After Neville hissed like a snake, the entire room went dead silent.
Even Professor Snape froze, his usual sneer slipping off his face.
Ted narrowed his eyes. Something felt off.
"Come on," he whispered, grabbing Neville by the arm and hurrying toward the door.
Their friends scrambled after them.
Dozens of eyes tracked them as they left the Dueling Club hall.
The silence behind them felt heavier than any spell.
"What's going on? Did I do something wrong?" Neville asked once they were outside, confused and a little pale.
Harley turned to him, wide-eyed. "Neville, you spoke Parseltongue. Why didn't you tell us you could do that?"
Neville blinked. "Parseltongue?! I don't even know what that is! I just—talked to the snake! It was instinct!"
Hermione looked worried. "But you did speak to it. Everyone saw."
Ron gave him a look that was half-nervous, half-impressed. "Mate... you saved Ginny with snake-whispering."
Neville looked like he might faint. "I swear that was the first time I've ever done that! I didn't even know I could!"
Jerry squinted. "Okay, someone tell me—what's Parseltongue?"
Harley answered him. "It's a rare magical trait—the ability to speak the language of snakes. It's usually passed down in bloodlines."
"Yeah," Ron added, "And it's always been associated with Slytherin. He could do it too."
Jerry's eyes widened. "Wait—so are you saying Neville might be... the Heir of Slytherin?!"
Neville turned even paler. "No! No way! I'm not—there's no way!"
Ted stepped between them, hands up. "Come on, guys. You all know Neville. You've shared a dorm with him for two years. Does he look like an evil heir to you?"
Neville definitely didn't. He looked like he might cry.
But deep down, Ted's thoughts were racing.
'Looks like he's a Horcrux, exactly like the books, but in this case, it's Neville...'
This was going to be part of something bigger—something tied to wiping Voldemort out for good. He could feel it.
Ted tried to ease Neville's mind.
"Neville, listen. Parseltongue doesn't have to mean anything dark. Paracelsus wrote about it in the 1500s, even though it dates back to the classical era. Not everyone who had it was evil. Some just studied rare magic."
Neville still looked shaken. "But most of them were evil, right? Like Herpo, the Foul—he was a Parselmouth too!"
"True," Ted said carefully, "but that doesn't mean the magic itself is evil. It's just misunderstood."
Harley stepped in to help. "Actually, I read something in the Black family records—one of the Gaunt family, who could speak Parseltongue, married into the Longbottom line a long time ago. Maybe it's just a buried trait that resurfaced."
Neville groaned. "So that does make me the Heir of Slytherin?!"
...
News spread fast.
The Dueling Club had been wild enough—Lockhart embarrassing himself (again), Ted racking up more than ten consecutive wins, and then Neville speaking to a snake in front of everyone.
Parseltongue.
The word alone had the wizarding students buzzing.
Especially those from wizarding families—they knew what that meant.
The Boy Who lIVED. The clumsy, kind Longbottom heir. A Parselmouth?!
And maybe, just maybe, the Heir of Slytherin?!
The same night, when Neville returned to the Gryffindor dorm, Dean and Seamus were curled under their blankets like nervous puffskeins.
Neville had barely said "Hi," and they leapt into the same bed, trembling.
Something felt off about that picture, but no one said it aloud.
The school's opinion of Neville had shifted overnight. First, he was the Boy Who Lived. Then, he was just average Neville. Now? A possibly dark wizard?
It was a storm he hadn't asked for.
...
That night, Ted stayed up late, checking through a new card he'd earned from completing a side quest earlier.
----------------------------
[Blueprint: Shadow Goggles (Green)]
Prop Card
Use: Unlock the blueprint to craft enchanted Shadow Goggles.
Uses: 1/1
----------------------------
Ted activated the card. It flared with green light in his mind and vanished.
Knowledge flooded in—schematics, magical theory, enchantment layouts.
The Shadow Goggles were a piece of magical engineering straight from Azeroth, combining deep alchemy with runecraft and bizarre arcane threads.
He'd seen something similar in one of the newer library books—a dwarf-influenced tech they called "Magi-Tech." Dwarves, it turned out, had a knack for blending raw magic with tools, creating artifacts that often looked like chaotic contraptions but worked like a charm.
The goggles?
They were meant to resist abnormal magical effects—curses, illusions, mind-affecting magic.
Not just wearable gear.
This was magical defense.
He remembered seeing Clara Flash—the Dwarven girl who got petrified—wearing something similar.
Damaged beyond repair, but definitely a version of these goggles.
Now, with the blueprint in his head, Ted felt a bit more prepared.
That night, Ted tried to craft the goggles.
He stayed up well past midnight, hunched over his workbench in the corner of the common room.
His notes were scattered everywhere, and a few enchanted tools floated in the air around him. Despite hours of effort, the results weren't promising.
The biggest hurdle? Materials.
Obsidian had to be carved into fine, curved lenses, requiring extremely delicate magical control.
After that, they needed to be enchanted to become clear like glass.
Then came the frames—crafted from enchanted bronze using alchemical forging.
Ted had to run silver threading through the inside of the frame to carry magical current.
It was kind of like building a magical circuit, something similar to an enchantment channel. He called it a "mana flow conduit."
Ideally, the silver had to be embedded inside the bronze for stability, but Ted wasn't sure his enchantment skills were precise enough for that yet.
Surface inlay would have to do.
To power the enchantments, he needed two opals—tiny ones, no bigger than rice grains.
They weren't hard to enchant, but sourcing them was a nightmare.
Imported from Sri Lanka, even the smallest pair cost 8 Galleons.
Once set into the silver tracks, Ted had to coat the entire assembly in shadow oil, a special potion brewed from rare herbs like Duskleaf and Starcap fungus.
He'd have to ask Mr. Jiggers to help acquire the ingredients, possibly even from Knockturn Alley.
Bottom line—this wasn't something he could whip up overnight.
...
When Ted finally dragged himself back to the dormitory, the sky outside had turned pale with snow.
By dawn, it had turned into a full-on blizzard.
The storm was so intense that the last Herbology class of the semester was cancelled.
The next morning, word about Neville spread like wildfire—he could speak Parseltongue.
At breakfast, Ted and his friends sat together at the long table.
There were six of them, but it felt like they were alone in the hall. Most students kept their distance.
The Weasley twins were the only ones acting normal. Fred gave Neville a dramatic shoulder pat, while George winked.
Peggy came over to hug her little brother, and Ginny brought Luna to say thank you again.
Everyone else avoided eye contact, whispering from afar.
Ted sighed.
Just last month, everyone at Gryffindor had been proud, chanting, "We've got the boy who lived!"
But now, most of those faces were filled with doubt or fear.
Later in the day, the twins took their mischief up a notch.
As Neville and the group walked through the corridor, Fred shouted, "Clear the way! The heir of Slytherin is off to have tea, clear the way, yoy maggots~!"
Harley nearly tackled them both.
By dinner, even Peeves had joined the circus.
The poltergeist floated above the tables, snickering, and sang in his shrill voice: "Longbottom is the heir, open up the Chamber door Monsters roam, students moan, better run before they eat your bone"
It would've been funny if it weren't for the dozen or so first-years who actually bolted in panic.
Harley, fuming, shouted, "You better run while you can, Peeves!"
Peeves grinned mockingly. "Oh, scary Potter girl, what are you gonna do to me~"
A few minutes later, Harley came rushing back, holding something long and wrapped in cloth—it was the "Demon Whip," an anti-poltergeist tool Ted had made with help from various enchanted weapon guides.
Before Peeves could react, Harley gave it a swing.
Unfortunately, her first attempt hit Ron square in the ankles.
"WHOA—" Ron yelped as he toppled like a log, legs tied up by the enchanted cord.
"Sorry, sorry!" Harley cried, rushing to help. "I didn't mean to—Ron, are you okay?!"
Ron groaned, dazed. "What even just happened?!"
Seeing the whip, Peeves yelped and zipped straight through the nearest wall with a loud, ghostly screech.
If Ron hadn't taken the hit, the poltergeist would've been in for a painful lesson.
Thankfully, Ted had built the whip to be safe against living people—more annoying than harmful. Otherwise, Ron might've cried for hours.
...
Term came to a close, and Christmas break began.
The group of six—Ted, Neville, Harley, Ron, Hermione, and Jerry—stayed at school.
Last year, the Weasleys had visited Charlie in Romania, where he worked with dragons.
This year, they were off to Egypt to visit Bill, who was busy cracking ancient tomb curses for Gringotts.
That left all five Weasley kids still at Hogwarts for the holidays.
Ted chuckled to himself. "Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are finally getting that Christmas honeymoon."
He then pulled out his notes again, determined to make progress on the goggles.
With the semester over, it was time to get serious.
_______________________________
Word count: 1557
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