HP and the Parseltongue Chronicles - Chapter - 18

The Stars Clubroom was buzzing with energy. The latest edition of The Stars Magazine had just arrived from the enchanted printing press, and the members were gathered around, flipping through the freshly printed pages. Harry sat at the head of the room, surrounded by Hermione, Fred, George, Neville, and several other club members, each with a copy in hand.

“This is amazing!” Fred exclaimed, holding up the magazine. “We’ve outdone ourselves this time.”

“Absolutely,” George agreed, grinning as he pointed to a column he had contributed. “Look at this! ‘Pranks and Practical Jokes: A Weasley’s Guide.’ Already a bestseller, I bet.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled. “I’m just glad everyone put in so much effort. The new sections really add depth.”

The magazine had grown significantly since its first edition. It now featured:

A Magical Creatures Spotlight, with Luna Lovegood writing about the rare creatures she encountered near Hogwarts.

Quidditch Corner, where Ginny Weasley and Astoria Greengrass detailed tactics and training tips.

Mysteries of Magic, a research column by Daphne Greengrass and Hermione Granger, exploring lesser-known magical phenomena.

Student Achievements, highlighting exceptional students from each house, curated by Jerome Cook.

Humor and Fun, a playful section led by Fred and George.


The feedback from readers had been overwhelming. Hogwarts students loved the inclusive and entertaining content, while parents admired how it gave insight into the school’s life.

“Look at the subscriptions,” Hermione said, pointing to a ledger she had brought. “We’ve doubled the number since the last issue. If this keeps up, we’ll need to upgrade the printing press.”

Harry leaned back, a smile playing on his lips. “I still can’t believe how big this has gotten. Everyone’s worked so hard.”

“And don’t forget the profits!” Neville chimed in. “With everyone getting a share, it’s no wonder we’re all motivated.”

Fred wagged a finger. “That’s the secret, Harry—share the loot, and you’ll get the best out of people.”

As the meeting wrapped up, Harry lingered behind, flipping through his own copy of the magazine. The pride he felt was tempered by an ever-growing sense of responsibility. The Stars Club, the magazine, the business in Diagon Alley, his studies, protecting Norberta, working with Sapphira—it all felt like a whirlwind he could barely keep up with.

Norky appeared with a pop, holding a parchment in his small hands. “Master Harry, another message from Mr. Granger.”

Harry took the parchment and unfolded it. The letter detailed the success of another Muggle auction Mr. Granger had organized using the antiques Harry and the club had sent. The proceeds had been deposited into their respective Muggle bank accounts, and the numbers were impressive.

“More good news?” Hermione asked, noticing Harry’s expression.

“Yeah,” Harry said, handing her the letter. “Another auction went well. We’re making more than I ever imagined.”

That night, after the club meeting, Harry retreated to the quiet of his dormitory. With everyone else asleep, he pulled out one of the Parseltongue books he had taken from the Chamber of Secrets. The books, written in the flowing script of the serpent language, were surprisingly engaging. They delved into ancient magical practices, spells, and the history of Parseltongue itself.

One chapter, in particular, caught his eye—“Binding Magic Through Speech.” It detailed how Parseltongue could be used to forge powerful magical bonds, not just with creatures like Sapphira but with objects, places, and even people.

As he read, Harry couldn’t help but wonder about the possibilities. Could this be why Slytherin’s legacy was so enduring? Could he use this knowledge to protect Hogwarts—or even to fight Voldemort when the time came?

The next day, Harry received another update from Remus Lupin, who was managing their furniture and broomstick business in Diagon Alley.

Dear Harry,

I’m pleased to report that the business is thriving. The latest batch of broomsticks you sent has already sold out, and the demand for more is higher than ever. The furniture shop is still doing well, though we’ll need to focus on diversifying soon as supplies from Godric’s Vault dwindle.

I’ve already made arrangements with additional carpenters to ensure we can keep up with production. Let me know if you have any ideas for new products or ventures.

Best regards,
Remus

Harry couldn’t help but feel a pang of pride. The idea of expanding their ventures excited him, but it also added to the growing list of responsibilities.

That evening, Harry found himself in the Stars Clubroom again, staring out of the window at the darkened grounds of Hogwarts. The castle felt more like home than ever, but the weight of everything he had taken on pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Hermione entered quietly, carrying a steaming mug of tea. “I thought you could use this,” she said, handing it to him.

“Thanks,” Harry said, taking a sip. “Do you ever feel like we’ve taken on too much?”

“All the time,” Hermione admitted, sitting beside him. “But that’s how you know it’s worth it. If it were easy, it wouldn’t mean as much.”

Harry smiled at her wisdom. “I just don’t want to let anyone down.”

“You won’t,” Hermione assured him. “You’re doing something incredible, Harry. And you’ve got all of us to help. You don’t have to do it alone.”

As the two of them sat in the quiet clubroom, Harry felt a renewed sense of determination. He didn’t have all the answers, but he knew he didn’t need to. With his friends by his side, he could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

For now, that was enough.

The Quidditch season kicked off with its usual fanfare, bringing with it a renewed sense of energy and competition to Hogwarts. Harry, now an experienced Seeker for Gryffindor, relished the excitement. However, the mood was dampened slightly when word spread that Draco Malfoy had bought his way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team.

“He’s not even that good,” Ron grumbled over breakfast. “How can he just waltz onto the team like that?”

“Easy,” George said with a grin. “Gold.”

“Malfoy didn’t just buy his way in,” Fred added, leaning in conspiratorially. “He bought everyone on the team new Nimbus 2001s. Faster than Harry’s broom, they are.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “A broomstick doesn’t make the Seeker.”

Hermione smirked. “Let’s hope you can prove that on the pitch.”

The first real clash between Gryffindor and Slytherin came before the season even officially started. Both teams had scheduled practice on the same day, and tensions flared when they arrived at the training ground simultaneously.

“This is our time slot!” Angelina Johnson, Gryffindor’s Chaser, argued, glaring at the smug Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint.

“Not anymore,” Flint retorted, holding up a hastily scrawled note. “We’ve got permission from Snape to use the pitch whenever we want.”

The Gryffindor team groaned in frustration, but before things could escalate further, a familiar voice called out.

“Ah! What’s all this then?”

Professor Lockhart appeared, striding across the field with his characteristic flair. His bright robes shimmered in the sunlight, and his teeth practically sparkled as he smiled at the gathered students.

“Seems we have a bit of a scheduling conflict,” Lockhart said, clapping his hands. “But why let that ruin the day? What if we settle this with a friendly match?”

The Gryffindors and Slytherins exchanged wary glances, but the suggestion quickly gained traction. An unofficial Quidditch match would be a chance to test their skills—and their rivalries.

The stands filled with students eager to watch the impromptu game. Even the professors seemed intrigued, with McGonagall and Snape sitting in the audience, each radiating a sense of quiet pride for their respective teams.

Lockhart, naturally, inserted himself into the event as a “guest referee,” despite having no qualifications for the role.

“Don’t worry, my dear students,” he said with a wink to the crowd. “I’ve flown with the best of them. I’ll ensure this match is fair and safe!”

As the match began, it became clear that the Gryffindor team’s experience gave them an edge. Despite their new broomsticks, the Slytherins struggled to coordinate effectively, with Malfoy often veering off course in his attempts to show off.

Fred and George took every opportunity to target Malfoy with their Bludgers, while Angelina, Alicia, and Katie dominated the Chaser game.

“Nice brooms, Malfoy!” Fred called out after sending a Bludger whizzing past Draco’s ear. “Shame you don’t know how to use them!”

Meanwhile, Harry’s focus was razor-sharp. He noticed Malfoy scanning the pitch, trying to locate the Golden Snitch, but Harry’s instincts led him straight to it. With a burst of speed, Harry dove, his Firebolt slicing through the air.

“Potter’s seen the Snitch!” Lee Jordan’s voice rang out from the stands.

Malfoy tried to follow, but Harry’s precision and speed were unmatched. Within seconds, Harry’s fingers closed around the Snitch, and the Gryffindor side erupted in cheers.

As the Gryffindors celebrated their victory, Lockhart decided to demonstrate his “superior flying skills.” Mounting a broomstick, he soared into the air, waving dramatically to the crowd.

“This is how it’s done!” he announced, attempting a mid-air spin.

Unfortunately for Lockhart, one of Fred and George’s Bludgers—still circling the pitch—decided to make him its next target. The enchanted ball struck him squarely in the back, sending him spiraling out of control.

Lockhart crashed into the ground with a loud thud, his robes tangled around him. The crowd erupted into laughter as Madam Hooch rushed over to check on him.

“Just a… minor mishap!” Lockhart declared, wincing as he stood up. “Nothing to worry about. Happens to the best of us!”

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath, while Snape looked thoroughly unimpressed.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, the team celebrated their victory with butterbeer and snacks provided by the house-elves.

“Did you see Malfoy’s face when Harry caught the Snitch?” George laughed. “Priceless!”

“And Lockhart!” Fred added. “That Bludger couldn’t have aimed better if I tried.”

Hermione, however, looked thoughtful. “As funny as that was, I hope this doesn’t lead to more trouble. Lockhart has a knack for making things worse.”

Harry nodded, but for now, he was content to bask in the victory. The unofficial match had proven that skill and teamwork trumped wealth and arrogance, and that was a lesson worth celebrating.

The morning post arrived as usual in the Great Hall, owls swooping down with letters, parcels, and newspapers. Harry, seated between Hermione and Neville at the Gryffindor table, looked up as Hedwig descended gracefully, a letter tied to her leg.

Harry untied the parchment and gave Hedwig a quick pat before she flew off to rest. The letter was from Sirius, and Harry's heart skipped a beat. He unfolded it quickly, eager to hear from his godfather.


Harry,

I’ve been working tirelessly, and with Remus’s help, I’ve nearly pinpointed Pettigrew’s location. The rat’s been clever, scurrying from one hiding place to another, but he’s left enough of a trail for us to follow.

The search is almost over. I promise you, Harry, justice will be served for what he did to your parents, for what he did to me. I’ve waited too long for this.

Stay strong, and know that we’re close to ending this nightmare.

Yours,
Padfoot


Harry’s grip tightened on the letter as he read it, a mixture of emotions swirling in his chest. Anger at Pettigrew for his betrayal, hope that the nightmare might finally end, and worry for Sirius, who was risking everything for justice.

“What’s that?” Neville asked, noticing his tense expression.

“A letter from Sirius,” Harry replied, passing it to him and Hermione. “He says he’s close to finding Pettigrew.”

Neville’s face darkened as he read the letter. “Good. That rat deserves everything coming to him.”

“But what will Sirius do when he finds him?” Hermione asked, her voice tinged with concern. “He’s been through so much… I’m worried he might—”

“Kill him,” Harry finished, his tone grim.

Hermione nodded. “Exactly. And that’s not justice, Harry. That’s revenge.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. Deep down, he understood Hermione’s point, but the idea of Pettigrew escaping again—or worse, continuing to live freely—filled him with rage.

“I need to write back to Sirius,” Harry said, standing up. “I need to tell him not to kill Pettigrew. He deserves Azkaban for what he did, not a quick end.”

That evening, Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room, parchment and quill in hand. After several false starts, he finally managed to put his thoughts into words.


Dear Sirius,

I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that you’re close to finding Pettigrew. He’s caused so much pain and suffering, and he deserves to face the consequences of his actions.

But Sirius, please don’t kill him. I know you have every reason to hate him, and I can’t blame you for wanting revenge. But if you kill him, it’ll be over too quickly. He needs to face a trial. He needs to be sent to Azkaban, where he’ll rot for the rest of his miserable life.

Don’t let him take away the chance for justice. You’ve already lost so much because of him—don’t lose more by letting him dictate your actions now.

I trust you, Sirius. Do what’s right.

Yours,
Harry

Harry tied the letter to Hedwig’s leg and sent her off into the night. As he watched her disappear into the darkness, he felt a sense of unease settle over him.

He wanted Pettigrew caught, wanted him to pay for his crimes—but more than anything, he wanted Sirius to be free. Free from the past, free from Azkaban’s shadow, and free to live the life he deserved.

Far away, in a hidden location, Sirius Black read Harry’s letter by the flickering light of a single candle. His hands trembled slightly as he held the parchment, his godson’s words cutting through the haze of anger and obsession that had driven him for so long.

Remus entered the room, carrying a map marked with their progress. He paused when he saw Sirius staring at the letter. “What is it?”

“A letter from Harry,” Sirius replied, his voice quiet. He handed it to Remus, who read it quickly.

Remus sighed, setting the letter down. “He’s right, you know. Pettigrew belongs in Azkaban. Killing him would be—”

“Too easy,” Sirius finished, his jaw tightening. He clenched his fists, his mind racing. “But every fiber of me wants to end him, Moony. For James, for Lily, for myself.”

“I know,” Remus said softly. “But Harry’s asking you to be better than Pettigrew. To rise above what he did.”

Sirius stared at the map, his gaze fixed on the final marker where Pettigrew was believed to be hiding. After a long silence, he said, “We’ll bring him in. Alive. For Harry.”