Just as Sherlock had said, the students at Hogwarts, due to prolonged tension and repression, had now turned the fact that Harry was a Parselmouth into an outlet for their frustration.
In just a single afternoon, the events of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class had spread throughout the entire Castle, and the way everyone looked at Harry had become strange.
Even the Gryffindor students believed the rumours, and their attitude toward him had clearly changed.
During lunch, Harry's roommate, Dean, walked up to him with trepidation.
"I'm sorry, Harry! I accidentally dropped bread on your bed the other day. I hope you don't hold a grudge against me, I didn't mean it!"
Harry had a sour expression and didn't want to spare him a single glance.
Since arriving in the Great Hall, this kind of experience had happened many times.
Many people who felt they had offended him before ran over to apologise, hoping he would forgive them so they wouldn't become the next target of an attack.
"Why can't they just use their brains! Do I look like that kind of person?"
After Dean left, Harry finally asked Ron and Hermione, unable to bear it any longer.
Ron drained the pumpkin juice in his cup and shrugged.
"Now you can see who your true friends are, the ones who trust you the most."
Hermione comforted him.
"Actually, it's just like Professor Cavendish said; they're using you as a release valve. Once the petrified people in the Hospital Wing wake up, they'll know the truth."
Harry's mood didn't improve much because of her words; he irritably mangled the sausage on his plate with a fork.
At some point, Neville, looking tense and cautious, found him.
"I, I have something I want, want to tell you, Harry."
Harry said impatiently,
"No need to apologise, Neville! You haven't offended me! I'm not some Heir of Slytherin, nor have I opened the Chamber of Secrets to let some monster out to hurt anyone!"
"No, I'm not..."
Just then, George and Fred sat down beside Harry with excitement, crowding out Neville, who had summoned great courage to say something to Harry.
"Heard you've become the Heir of Slytherin, Harry!" George said excitedly, treating it like it was something fun.
Hermione watched Neville's panicked retreat and said dissatisfiedly,
"You scared Neville away. He wanted to say something to Harry just now."
Fred waved his hand dismissively.
"He wanted to apologise to Harry and ask for mercy. He was right there when we heard Harry was a Parselmouth. You didn't see his face; when he heard Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, his whole face went as white as a sheet. I'm sure he was terrified and wanted to beg Harry for his life."
The twins glanced at each other.
"With such a noble status, you need a special entourage!"
"We're ready to be your squires, great Heir of Slytherin, sir!"
Seeing George and Fred looking like they were going to make some kind of spectacle out of Harry's troubles, Ron frowned.
"That's not funny at all!"
But George and Fred had already left cheerfully to prepare props and a ceremony.
Harry didn't mind George and Fred's joke.
"At least they're not afraid of me, are they? They probably just want to tell the whole Castle people this way that the identity of the Heir of Slytherin is as absurd and ridiculous as this joke."
After the Weasley twins' antics, Harry's mood lightened.
As long as the professors didn't think he was the culprit, other people's thoughts weren't that important.
Days passed like this.
Since Harry had been identified as the Heir of Slytherin, no more attacks had occurred in Hogwarts.
The person who had actually opened the Chamber of Secrets seemed to have vanished from the Castle and never appeared again.
Harry gradually grew accustomed to the cautious attitudes of others. He and Ron had more than once fantasised about how magnanimously he would accept their apologies once the truth came out.
Neville hadn't looked for Harry again since that time in the Great Hall.
Until one Saturday in February, a day off for students and professors.
Sherlock wasn't in his office grading homework or in the library studying advanced magic; instead, he was dressed neatly and walked out of Hogwarts Castle.
Having just passed the coldest weather in January, Britain was still bitterly cold in February.
With the knitted hat Professor McGonagall had given him for Christmas on his head and a sweater Mrs. Weasley had hand-knitted for him under his thick robes, Sherlock still felt a chill on the way to Hogsmeade.
At this time, there were very few pedestrians on the streets of Hogsmeade. Most had ducked into The Three Broomsticks Pub or the Hog's Head Inn to enjoy warm butterbeer and a cosy fire.
But Sherlock's destination this time wasn't a pub.
He walked all the way to the other end of Hogsmeade, where stood the only official Ministry of Magic institution in the wizarding town, the Owl Post Office.
After entering, a listless receptionist attended to him, asking where he wanted to send a letter.
However, Sherlock directly pulled two Sickles from his pocket.
"I want to use the fireplace."
The young wizard at the front desk immediately lost even the desire to stand up from his chair.
He glanced briefly to confirm Sherlock had given enough money, then pointed toward the back room of the post office.
"The fireplace is in that room. Remember, just a pinch of Floo Powder is enough. People always think they can use half the powder for this much money. If you overdo it, I'm the one who gets fined..."
He muttered, yet showed no sign of getting up to follow Sherlock and supervise how much Floo Powder he used.
Sherlock walked into the room with the fireplace alone.
The fire was burning brightly, making this small space warm and cosy, with not a hint of the cold outside.
He pinched a small bit of green powder from the small box above the fireplace, threw it into the flames, and clearly spoke a location name.
"Andrew Kavell's Cabin."
The originally orange-yellow flames quickly turned dark green. Then, Sherlock lightly tapped his face with his wand, making simple changes to his eyebrows and hairstyle, and pulled a pair of gold-rimmed glasses from his pocket to put on.
His entire aura changed abruptly, transforming from a cool, handsome man into the image of one of those capable secretaries from the Ministry of Magic.
Once the preparations were complete, Sherlock stepped into the fireplace, and the next moment, he vanished into the flames.