Hello, guys!
Because of the holiday season, I want to celebrate with you in two ways.
The first is that, starting today, Monday the 22nd until Sunday, January 4th, I will publish daily chapters so you have plenty to read during these holidays.
After that date, I will return to my usual schedule.
The second surprise is that, starting December 24th, I will activate a 50% discount on all tiers of my Patreon.
The promotion will be active for 2 weeks, ending on January 6th.
If you wanted to read the advanced chapters, this is your chance.
Merry Christmas!
Mike.
Patreon / iLikeeMikee
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Chapter 31: The Dueling Club and the Snake
The news of a mandatory "Dueling Club" was received by Timothy with a sigh of deep and absolute boredom. His time was precious. Every hour spent in the Great Hall, forced to listen to Lockhart's rants, was an hour not spent in the Room of Requirement, an hour not spent practicing his control or analyzing the Muggle physics texts he had archived.
Still, Dumbledore's advice about "anchors" and "relaxing" resonated in his mind. Attending was part of his performance as a "balanced student".
He stood at the back of the Great Hall, among the Ravenclaws, observing the scene with the detachment of a theater critic. Lockhart stood on a long stage, his shocking pink robes were an assault on the senses, his smile was a weapon in itself.
'Fascinating', thought Timothy, as Lockhart posed for an invisible photographer. 'He has managed to make his incompetence an art form'. His Archive had already labeled the man a total fraud, a fact that Hermione, to his eternal amusement, still refused to accept.
"Let me introduce my assistant!", announced Lockhart with a flourish. "Professor Snape!".
Snape walked onto the stage, his face was a mask of hatred and scorn so pure that Timothy almost admired it. The contrast between the two was perfect comedy.
"Now, I don't want any of you to worry", said Lockhart to the crowd. "Even after I have finished with Professor Snape, he will still be here to teach you!".
Snape and Lockhart raised their wands. Lockhart counted to three. The duel, if it could be called that, was quick and brutal.
"Expelliarmus!", hissed Snape, the spell bursting from his wand like a scarlet whip.
The charm hit Lockhart in the chest and sent him flying across the stage. He smashed into the wall and slid to the floor in a crumpled heap of pink robes.
Timothy had to suppress a smile. Efficient. Snape, despite his caustic personality, at least understood practical application.
Lockhart, pulling himself together with completely false dignity, dusted off his pink robes. "Ah, yes! An excellent demonstration of the Disarming Charm by Professor Snape! Clearly he was showing you what not to do..."
Timothy had to suppress a smile at the pathetic excuse. The charade was almost painful to watch.
"Perhaps it would be better to split into pairs!", suggested Lockhart cheerfully.
"A terrible idea, Lockhart", hissed Snape, clearly disgusted with the idea of the fraud "teaching" anything. His gaze swept the crowd of students. "We could get hurt. Perhaps it would be better to teach you something real. A demonstration duel. Potter", his black eyes shone with sudden malice, "and Malfoy. To the stage. Now".
'And there it is', thought Timothy, feeling the familiar sensation of the narrative clicking into place. The protagonist, pushed back into the spotlight. How predictable. He watched as Harry and Malfoy walked onto the stage, their postures the very definition of teenage rivalry.
The "duel" was short, chaotic, and, as Timothy expected, completely unfair. After Harry hit Malfoy with a Rictusempra that made him double over with laughter, Malfoy panicked and cheated.
"Serpensortia!", he shouted.
A long black snake burst from Malfoy's wand and fell heavily to the floor between the two boys. It was a cobra, and it was furious. It reared up, its hood expanded, ready to strike.
"Don't fear, Potter!", shouted Lockhart, stepping forward. "I'll handle it!". He waved his wand with a dramatic flourish. "Alarte Ascendare!".
The spell, instead of vanishing it, launched it ten meters into the air. The snake landed with a dull thud near the Hufflepuff table, now absolutely enraged. It reared up again, with fangs bared, and fixed its gaze on the nearest Hufflepuff: a terrified Justin Finch-Fletchley.
The students screamed and backed away, creating a vacuum of panic around the snake.
And then, it happened.
"No!", shouted Harry. But it wasn't English. A guttural and strange hissing came from his lips, a sound that sent a shiver through the room. ~"Leave him alone!"~
An absolute and heavy silence fell over the Great Hall. It was denser than any silencing charm.
The snake, which had been ready to strike, stopped. Its head turned, confused, and it stared at Harry. Then, docilely, like an obedient dog, it lowered its head to the floor and lay still.
Justin Finch-Fletchley, white as a ghost, turned and fled the stage, tripping over his own feet. All eyes in the room were fixed on Harry, but the curiosity from before was gone. Now, their faces reflected a mixture of fear and accusation.
"What do you think you're doing, Potter?", shouted someone from the Hufflepuff table.
Snape, with a strange and undecipherable expression on his face, stepped forward with a sharp wave of his wand and vanished the snake in a cloud of black smoke.
Timothy watched it all from the back of the room, his face perfectly calm, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
He wasn't surprised. He wasn't horrified. He was... validating data.
'Interesting', he thought, his Archive mind working with cold efficiency. 'Parseltongue. So the script holds, even if the diary is no longer in play'.
He, of course, already knew he could speak it. It was one of the first and most useful "benefits" he had harvested upon archiving Riddle's diary weeks ago. He could perfectly understand the snake's panic ("Where am I? I smell blood!") and Harry's confused and instinctive command ("Get away from him!").
He saw the students backing away from Harry, whispering "The Heir of Slytherin". He saw Ron and Hermione, both pale as ghosts, run toward a stunned Harry and drag him out of the Great Hall.
Timothy remained silent. He considered the situation for a moment. Should he step forward? Reveal that he too could speak it? It could take some pressure off Harry, prove it was just a skill.
He dismissed the idea almost instantly.
'Inefficient', he decided. 'A massive complication'.
Revealing that ability here and now would be a logistical disaster. It would attract questions. Questions from Dumbledore, questions from Flitwick, questions he had no intention of answering. How would he, a Ravenclaw raised by Muggles, explain his sudden mastery of Salazar Slytherin's tongue? It would lead directly to questions about the diary, about the Chamber, about his Archive. It would expose all his secrets.
No. His job was to observe, not participate in the melodrama of the protagonist. He would let Harry wallow in the drama of being the "Heir of Slytherin". He had work to do.
As the chaos dissolved and Lockhart clumsily tried to regain control of the Dueling Club, Timothy slipped out the side door. The students' panic was just background noise.
The ostracism was immediate and brutal. Overnight, Harry Potter went from being the Hero of Gryffindor and star Seeker to being "The Heir of Slytherin".
Timothy watched this with the same analytical disinterest with which he had watched Lockhart's hysteria. The corridors fell silent when Harry passed. The Hufflepuffs, in particular, avoided him as if he had the plague. It was a fascinating social phenomenon, but, ultimately, irrelevant to his work.
A couple of days later, he found Harry alone in the library, hiding in the Herbology section, pretending to read while the rest of the room actively avoided his table.
Timothy approached, the sound of his chair scraping against the stone caused Harry to jump, bracing for another confrontation.
"Tim? What are you doing here?", murmured Harry, clearly expecting him to leave.
"Archiving", said Timothy, sitting across from him. "Did you know that Acromantula venom is a Grade 5 potion binding agent, but only if harvested under the full moon? Fascinating".
Harry stared at him. "Don't... don't you care?".
"Care about what?", asked Timothy, opening his book. "That you can speak to snakes?".
Harry nodded, miserable.
Timothy considered him for a moment, as if analyzing a logic problem.
"Ignore them", he told him. "No. Why should I care? It's just a language. A rare skill".
He paused, his voice dropped slightly. "I would catalog it as 'useful'".
Harry gaped, surprised by the absolute lack of judgment. There was no fear. There was no accusation. Just... a pragmatic assessment.
"Useful?", repeated Harry, incredulous.
"Of course", said Timothy, turning the page of his book. "Think about it. There is a whole branch of conceptual magic tied to species. Being able to communicate with an ancient magical creature is a tactical advantage. It isn't 'dark' or 'light', Harry. It is just... a datum".
Timothy returned to his book, terminating the conversation. Harry stared at him, feeling for the first time in days that he wasn't completely alone. The fear hadn't gone, but Timothy's cold logic was, in a strange way, more comforting than any kind word Hermione could have given him.