Two Souls

Chapter Thirty Eight

At breakfast the next morning, I arrive to the Slytherins howling with obnoxious laughter. Malfoy seems to be the ringleader of all the hysterics, as he's grasping a copy of The Daily Prophet and is reading an article aloud for the table to hear.

"Harry Potter!" Draco reads, spitting on the word 'Potter,' "Disturbed and Dangerous!

The boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named is unstable and possibly dangerous, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alarming evi- dence has recently come to light about Harry Pot- ter's strange behavior, which casts doubts upon his suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts School.

Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and is often heard to complain of pain in the scar on his forehead (relic of the curse with which You-Know-Who attempted to kill him). On Monday last, midway through a Divination lesson, your Daily Prophet reporter witnessed Potter storming from the class, claiming that his scar was hurting too badly to continue studying.

It is possible, say top experts at St. Mungo's Hos- pital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, that Pot- ter's brain was affected by the attack inflicted upon him by You-Know-Who, and that his insistence that the scar is still hurting is an expression of his deep-seated confusion.

"He might even be pretending," said one spe- cialist. "This could be a plea for attention."

The Daily Prophet, however, has unearthed worrying facts about Harry Potter that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has carefully concealed from the wizarding public.

"Potter can speak Parseltongue," reveals Draco Malfoy, a Hogwarts fourth year. (Draco smiles wickedly at this point) "There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a dueling club and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But he's made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he'd do anything for a bit of power."
Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defense League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue "as worthy of investigation.

Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evildoers." Similarly, "anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence."

Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in his des- peration to win the tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening,"

The Slytherins continue to laugh, except for me, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approach the Gryffindor table. The three can hardly sit down before Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle make grotesque faces and pretend to be clutching their scar.

Harry never told me that his scar was hurting so bad that he had collapsed on Monday — that was the same day that I had my vision of Voldemort and Wormtail. Could that possibly be . . . connected?

I finish breakfast as quick as I can and return to the Slytherin common room, hoping to avoid any possible problems. The common room is empty when I arrive, due to the fact that everyone is still in the Great Hall for breakfast.

I smirk to myself. The Ton Tongue Toffees remain unused in my drawer. Today would be a perfect day to test them out.

As fast as I can, I take the toffees and put them in a bowl in the middle of the room. The Slytherin common room is almost always filled with goodies and candies, which Crabbe and Goyle usually devour, so they wouldn't notice anything peculiar with this little stunt.

"I wish I was there when Potter collapsed in Divination," Draco exclaims from outside the dungeons. "That would've been hilarious!"

He pauses at the door. "Mudblood!"

The dungeon door slowly rolls open, causing me to make a mad dash for the dormitories. Once the rest of the Slytherins arrive in the common room, I slowly re enter to make it seem like I've been there the entire time.

Goyle is the first idiot to take a toffee from the bowl in the center. Crabbe follows shortly.

"These toffees are so delicious!" Crabbe announces, as the effects haven't hit him yet.

Because of Crabbe's comment, around three quarters of the Slytherins take a toffee to try for themselves. The only people who don't seem to take a toffee are me, Daphne (who claims that candies have too many calories), and Montague (who apparently is deathly allergic to toffee?).

"Oi, my - my tongue!" Goyle is the first to exclaim. His tongue has grown so long, it is nearly down to his knees.

Crabbe laughs. "You bloody idiot! You're allergic to toffees and didn't know — hey! Wait!" He screams, as his tongue grows to a similar length of Goyle's.

I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my snickers, but once Draco Malfoy says "My father will hear about this!" with his extremely long tongue, I lose it.

I double over, exploding with laughter. There are literal tears forming in my eyes.

"Think thith ith funny, do you, Grey?" Draco asks, his tongue flopping every which way.

"Yeah, I do actually," I say, laughing.

"Thith ith a cruel prank to pull, espethially on my birthday," Draco says hostilely.

I freeze. "Today's our birthday?"

Draco laughs, even with his tongue down to his torso. "Maybe if you weren't so busy snogging Potter, you would have realized."

Today's my birthday! And I have absolutely no idea how to spend it.

******

Well, at least two people didn't forget about my birthday. Grayson and Francesca wrote me wonderful letters telling me how much they've missed me. Francesca also reminds me how imperative it is that I see her as soon as the term ends. Hogwarts terms end a bit later than Ilvermorny, from what I've realized.

"You didn't tell us it was your birthday, Amelia," Hermione says at dinner this evening. I opt to sit with the Gryffindors for dinner, since the Slytherins have somehow figured out I was the mastermind behind the pranks.

I shrug. "I didn't realize until Malfoy told me it was his birthday. How'd you guys find out anyway?"

"Harry got a letter from Sirius asking to wish you a happy birthday on behalf of him," Ron tells me. His red hair that reaches his shoulders is tangled.

I glance between the three of them. "How does Sirius know my birthday? How does he even know who I am?" I ask Harry, assuming he would have the most information.

Harry shrugs. "We've told him about you. He seemed to know who you were. Must've known your parents or something," He says nonchalantly.

I nod, letting the subject die. But my curious thoughts continue to run wild. How did Sirius Black somehow know my birthday?

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