Everyone Hisses Can Be Hissing Parseltongue

While Harry and Anthony were enjoying Professor Sprout's cookies, an owl flew clumsily into the window, which had just been cleaned by a house-elf. The cat jumped out from the bedroom, leaped onto the windowsill in a few quick steps, and began twitching its tail, staring intently at the barn owl outside.

Anthony carefully opened the window and pulled the owl inside. As soon as he reached out to take the note tied to its leg, the bird pecked at his hand. Immediately, the cat pounced and pinned the owl down.

"No," Anthony said firmly, lifting the cat's paw and freeing the note. He still hadn't forgotten the cat's earlier attack on Professor Quirrell.

Once the cat let go, the owl flew erratically between the desk and the chandelier, circling Harry.

Harry laughed as he dodged the overenthusiastic owl. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Anthony unfolded the note and quickly understood the owl's persistence. "This one's for you, Potter."

"For me?" Harry asked, confused. "That's not my owl."

"Maybe your owl is busy with something else," Anthony said, handing him the note.

Harry took the small piece of parchment. It was from Hagrid, inviting him to his cabin. Anthony could tell from Harry's expression that this wasn't the news he had been hoping for. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face as he read the note again before tucking it into his pocket.

"Hagrid must be worried about you," Anthony said, glancing at the time. "But don't go tonight. Tomorrow, Potter. It's curfew."

Harry nodded, and Anthony stood up. "Come on, I'll walk you back to Gryffindor Tower."

"No, no, that's okay," Harry quickly refused. "I know the way."

Anthony shook his head. "It's no trouble. I was heading out anyway to make sure no students are wandering about at night." He pulled a small box of biscuits from his desk and slid it over to Harry. "Take this as a reward for saving Davis. It's not much, but they taste good."

Harry blushed, clearly embarrassed. "Even without me, Professor Flitwick—"

"Professor Flitwick could have handled it, sure, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve a reward," Anthony insisted, cutting him off. "Now, we don't want to run into an angry Mrs. Norris, do we?"

…

"Can't we really go to the Headmaster's office, Professor? It would only take a few minutes, and I promise we won't break curfew, well, not too much," Harry asked as they walked down the ancient stone corridors, bringing up the topic again.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows in the hallway. Since curfew was approaching, the few students still wandering the castle were in a hurry. Even when they saw Harry, they only shot him strange glances before quickly moving along with their books. A knight in a portrait, mounted on a pony, challenged Harry to a duel, but Anthony politely declined on his behalf.

Anthony asked, somewhat puzzled, "Why are you so determined to confirm your house, Potter?"

"I I just don't want to be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin or anything," Harry muttered, knowing how ridiculous it sounded. "I don't want to be connected to Slytherin."

"What's wrong with Slytherin?" Anthony asked.

Harry frowned, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Slytherin is full of dark wizards! Malfoy's always acting superior, looking down on Ron, Hermione, and Neville and he's always picking on me! And then there's Crabbe and Goyle—stupid and mean—helping Malfoy bully everyone."

He paused for breath before continuing. "No one likes Snape. No one. But he really hates me! And Voldemort—he murdered my parents. And he was from Slytherin too!"

"Whoa, whoa," Anthony said, raising his hands. "It sounds like you've got quite a feud with Slytherin."

Harry sighed, "So, Professor, do you understand? I don't want to have anything to do with Slytherin, not even a little bit!"

"Alright, Mr. Potter," Anthony replied, "though I doubt anyone's genealogy can trace that far back, there are a few things you should keep in mind."

He continued, "First, while Parseltongue often runs in families, Salazar Slytherin wasn't the only Parselmouth in history. If I recall correctly, Herpo the Foul was one too. So, even if you can speak Parseltongue, it doesn't mean you're automatically related to Slytherin. And while many Parselmouths have been dark wizards, there are always exceptions, right?"

"Second," Anthony added seriously, "even if you were Slytherin's descendant, that doesn't dictate your character or future. You're your own person. Thirdly yes, I know some Slytherins can be difficult, but they're still your classmates. Don't judge someone too quickly just because they're from Slytherin, okay?"

He paused before adding with a smile, "And fourth, history from thousands of years ago is murky. For all we know, Slytherin's students might have been as kind and enthusiastic as you when the house was first founded."

As he spoke, Anthony couldn't help but recall the basilisk he had once encountered. The chamber it came from was clearly designed by someone who could speak Parseltongue, likely Slytherin himself. He briefly wondered if Harry's ancestor might have been involved, or if it was Slytherin all along.

He also mused on why anyone would think keeping a basilisk at a school was a good idea. But then again, he didn't fully understand why Hagrid thought raising Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest was wise either, and yet Hogwarts seemed fine with it.

Perhaps, in ancient times, people found a giant, non-fluffy snake charming. In the days before the Hogwarts Express, maybe students rode basilisks to school.

"I doubt it," Harry muttered, though he seemed more at ease.

As they approached the Fat Lady's portrait, they saw several couples quietly chatting before curfew. The students looked startled when they noticed Harry and quickly said their goodnights, heading off. In the corner, a girl with messy hair blushed as she kissed her boyfriend and then hurried through the portrait hole, her face glowing with embarrassment.

An older student, clearly in the middle of a quarrel with his lover, was muttering irritably as he hit the wall in frustration. Judging by his direction, he wasn't from Gryffindor. When he noticed Harry, he sneered provocatively, "Hey, Potter! Want to hiss a bit more? Maybe I'll take after you—become the next Dark Lord!"

"Not likely," Harry retorted loudly. "If I were a snake, I'd faint from hearing such a horrible pronunciation."

Anthony raised an eyebrow and asked, "Which house are you from?"

The student froze, suddenly realizing a professor was with Harry. He shrank back into the shadows and muttered, "Ravenclaw, Professor."

At one point, Anthony could hear a little voice in his head, imitating Snape and saying, "Ravenclaw sadly loses five points for not remembering the professor's name." Shaking his head to rid himself of the absurd thought, he turned to Harry and said, "Want to give a demonstration, Potter?"

"Professor Anthony?" Harry asked, uncertain.

"This Ravenclaw seems quite curious about the pronunciation of Parseltongue," Anthony said with a grin. "To be honest, I'm curious too. If you're willing to teach him, I'm sure he'd be interested in learning. Just say, 'Let him go.'"

"Let him go," Harry repeated.

Anthony shook his head. "No, that's English."

"Hiss, let him go."

Anthony chuckled. "That's still English, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid you're not quite a snake yet."

"Let go and hiss him—I can't," Harry admitted in frustration. "It seems I can only do it when I'm actually talking to a snake."

Looking around, Anthony noticed a red hair tie left by a student in the corner. Concentrating, he transfigured it into a makeshift snake.

"Alright, Potter, this will have to do," Anthony said, holding up the snake with a yellow bow still attached. "Forgive me, my transfiguration skills aren't the best."

The snake's fabric eyes looked far too kind, and Harry and the Ravenclaw student burst out laughing. "Hisssssssssss," Harry said, attempting Parseltongue again.

This time, his voice sounded distinctly more sinister, and it seemed as though he were daring the harmless snake to bite Anthony. The Ravenclaw student paled and took a step back.

"Now that was Parseltongue," Anthony said, amused. "What did you just say, Potter? I didn't understand a word. Could you translate?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. "I said it looks better than the Slytherin snake."

"Ah, thank you for the compliment," Anthony said, turning to the Ravenclaw. "Did you learn anything?"

"No, no," the Ravenclaw muttered, looking nervous.

Several Gryffindor students passing by stopped to watch, intrigued by Harry's Parseltongue demonstration. Fred and George Weasley were already trying to mimic the sounds.

The Fat Lady, growing impatient, asked, "Are you coming in or not?"

"Hold on a sec," Fred replied, shaking his head.

"Let's start with something simple, Potter," Anthony suggested. "Try just 'Let him go.'"

"Hiss," Harry said again, his voice low and ominous.

"Yes, that's exactly what I heard on the pitch today," Anthony confirmed. "It sounded just like that."

"Every sentence sounds the same to me," the Ravenclaw grumbled.

"Maybe it's because you didn't study hard enough," Anthony teased, glancing at Harry with a smile. "I'm pretty sure Potter was telling the snake to release Davis. Well done, Mr. Potter. You've mastered a rare foreign language."

"That's not just a foreign language, Professor Anthony!" a nearby student exclaimed. "Historically, all Parselmouths were dark wizards!"

"Really?" Anthony said, looking at Harry, who nodded miserably. "Then perhaps we're witnessing history in the making: a Parselmouth who isn't a dark wizard."

In truth, Anthony couldn't understand why Parseltongue was automatically associated with dark wizards. Just because someone could speak to snakes didn't mean they were evil.

When Harry had confided his fear that speaking Parseltongue might mean he was destined to be a dark wizard, Anthony couldn't help but wonder if it was just like any other misunderstood form of magic. After all, playing with bones didn't make Anthony a dark wizard. Unless there was a specific law classifying snake-speaking as black magic, he didn't see the harm in conversing with creatures other than humans.

"But anyway, at least in this case " Anthony continued, "I definitely heard Potter say, 'Let him go.'"

"No, it's 'let go and hiss him,'" George corrected with a grin.

Fred, who had been sticking out his tongue to imitate a snake, pulled his arm away from Lee Jordan and said, "I hissed, and I understood."

As the Fat Lady huffed impatiently, the Gryffindor students began filing into the common room. Anthony turned to the Ravenclaw student, reminding him about curfew. With one last glance at Harry, the Ravenclaw muttered something under his breath and hurried off without another word.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry whispered, glancing around nervously. "But I didn't really mean to let him go."

Anthony raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You didn't?"

"At first, yes," Harry explained, "but then it turned into 'Please let him go' and 'Thank you.'"

"Oh," Anthony said, considering that for a moment before chuckling. "Well, I admit, I probably wasn't listening too carefully." He gave Harry a gentle push toward the portrait hole. "Go on, polite Mr. Potter. Don't worry too much about your foreign language skills. Eighty or ninety percent of the time, people just don't understand what you're saying like me."

"Alright, Professor," Harry said with a smile, climbing through the open portrait.

Anthony looked down at the hair tie-turned-snake, still coiled around his arm, and muttered to himself, "Let go and hiss at me."

Then he remembered Professor McGonagall's theory on Transfiguration objects—they always retain their original essence. The "snake" was still just a hair tie, and it would never truly "let go."

…

The next morning, Anthony finally saw Dumbledore at breakfast, carefully avoiding dipping his long silver beard into raspberry jam while chatting with Professor McGonagall.

"Good morning, Henry," McGonagall greeted him with a knowing look.

"Good morning, Minerva, Pomona. Good morning, Caredi," Anthony said, taking his seat between Professor Sprout and Professor Burbage. After much insistence, he had started using her first name.

Professor Sprout, happily buttering her buns, nodded at him. "Albus is back."

"How's Davis? Is he awake?" Anthony asked, concerned.

"He woke up once, but Poppy put him back to sleep for treatment," Sprout replied.

"You're late to the discussion, Henry," Professor Burbage chimed in, sliding a stack of pancakes toward him. "We've already covered these topics."

"Anything new I should know?" Anthony asked, pouring himself some pumpkin juice.

McGonagall leaned over and said, "The Weasley twins woke up the entire Gryffindor Tower this morning before Quidditch practice. Except for the girls, apparently. They claimed to be Parselmouths now—dark wizards, in fact. They warned everyone that they would curse those who oppose them with snake words and have 777 snakes pull out their hair in the night leaving only seven strands. What do you think of that?"

Anthony blinked. "Uh, when exactly was this before practice?"

"Six in the morning," McGonagall said, sounding both amused and exasperated. "By 6:10, Percy Weasley was at my door."

"That curse does sound particularly hiss-worthy," Dumbledore added with a serious nod, though his eyes twinkled with amusement.