieved to have this whole ordeal coming to a close, Harry felt a wave of apprehension rise up within him. He'd seen both sides of the criminal coin over the past year, the side of the innocent where he currently resided and the side of the pupertator that he liked to dance on during the summer holidays. Harry knew how frantic people became when they felt that they were close to being found out, the lengths that they went to.

He wondered what lengths the Heir would go to now that everyone knew that there was a time limit on them.

Now that they knew.

—-

Blaise didn't say anything as he watched Harry tap his fingers against the bench all the way through History of Magic, though he knew that the girls found it to be annoying to put it politely. There was something in his nervous energy that was more than his usual swings between restlessness and complete lack of energy.

It was as if he was waiting for something to happen.

(He was)

Class came slowly to an end, but Harry wasn't listening to a word that the ghost was saying, instead he was letting his mind wander to what he would do if he were the Heir in this situation. How exactly this cornered animal would react.

He knew that whoever the Heir is, that they were being influenced - if not controlled by - the diary that he and Blaise had found and given to the potions master, only for it to be stolen not too long after. This meant that the diary's hold was strong on the victim - if they truly were one - and made them reckless, willing to do whatever it takes to succeed.