Harry Potter: The Lion of the Serpent House

Humans can endure lifelong solitude, but not sudden isolation...

Harry didn't blindly follow Sirius's advice. Knowing the joy of sharing moments with friends made losing it unbearable, unlike never having it at all. Searching for the culprit in Slytherin's common room yielded no answers. Carrow, cozy with a female friend, and Marcenas, playing matchmaker, had moved on, leaving Harry behind.

Harry borrowed an owl from Hagrid's hut, seeking advice. Hagrid's response echoed Sirius's optimism: "Snape's a fine teacher, handpicked by Dumbledore. Nothin' to worry about, Harry. Keep watchin' Quidditch!"

The words lightened Harry's heart, but Zabini and the others weren't thrilled about him attending matches—whether fearing for Harry or themselves. Reluctantly, Harry gave up Quidditch.

The next weekend, feeling sulky, Harry went to the library with Farkas. Zabini and Azrael, invited to a tea party by Slytherin first-year girls, ditched them with grins. Harry and Farkas, the unpopular boys, bonded over their shared fate.

With Quirrell's permission, they sought books on Dark Arts, prompted by Sirius's mention of a Curse. Harry needed knowledge to prepare. Quirrell, stuttering and hesitant, granted access: "I-I-It's a bit advanced for first-years… b-but curiosity is the time to learn… K-Knowing Dark Arts for defense is wise, Potter. One point to Slytherin. Restricted Section approved."

"Thanks, Professor Quirrell," Harry said, feeling guilty for Slytherins' mockery. Quirrell's pronunciation faltered, but his wandwork and theory were precise. Flitwick said Quirrell, a Ravenclaw, taught anyone eager to learn. To Harry, he was a good teacher.

In the library, fifth-years, some Ravenclaws, Hermione, Ron, and Neville were present. Neville, struggling with Snape's Potions like Seamus and Goyle, hunted for references to avoid losing points.

"She's reading some tough books," Harry whispered to Farkas, eyeing Hermione and Ron buried in thick tomes—far beyond first-year texts, rivaling fifth-year material.

"She's aiming for top grades," Farkas said. "Found the Curse book in the Restricted Section."

"Thanks, Farkas. Quick work."

Farkas seemed uninterested in Hermione, wary of Harry interacting with her. Harry dove into the Dark Arts book—less dense than Hermione's but still daunting. It detailed advanced magical control theories, explaining that Dark Arts evolved post-Protego, designed to pierce basic shields with amplified power. The formulas were beyond first-year comprehension (Harry later wondered if Hermione could've grasped them). They left the library, time mostly wasted.

"Dark Arts are incredible… too advanced for us now, but imagine mastering them…" Farkas said, excited, picturing himself subduing magical creatures like trolls with Curses. Harry, with a wry smile, confirmed the Bludger attack was likely a Curse.

"Not exactly good magic," Harry mused. "But why me?"

Curses required strong intent. Harry wondered what he'd done to warrant such hatred in Slytherin. Recalling Hagrid's story of Voldemort targeting him, Harry questioned if he was just an ordinary Slytherin or if mastering Curses could make him special. To fulfill the Sorting Hat's words, should he study Dark Arts like Hermione?

But what's the point of learning Curses? Harry thought. Using them on Dudley or his attacker would be lethal, and his pride forbade it. He didn't aspire to hunt magical creatures either—just to defend himself now. The book offered knowledge but no solutions.

Sorry, Professor Quirrell, maybe a waste of time, Harry thought, regretting his approach. He needed defensive magic, not Dark Arts. Protego might not counter Curses, but mastering basic spells was the path forward. Sirius's words now made sense.

Sirius faced Ministry reprimands for sneaking into Hogwarts. Though not prosecuted, his unstable state delayed further meetings with Harry. Via letter, Sirius taught defensive magic: "Expelliarmus is the cornerstone of defense. Study Charms with Flitwick—he'll help."

Harry practiced Charms diligently with Zabini and Azrael after class. One day, Farkas brought a package. "Mail for you, Harry."

"No sender? Odd… From my dad?" The note, neither Sirius's nor Hagrid's handwriting, simply said it was from Harry's father, with instructions to use it well. Inside was a large, worn cloak.

"Hahaha! YES!" Azrael lost it, laughing maniacally at the cloak, startling everyone.

"Oi, Azrael, you're not planning to steal Harry's stuff again, are you?" Zabini teased.

"No way, Zabini! What do you take me for?"

"A Slytherin."

Zabini was right. Slytherins, venomous as snakes, respected each other but sometimes distanced themselves through calculated dislike—something Harry couldn't yet grasp. Azrael calmed down, and Harry pressed for answers.

"Is this cloak that amazing? Looks like an old rag to me."

"Blasphemy! It's an Invisibility Cloak! Only elite wizards own them—worth thousands of Galleons!" Azrael explained. Made from rare Demiguise fur, it rendered the wearer invisible. Farkas shot Harry a sympathetic look as Azrael rambled.

Harry declined Zabini and Farkas's urging to try it on. "I'll ask Hagrid if it's really an Invisibility Cloak and if my dad owned it. It's suspicious it just showed up."

Their excitement cooled. Hagrid confirmed James Potter owned it, and Sirius verified it was unenchanted. Harry began using its power.

With the Invisibility Cloak, Harry broke Sirius's rules, sneaking to watch Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw. The match was intense, both teams scoring over a hundred points. Slytherin's Beater injured Ravenclaw's Seeker with a Bludger, letting Slytherin's Seeker snatch the Snitch. Hidden under the cloak, Harry cheered with Zabini and the others.

Glancing at Snape, Harry saw him taunting Quirrell while gloating over Slytherin's win. Harry felt for Quirrell, a Ravenclaw reportedly mocked for teaching Muggle Studies. A new professor, Charity Burbage, tried mediating between Snape and Quirrell, but with little success.

For Snape's credit, defense didn't require complex theories like Harry's research. As Sirius taught, it demanded precise spellcasting tailored to the moment. Snape's harsh view of Quirrell's stammering as unfit for Defense Against the Dark Arts, while excessive, held some truth. Burbage, neutral, tried to mediate respectfully but struggled.

Christmas break arrived, and Harry stayed at Hogwarts with Asclepius, his snake. Zabini and the others left gifts, and Harry, advised by Sirius, sent presents via owl: a stretchable cloak for Azrael, a self-grooming comb for Zabini, and a weightless brand-name bag for Farkas. Unsure if they were fitting, Harry hoped for the best.

Most students, including Farkas, went home. Harry's roommates worried but left after his forced smile. "See you after break! Don't forget me!"

"Be careful, Harry. If the attacker's still here, you're at risk. Call the Bloody Baron or Snape," Azrael warned.

"Baron's the safer bet. Not sure he'd care much for Harry," Zabini added.

"Hope the attacker's not a pureblood. Stay safe," Farkas said.

Harry gave a wry smile. The Bloody Baron favored Slytherins but was colder to non-purebloods like Harry and Farkas. Students revered and feared him.

"Feels empty," Asclepius hissed, noting the quiet dorm. Lately, Zabini and Farkas had been feeding him.

"They're off hunting," Harry whispered back in Parseltongue.

Hogwarts was nearly deserted during Christmas. Draco mocked Harry for staying, implying his Muggle upbringing was a Slytherin disgrace, but Harry endured. Avoiding the Dursleys was enough, and Asclepius was by his side. If the attacker struck now, Harry thought, at least his friends would be safe. Part of him even wished the culprit would reveal themselves and end the uncertainty.

On Christmas Day, Harry entered the Great Hall and froze. Snape was absent, but Dumbledore sported tinsel, and the Weasleys wore initialed, hand-knitted sweaters. Jealousy surged, and Harry averted his eyes from the Gryffindor table, nearly empty at Slytherin's.

"Hey, Potter, over here!" Fred and George Weasley called. "Slytherin's little lion, join the Gryffindors!"

"Er…" Harry hesitated. The sparse hall saw Slytherin stragglers chatting with Ravenclaws, and house lines seemed blurred today.

"Thanks. Ron's brothers, right?" Harry said, recognizing their Gryffindor bravado from Quidditch and their reputation. To Slytherins, the twins were notorious enemies, targeting those who crossed them.

"Not our first meeting," Fred grinned. "Gave you a Dungbomb, didn't we?"

Unlike their reputation, the twins only pranked bullies like Carrow or Marcenas, not random Slytherins. Their feud was with troublemakers, who often happened to be Slytherins, leading to daily spell-slinging showdowns.

"One correction," Harry said firmly. "I'm Slytherin. A snake, not a lion."

The twins' eyes shifted, appraising him.

"Bold words, kid," George said.

"Stop it, you two. Don't scare a first-year," Percy scolded. "Sorry, Potter. Ignore them."

"He's got potential for a first-year," Fred said.

"After all, he's Harry Potter!" they chorused, teasing as Percy reprimanded them—a typical Weasley scene. Ron, the sixth son, sat quietly, often ignored or mocked by the twins, lacking a voice. Hermione, beside him, waited politely for the feast.

Harry edged away from the twins, sitting near Ron, who raised a hand in greeting. "Hey, Harry."

"Your brothers are something. Thanks for getting me here," Harry said.

"House lines don't matter today," Ron replied.

Welcomed as Slytherin's "little lion," Harry joined the Gryffindors. As he minded his manners, Ron and Hermione broached the attacker.

"What do you think of Snape, Harry?" Hermione asked. "I've been watching him. He's always hard on you, but sometimes extra harsh. Why?"

She'd reconsidered Snape's motives, believing she'd saved Harry by setting his robes alight. Since then, no attacks had occurred, but she wanted Harry's insight.

"Snape's a great Potions teacher—for most Slytherins. He loves our house," Harry said dryly, puzzling Hermione.

"Harry, you've picked up Slytherin's cryptic talk, but be straight with us," Ron urged.

Harry realized he'd been viewing them as Gryffindors. He opened up slightly, trusting their concern. "I've looked into it, but neither Hagrid nor my friends know anything solid. No clue why I'm targeted."

He kept Slytherin's internal suspicions private, even from Ron and Hermione.

Hermione pressed, "Let's focus on Snape. I noticed he's sometimes unusually harsh with you. Any idea why?"

"Snape's always intense with Harry," Ron said.

"But there's a pattern to it," Hermione insisted.

Her perspective differed from the Slytherins, who revered Snape as their Head. She judged him by actions, leading to her suspicion and the fire incident.

"Blimey, Hermione, didn't know you were so into Snape. Snape scholar, eh?" Ron teased.

"Stop it, Ron. I'm serious," she snapped.

"You two are tight," Harry said, smiling. He recalled his interactions with Snape, sharing them with Ron and Hermione.

At the Sorting, Harry earned Snape's ire for not reporting a rat. In class, Snape was strict with Harry, Neville, and Seamus, as sloppy potion-making risked lives. At Halloween, Snape was furious when Harry's group left their posts, citing student safety.

Harry remembered Sirius prioritizing his safety as his godfather, a rare adult who cared. What if Snape's harshness is about protecting us, just in a nasty way?

"Could Snape be trying to protect us?" Harry ventured.

"His words are too sharp for that," Ron said. "Though my mum's scary when she's mad at Fred and George."

"No, Ron. Strict punishment deters rule-breaking," Hermione countered, analyzing calmly.

Talking with Hermione clarified Harry's memories. Her sharp mind vividly recalled Snape's odd behavior at Halloween and the Sorting, as well as other suspects. She was beginning to doubt Snape's guilt.

"Snape seemed off at Halloween," Harry said, rubbing his scar, sensing something amiss.

"His walk was weird," Harry recalled.

"Yeah! I thought the twins pranked him!" Ron added.

"Was Snape searching for the troll?" Hermione mused.

"A troll being there was odd," Ron said.

"Someone might've lured it," Harry suggested.

"Why?" Ron asked.

"No idea. But someone might know," Harry said. "Moaning Myrtle."

Apologies for the Flitwick mix-up—easy mistake!