The Tenth Weasley - CH - 59

The castle was no longer safe.

Harry had always been cautious, always aware of his surroundings, but now, he had to be paranoid. Spells came at him from hidden corners, from students lurking behind statues, from dark alcoves when he least expected it. These weren’t harmless jinxes or childish pranks. No, these were dangerous.

One had nearly sliced his shoulder open. Another had sent a bolt of raw magic that cracked the stone floor inches from where he stood. The worst part? His complaints to the professors went unanswered.

Snape dismissed him with a sneer, “A Slytherin should know how to handle themselves, Weasley.”

McGonagall had pursed her lips. “There’s no proof of any real danger.”

Flitwick had seemed genuinely concerned but powerless.

And Dumbledore?

Dumbledore had simply watched him with those piercing blue eyes and said, “I trust that you will find your own answers, Harry.”

Which was a fancy way of saying, You’re on your own.

That was when Harry decided—if no one else would stop the Heir of Slytherin, he would.

Harry sat in his private room, staring at a map of Hogwarts that he had been sketching for weeks. Every corridor, every hidden passage, every tunnel he had found since coming to Hogwarts was marked down. Beside it, a separate parchment detailed everything he had learned about the Chamber of Secrets so far.

The Chamber had been opened 50 years ago.
A student had died.
The monster inside was deadly.
It was opened by the "Heir of Slytherin".
The last point was the most important.

If the Heir was here, then they had to be someone from Slytherin or someone with access to its secrets. The attacks weren’t random either. The Heir was targeting students, but more importantly, they were creating fear.

Harry needed to get ahead of them.

“I’m coming with you.”

Daphne’s voice was firm as she crossed her arms. Beside her, Blaise leaned against the wall with an unreadable expression.

“No,” Harry said immediately.

Daphne scowled. “I wasn’t asking.”

Harry sighed. “Daph—”

“No,” she cut him off, stepping closer. “I know you. You’re already planning something stupid. You think you can take on the Heir alone? And what happens when they’re stronger than you? When they actually catch you off guard?”

Harry clenched his jaw.

He had trained. He was strong. But she wasn’t wrong.

Blaise finally spoke. “You’re a paranoid bastard, Harry, but even you can’t have eyes everywhere.” He smirked. “You need a team.”

Harry exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. He wasn’t used to relying on people. He had spent years in Hogwarts forging his own path, protecting himself. But Daphne and Blaise had never let him down.

And now, they weren’t going to let him do this alone.

“Fine,” Harry muttered. “But we do this my way.”

Daphne smirked. “Of course. Oh Great and Powerful Leader.”

Blaise chuckled. “Where do we start?”

Harry leaned forward, tapping his map.

“We need to set a trap.”

The plan was simple.

If the Heir of Slytherin wanted to attack, they needed to know when and where the next victim would be. Which meant Harry needed to be the bait.

So, he started walking alone.

At night, in the restricted hallways, past the places where students had been attacked before. He made sure people saw him—saw him wandering too close to the crime scenes, saw him sneaking around the castle.

Rumors spread quickly, and soon, the whispers grew worse.

"He's searching for the Chamber."
"He’s not a Weasley, you know. No one knows who he really is."
"What if he’s controlling the monster?"

Harry wanted them to think that.

Because whoever the Heir was, they would have to make a move.

It happened on the third night.

Harry had been walking through the deserted second-floor corridor, passing the entrance to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, when he heard it.

A whisper.

Low. Hissing.

The hair on his arms stood on end.

It’s speaking Parseltongue.

Harry froze, turning toward the sound. The torches flickered, the shadows danced—and then something lunged at him.

A red curse sliced through the air. Harry twisted, dodging by instinct. Another spell came from the other side.

Ambush.

His wand was in his hand instantly.

“Protego!”

The shield flared up just in time to block another hex. The force sent him skidding backward. Harry’s mind worked fast—there were at least three attackers, hidden in the darkness, using the shadows to mask their spells.

Cowards.

Harry smirked. They don’t know who they’re messing with.

He flicked his wand.

“Noctis!”

Darkness swallowed the corridor.

A curse. A dangerous one. He felt it skim past his shoulder.

Enough playing around.

Harry flicked his wrist.

“Confringo!”

The explosion of raw magic illuminated the hall for a split second. Harry saw the figures clearly—robes, masks, cowards.

As the smoke cleared, the figures ran.

Harry had faced challenges before—fighting against older students, surviving Hogwarts politics, evading Dumbledore’s watchful gaze. But this? This was different.

He was hunted.

The attacks had become frequent, more coordinated. He had caught glimpses of his attackers—mostly older students, mostly Gryffindors, the so-called ‘heroes’ who believed they were doing the right thing. They thought they were protecting Hogwarts from him, Harry Weasley, the villain of the story.

The fact that they were wrong didn’t seem to matter.

The worst part? The professors didn’t care.

No matter how many times Harry dodged curses in the hallways or caught someone trying to trip him down the moving staircases, the teachers brushed it off. He wasn’t a Gryffindor. He wasn’t Charlie Potter.

So, when Blaise slid into their usual spot in the Slytherin common room with a grave expression, Harry knew something worse was coming.

“They’re planning something,” Blaise murmured, glancing around before lowering his voice. “The upperclassmen. Montague and his lot.”

Harry exhaled sharply. “What now?”

“They want to test if you’re the Heir of Slytherin,” Blaise said flatly.

Harry tensed. “And how do they plan on doing that?”

“They’re bringing in a snake.”

Silence.

Daphne’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

Blaise nodded grimly. “They don’t know for sure. They think it’s just a wild rumor, but they’re curious enough to test it. And if you talk to the snake—”

Harry’s hands clenched.

If they hear me speaking Parseltongue, it’s over.

Right now, it was just suspicion. A whisper in the dark. But if the truth got out—if the whole school learned he could speak to snakes—it wouldn’t matter that he wasn’t the Heir of Slytherin.

Everyone would believe it.

And in the wizarding world, belief was more powerful than truth.

Harry had seen how quickly Hogwarts turned against him after a single rumor spread. What would happen if they knew?

Would he be expelled? Imprisoned?

Would they try to punish him for a crime committed fifty years ago?

Harry rubbed his temple. I have to shut this down before it even starts.

Daphne leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Harry, you can’t let them do this. If they find out—”

“I know.” Harry inhaled deeply, calming his nerves. “I can’t let them hear me. No matter what.”

The plan was already in motion by the time Harry arrived at the Slytherin common room that evening.

Montague and a few other older students had gathered near the fireplace, whispering among themselves. Harry caught a glimpse of a small wooden box sitting on the table between them.

The snake.

Harry approached slowly, keeping his expression neutral.

“Ah, Weasley,” Montague drawled, turning toward him. “We were just talking about you.”

Harry crossed his arms. “Should I be flattered?”

Montague smirked. “You’ve been the talk of Hogwarts lately. Rumors, secrets… People are saying all sorts of things.”

Harry shrugged. “People say a lot of things.”

Montague leaned forward. “Like the fact that you might be the Heir of Slytherin.”

Harry didn’t react.

Montague smiled. “Of course, we’re all reasonable people. We don’t believe in rumors, do we, boys?”

The other Slytherins murmured in agreement.

“But we do like proof,” Montague continued smoothly. He gestured to the box. “Which is why we brought a little test.”

Harry glanced at the box.

“I’m not in the mood for games,” he said coolly.

“Oh, but it’s not a game,” Montague said, smirk widening. “It’s just a simple test. If you’re not the Heir, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Harry’s mind raced.

This was it.

If he refused, it would confirm their suspicions. If he slipped—even for a second—and spoke in Parseltongue, the entire house would know.

The walls were closing in.

“Fine,” Harry said, forcing himself to sound bored. “Let’s get this over with.”

Montague grinned and opened the box.

A small, sleek snake slithered out, its black scales shimmering in the dim firelight.

The common room went silent.

Harry stared at the snake.

It lifted its head, tongue flicking out.

It spoke.

“Where… am I?”

The words slithered into Harry’s mind, as clear as any English sentence.

His heart pounded.

Don’t answer.

The snake turned toward him. “You… understand?”

No. I don’t. I don’t understand. I don’t hear you.

Harry forced himself to keep his face blank, to look at the snake as if it was nothing more than a dumb creature hissing.

The silence stretched.

Then, Montague sighed. “Looks like it was just a stupid rumor after all.”

Relief flooded Harry’s chest.

Montague nudged the snake back into the box, shaking his head. “Come on, boys. Let’s not waste any more time.”

As the upperclassmen dispersed, Blaise and Daphne exchanged a glance.

Harry exhaled slowly.

Too close.

Way too close.

If he had spoken—if he had reacted even slightly differently—his life would have been over.

And for the first time, Harry truly understood something.

He wasn’t just playing defense anymore.

He had to go on the attack.

If he wanted to survive, he had to find the real Heir of Slytherin.

Before it was too late.


Harry had barely taken a step out of the Slytherin common room when hushed voices caught his attention. Instinct took over—he moved quietly, pressing himself into the shadows of the stone corridor. Montague’s voice was sharp, tinged with frustration.

“You’re an idiot, Montague.”

That was Shafiq.

Harry’s fingers twitched at his side. Interesting.

Montague scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“You thought he’d actually speak Parseltongue with half the bloody house watching?” Shafiq hissed. “What kind of fool do you take him for?”

Harry’s breath slowed.

So they hadn’t bought the act.

Montague exhaled loudly, irritation lacing his tone. “What was I supposed to do? Just ask him outright? If he is the Heir of Slytherin, he’d have to slip up eventually.”

Shafiq clicked his tongue in disapproval. “No, if he is the Heir, he’ll never be that careless. Not when the entire school is watching him.”

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“We need to corner him.” Shafiq’s voice was low, serious. “No witnesses. Just him and the snake.”

Harry clenched his jaw.

“They say Parseltongue is an instinct,” Shafiq continued. “A gift of blood. He won’t even realize he’s speaking it. But only if we get him in the right conditions. Isolate him. Make sure he has no choice but to respond.”

Montague let out a low chuckle. “And how do you propose we do that?”

Shafiq paused for a moment before speaking. “Simple. We just need to make sure that the next time he sees a snake… he thinks he’s alone.”

Harry forced himself to keep still.

Montague seemed to consider the idea. “If we set a proper trap… get him away from everyone…”

Harry had heard enough.

Quietly, he slipped away, the conversation still ringing in his ears.

By the time Harry reached his room, his mind was racing.

This was bad.

No, this was worse than bad.

Montague and Shafiq weren’t just being nosy like the rest of the school. They weren’t spreading empty rumors.

They were hunting him.

Daphne and Blaise were already inside the room when he entered, lounging on the sofa near the transparent lake wall.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Blaise commented, raising an eyebrow.

“Worse,” Harry muttered, locking the door behind him. “Montague and Shafiq are planning something.”

Daphne sat up. “What do you mean?”

“They don’t believe the snake trick was enough. They want to isolate me. Set up a real test.” Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “They’re planning to trap me with a snake alone and force me to react.”

Blaise frowned. “So what do we do?”

Harry smirked, though there was little humor in it. “We spring the trap first.”

Daphne and Blaise exchanged a look.

“You’re going to let them try?” Daphne asked slowly.

“I’m going to make them try,” Harry corrected. “And when they do, we’ll be ready.”

A flicker of understanding passed over Daphne’s face. “You want to bait them.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll play along. Let them think they’re getting their way. But instead of them trapping me…”

“…we trap them.” Blaise finished, smirking.

Harry leaned back against the wall, his mind already working through the plan.

It was dangerous. But so was being hunted.

If Montague and Shafiq wanted to prove he was the Heir of Slytherin, then he’d just have to show them how wrong they were.

And when the dust settled—

They’d never dare come after him again.