Hermione let out a small, startled gasp at the sight.
The furry dog paw kept scrabbling desperately at the air, claws flexing as though trying to drag something—or someone—into the book.
She immediately made a mental note: if she ever came back to the Restricted Section, she'd be extremely careful around the weird books.
"Thank you so much, Professor. But… could you tell me more about what a special talent might be?"
"Wizards have all kinds of innate gifts. Take Nymphadora Tonks, who just graduated last year—she's a natural Metamorphmagus. She can perform those extremely difficult human Transfigurations at will, changing her appearance whenever she likes."
"There are others born with powerful Legilimency, or true Seer abilities like some of the rare prophetic witches and wizards."
"And then there are those whose ancestors had unusual bloodlines, or who experimented on themselves—passing down traits that sometimes lie dormant for generations before suddenly awakening in a descendant."
"These talents are often things like unusually strong affinity for certain branches of magic, or the ability to speak the language of a specific magical creature."
"Of course, many can also be learned through hard work. Dumbledore himself speaks Gobbledegook, Mermish, Centaurish, and many others."
"So it's possible your friend has awakened a Divination gift… or inherited some ancestral legacy and suddenly understands the language of a particular animal."
"If the strange sounds she's hearing fit into one of those categories I mentioned, that's most likely it. If you still can't figure it out, feel free to bring your friend to see me directly."
Hermione listened carefully to every word, then thanked him again with sincere gratitude.
Clutching her massive book to her chest, she hurried out of the library.
...
"Something inside my body is talking to me. I've awakened some weird talent. Someone's using a spell to speak only to me."
After hearing the possibilities Hermione had gotten from the professor, Harley's face went pale.
She lowered her head in a panic, anxiously inspecting her own body.
Ron, seeing how rattled she was, quickly tried to comfort her.
"Don't panic, Harry. Maybe you've just awakened some amazing talent—like prophecy, or suddenly understanding a language no one else can."
"Yeah! Maybe that's it!"
Harley nodded vigorously, latching onto Ron's words like a lifeline—anything to escape the terrifying idea that something inside her was speaking.
Then, as if struck by lightning, her eyes lit up.
"Wait—I've got it! I definitely awakened the language of an animal!"
Ron and Hermione whipped their heads toward her.
"Yes! I remember now—I can talk to snakes!"
"Back when I went to the zoo with my aunt and uncle, I had a whole conversation with a python. He told me he'd never been to Brazil. And then… I made the glass disappear and Dudley fell in!"
Facing her two best friends, Harley excitedly recounted the memory.
She didn't notice how wide their eyes had gone, or the stunned silence that followed.
After she finished describing Dudley's panicked flailing, she finally registered their expressions.
"Hermione? Ron? What's wrong? It's just talking to animals. Dumbledore can do loads of creature languages—I bet Professor Viktor can too!"
Hermione glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in and whispered urgently.
"No, Harry—it's not the same. Talking to snakes is called Parseltongue. In almost every book, Parseltongue is a gift only powerful Dark wizards possess!"
"And it's usually only passed down to their descendants—the ones who can speak to snakes… and command them."
After hearing that explanation, Harley's excitement drained away, replaced by confusion.
Because now she remembered: during her Sorting, the Hat had said Slytherin would suit her best.
And now she had Parseltongue.
Did that mean she really belonged in Slytherin after all?
But the Hat had put her in Gryffindor. Why would she even think something like that?
Was it because of Snape's attitude these past few days?
She shook her head hard, trying to dislodge the unsettling thoughts.
Ron, seeing her distress, hurried to reassure her.
"Hey, it's fine, Harry. You're a Potter—pure-blood families intermarry all the time. Maybe one of your ancestors married into Slytherin's line way back."
"Like how my family's actually distantly related to the Malfoys. Wait—if you count it that way… you're actually related to Malfoy too!"
Ron paused, doing frantic mental maths.
"Wait—actually, that would make you a generation above him. So… you're basically his great-aunt or something?!"
"Hold on—if that's right, then you're a generation above me too! Do I have to start calling you 'Uncle Harry'?!"
Ron's eyes went comically wide as the realisation hit.
Harley and Hermione burst out laughing at the same moment.
The heavy atmosphere shattered instantly.
"Okay, Harley—if you're a Parselmouth, then whatever you heard that night was probably just a snake out hunting."
"Hogwarts is huge. It's perfectly normal for wild snakes to sneak in from the grounds. So stop overthinking it."
"And Harry—best not to tell anyone else you can speak Parseltongue. In the wizarding world, it's… controversial."
Harley nodded seriously at Hermione's warning.
"Right. Now that's sorted—let's get started on homework!"
Hermione pulled a thick stack of parchment from her bag and spread it across the table.
Harley and Ron let out twin groans.
Hermione shot them a fierce glare.
Two seconds later, both were meekly pulling out their own work and bending over it.
...
After skimming two more books on human Transfiguration, Viktor gathered up a now-recovered (and still faintly dreamy-eyed) Tom and headed to the Great Hall for dinner.
On the way, his thoughts drifted back to Hermione's question.
Hearing voices no one else could… tsk tsk.
So this was what being the protagonist looked like.
Barely into her teens and already awakening a rare gift that most wizards had to study for years to master.
What an enviable talent.
Lost in thought, Viktor reached down and absently ruffled Tom's head—earning a contented purr.