The snake froze mid-lunge. Its head lowered, and its body slackened until it lay on the floor like a coiled rope.
The hall went silent. You could've heard a pin drop.
Cassian lowered his wand slowly, his eyes flicking from the snake to Potter.
Harry was staring at the creature, his lips still moving faintly.
"Potter?" Cassian said sharply.
Harry blinked and looked up.
The room erupted.
"Did you hear that?"
"He spoke to it!"
"Snake language! That's snake language!"
"Shut up!" Cassian barked. His voice cracked across the hall like a whip. "Everyone, back! Now!"
The students staggered backwards in a wave, their excited chatter bubbling anyway.
Cassian strode forward and flicked his wand. The snake vanished in a puff of smoke.
Potter was still standing stiffly on the duelling strip, hands tight around his wand.
Justin Finch-Fletchley was backing away, his face pale.
"You're a Parselmouth," Justin said, his voice shaking. "You spoke to it..."
Cassian flicked his wand lazily, muttering, "Sonorus."
"SHUT THE HELL UP!"
The voice boomed so loud the windows rattled and half the students jumped. Even the enchanted torches trembled. The entire hall went still, hundreds of eyes snapping to him.
Cassian's gaze swept the room. "Fifty points from Slytherin," he barked. "Malfoy, you used a spell not on the approved list. You're banned from the Club. Pack up your ego and clear off."
Malfoy opened his mouth to argue. Cassian's wand twitched, and the boy seemed to think better of it, his lips snapping shut as he backed up a step.
"Right." Cassian's voice dropped, but it still carried across the hall. "All of you, listen and listen well. Grow up. Someone speaking to a snake doesn't make them evil. Parseltongue isn't a curse, it isn't Dark magic, and it sure as hell isn't grounds for a witch-hunt. In East Asia, India especially, it is a revered ability. It's the language of healing. Same way snake venom is used to brew some of the strongest restorative potions we have. It is a gift. Like any other skill, it depends on who's using it and why."
The students shifted uneasily. A few still shot Harry wary looks.
Cassian's eyes narrowed. "Just because a Dark Lord used it for murder and mayhem doesn't mean every Parselmouth is out to slit throats. Stop being thick. I'm damn sure Voldemort used Lumos to find the loo and Aguamenti to wipe his ass."
The students winced at the name, a few of them snorting despite themselves.
Justin Finch-Fletchley still stammered. "B-but... the Chamber. The Heir..."
Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "God damn it." He turned on Harry, who was standing frozen on the duelling platform, wide-eyed.
"Potter." Cassian's voice was sharp. "Are you responsible for Mrs Norris and Creevey being turned to stone?"
Harry shook his head quickly. "No, sir."
"Good." Cassian gave a short nod, then tilted his head slightly. "Do you feel the irresistible urge to hex Ms Granger and every other Muggle-born into the afterlife?"
Harry's brow furrowed. "No!"
"There you have it." Cassian looked back at the rest of the hall. "Mr Potter's mother, Lily Potter née Evans, was a Muggle-born witch. I somehow doubt he's running about with secret hatred for half his classmates. Any more questions?"
The crowd shifted, murmurs dropping to silence as Cassian's glare swept over them. No one spoke.
"Good," Cassian muttered, running a hand through his hair. "You lot can clear off to your common rooms. No one's wandering alone. Teams of four minimum. If you hear or feel something off, shout. Don't try to be clever. No dawdling in corridors either." His eyes swept over the students, daring anyone to argue. "Potter. With me."
Harry blinked, still looking pale, his fingers tight around his wand.
"Sir?"
"You heard me. Let's go." Cassian was already striding toward the doors. Harry scrambled after him, the murmur of students rising behind them as prefects started herding groups away.
The corridor outside was quiet, colder somehow. Cassian walked fast, not bothering to slow for Harry's shorter strides.
"Sir, I didn't..." Harry started, his voice murmur.
Cassian held up a hand without looking back. "Save it for McGonagall, Potter. You and I are heading there now."
Harry fell silent, though his brows drew tight as he kept pace.
"Sir, what is... Parselmouth? I didn't..."
Cassian stopped so abruptly Harry nearly ran into him. He turned, fixing the boy with a look that made him shrink back half a step.
"You don't even know, do you?"
Harry shook his head quickly. "I just told the snake to leave him alone."
"Right. Short version, you spoke to the snake in its own language. That is Parseltongue. Rare skill, mostly seen in old wizarding families. Unfortunately, it's also got a nasty reputation because, surprise, surprise, the last famous bloke who could do it turned out to be Voldemort."
Harry stiffened at the name but didn't speak.
"Relax, Potter. Speaking snake doesn't mean you're on your way to becoming the next Dark Lord. It means you've got an odd party trick and now half the school's going to be gossiping about it until you graduate."
"Come on." He motioned Harry forward. Cassian didn't say another word until they reached the oak door. He rapped his knuckles twice.
"Enter," came McGonagall's voice from within.
Cassian pushed the door open and stepped inside, Harry trailing close behind.
McGonagall was seated behind her desk, spectacles perched low on her nose, a quill scratching across parchment. She looked up, her expression tightening slightly when she saw them.
"Professor Rosier. Mr Potter."
"Evening, Deputy Headmistress," Cassian said casually. He nudged Harry forward. "Potter is here because the Duelling Club turned into a spectacle, and your House's golden boy might've accidentally scared the life out of half the school."
McGonagall set down her quill with a soft clink. "Go on."
"Malfoy conjured a snake. Potter spoke to it. In Parseltongue."
McGonagall's lips pressed thin. Her eyes flicked to Harry.
Harry added quickly. "I didn't even know I was speaking anything weird, Professor. I just told it to leave Justin alone. That is all."
McGonagall's gaze softened slightly, though her voice stayed firm. "Parseltongue is not 'weird,' Mr Potter. It is rare. And it will, unfortunately, draw attention."
Harry's shoulders sagged. "Everyone was staring like I'd grown horns."
"Well," Cassian said, dropping into one of the chairs across from McGonagall's desk, "given the state of Hogwarts gossip, you might as well assume there will be a snake-worshipping cult dedicated to you by morning."
"Rosier," McGonagall warned.
"I am not wrong," Cassian muttered.
Harry fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. "Can it be that... am I connected to the Chamber?"
"No," McGonagall said firmly. "Do not let the whispers get to you, Mr Potter."
Cassian leaned back, arms crossing loosely. "You're not the Heir of Slytherin. You're just unlucky enough to have an ability that makes people twitchy."
Harry's jaw tightened slightly. "But what if..."
"No 'what ifs,'" Cassian cut in. "The Chamber's business isn't yours. Your job is to keep your head down and stop sticking it in cursed diaries or hidden basements."
Harry frowned. "Cursed diaries?"
Cassian waved a hand. "Figure of speech. Don't get ideas."
McGonagall's quill tapped against the parchment. "I will speak with the Headmaster about this. In the meantime, Mr Potter, you're to avoid drawing further attention to yourself. Understood?"
Harry nodded reluctantly.
"Good. You may return to your dormitory."
Harry glanced at Cassian, then back at McGonagall. "Yes, Professor."
Cassian stopped him, "Wait outside, I will escort you."
When he'd gone, closing the door behind him, McGonagall let out a quiet sigh. "You didn't have to frighten the boy."
"Didn't frighten him," Cassian said. "Just knocked some sense into him before the rest of the castle makes him believe he's Voldemort's second coming."
McGonagall shook her head, but her lips twitched faintly. "I dread to think what the common rooms sound like tonight."
"Like a pack of bees in a biscuit tin," Cassian muttered. "Malfoy made sure of that."
"You disciplined him?"
"That brat." Cassian shook his head. Murmuring curses to Lucius.
McGonagall's mouth twitched again, but she didn't comment.
Cassian got up. "He's barred from the Great Hall and the Duelling Club. If Snape comes to cry at you, you can tell him why it is."
McGonagall sighed. "You cannot ban someone from the Great Hall, Professor Rosier. It is where we eat."
Cassian turned, eyes narrowing. "I warned them. I gave clear rules. Break them, get consequences. Or do you plan on undermining my authority now?"
Her brow arched in that particular McGonagall way that made most grown men reevaluate their life choices. "Authority only holds weight when it remains within reason. You cannot starve the boy."
"I wasn't going to starve him. The kitchens still exist. Let him picnic in the dungeons. He can sit on a cushion and reflect on his life choices."
"Cassian," she said evenly, "you're not turning mealtime into exile."
He folded his arms. "What am I supposed to do? Give him a hug and a gold star?"
"No," McGonagall replied, tone clipped. "You discipline him. With proportion."
Cassian muttered something very rude under his breath, then sighed. "Fine. He can eat. But he's not allowed near the Duelling Club again. And he's sitting as far from the staff table as geometry allows."
McGonagall inclined her head. "That, I can live with."
Cassian grumbled, heading for the door. "You lot are too forgiving. One day, I'm putting Snape and his spawn on a raft and letting the lake sort it out."
"Please give me advance notice," she said, lifting her teacup. "I'll pack sandwiches."
Cassian stretched his shoulders until something cracked. "Right. Goodnight, Deputy Headmistress. Try not to think Quidditch and snakes before breakfast."
Minerva huffed quietly, watching him leave. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hex him or thank him.
Harry was waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, gaze fixed on the floor.
"Come on, Potter," Cassian said, giving the boy a nudge with his elbow as he passed. "Let's get you back to your Tower."
Harry trailed after him. Neither of them spoke as they climbed the stairs. When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, she gave Cassian a once-over and sniffed.
"Password?" she asked.
"Don't look at me." Cassian nodded at Harry. "I am not on the VIP list."
Harry mumbled the word, and the portrait swung open with a disgruntled huff.
Cassian gave him a light pat on the shoulder. "Get some sleep. You will need it if you're going to ignore half the castle whispering about you tomorrow."
Harry hesitated on the threshold. "Sir... thanks. For earlier."
"Don't thank me." Cassian tilted his head, smirking faintly. "Thank your parents for passing on a rare skill."
Harry's mouth twitched into a smile before he disappeared into the common room.
(Check Here)
I assigned reflection essays. Apparently, reflection meant staring.
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