Lockhart's Rescue and "Guidance" (2)

"Parseltongue is a very, very rare and ancient gift! It is proof of bloodline!" Lockhart raised his voice slightly, as though explaining a particularly interesting point in class so that all the students around him could hear. "This proves that Slytherin blood must run through your family line! It is something to be proud of!"

A low murmur rose through the Great Hall, like thunder rolling in from the horizon. At the Ravenclaw table, several older students whispered among themselves; over at Hufflepuff, someone covered their mouth. At the Gryffindor table, Seamus looked at no one. His gaze was fixed on the cup of pumpkin juice before him, long gone cold, while his fingers traced unconscious circles around its rim. Dean beside him said nothing either, but his back was straighter than before, as if he were resisting some invisible weight pressing down on him.

Something to be proud of? Proof of bloodline? Slytherin blood? When those words came from Lockhart, they carried a light, almost eager lilt.

But to Harry, what hid beneath that tone was more dangerous than any open accusation. An accusation was a blade. You could see it coming and dodge. Praise was poison wrapped in sugar; when you swallowed it, it even tasted sweet.

"Of course, this unusual ability may cause some people who do not understand you to have... well... unnecessary associations and concerns." Lockhart's smile grew gentler. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping across the uncertain faces below as though he were a shepherd counting his flock.

He did not lower his voice, merely kept it at an intimate pitch that suggested only the two of them could hear. "Perhaps after class, you could sit down in Headmistress McGonagall's office? Talk to her about how you feel? Or—if speaking with the