There was no snake here this time, though, nothing to frighten them.
Nothing except Harry.
"Well done, Mr. Potter, well done!" Flitwick bounced with enthusiasm, his eyes alight with pleasure as he studied the drizzly rain now falling into the middle of his classroom. Clearly, he'd been briefed to expect Parseltongue and thought very little of it. Snape had likely told the other teachers in advance, for which Harry was grateful. "Nicely localized indeed. I don't believe a single drop has strayed. Now, a Finite and a sunlight charm, please. A strong one to dry the stones."
If Harry had been reluctant before, now he was practically paralyzed. Every single student's eyes were trained on him, and most of them looked pretty well horrified. But there was nothing for it but to grit his teeth and cast the charm. It was Parseltongue magic or no magic. Not much choice at all.
A wavering beam of light began to filter down from the ceiling, though it looked as though it would dissipate before it ever reached the wet stone floor.
"Oh come now, a bit stronger than that," Flitwick urged. "Go on, try again."
Harry did the Solare charm once more, using slightly different wording than before, as he had several Parseltongue variations of it. The light stabilized somewhat, though it wasn't what anybody could call strong.
"Well, that is some improvement, even if somewhat orange," said Flitwick in a slightly puzzled voice. Only then did he appear to realize that nobody was working on the exam. "Thirty more minutes," he chided the class, his hand making a shooing motion. "To work then, all of you to work."
They did start working, but most were watching through lowered lashes even as they scribbled out sentences on their parchments. The wariness level, at least from some students, seemed to decline as Harry kept casting. Others appeared to be just as horrified as before.
Finally, Flitwick released him with a jolly, "There now, I can see you have kept up with the class. You might want to practice more as your spell power seems a bit off, but we'll chalk that up to the fact your magic's taking a slightly new form and you're still adjusting. All things considered, I think your father didn't exaggerate when he mentioned how hard you've been working... yes, five points to Gryffindor!"
Harry wondered how the counters would divide an odd number, but that speculation was cut short by a wave of snickering, the word father repeated several times in low voices. Well, at least it helped distract them from the whole Parseltongue issue. And too, some of the Gryffindors weren't snickering. That was worth something.
Transfigurations was both better and worse than Charms. McGonagall didn't publicly welcome him or turn him into a one-man show, but she did harrumph rather ostentatiously when she caught sight of his crest. Harry stared levelly back. What did she expect him to do? She knew as well as he did why he was in both Houses now. Maybe she didn't approve of the adoption? That sort of bothered Harry, but he chalked it up to her Gryffindors-can-take-care-of-their-own attitude. She had been pretty upset when he'd first moved down to the dungeons. This was probably just more of the same, so he mentally shrugged it off as class began.
This year they had Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, and the current topic was a review unit on same-name transfigurations. They were supposed to be simple, though Harry had never found them so. Today's task was turning gloves into foxgloves. McGonagall gave them each table several different gloves to work with: lady's lace ones, thick canvas work gloves, even a dragonhide one.
"Now," she lectured from the front, "be sure to focus your magic on the word glove as I'm sure we don't want any dragons running loose in the castle."
A couple of Hufflepuff girls began giggling at the image. Or maybe it was at him, since Harry caught a hint of a comment, something about the Triwizard Tournament and the First Task. Thinking he was being made fun of, he turned to give them a bit of a glare, only to see the pair of them flush red just like Ginny Weasley always used to do around him.
"Begin your transfigurations." McGonagall briskly walked up and down the aisles, critiquing their pronunciation and results. Nervous of what she might say when she got to him, Harry tried to keep track of her as she wandered the room.
"Concentrate, Miss Bones. We don't want lace, do we?"
Hermione poked him in the shoulder. "Harry, pay attention! Let's get started. The incantation is Gantus Floramus."
"Not for me, it isn't," he muttered, and then, in a lower voice still, "I didn't learn this one in advance." He waved his wand over a work glove, back and forth as McGonagall had demonstrated, though he held his wand so the end of it wouldn't touch his palm. Now came the hard part. When he had to incant a brand new spell, he never really knew what words would do the trick. He was still thinking about it when the noise of someone clearing a throat made him look up.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?" she asked, her voice as haughty as ever, her stance critical.
"No, Professor McGonagall. I'm just thinking of how to do it."
"Perhaps if you thought out loud?"
Harry lowered his voice. "Um, in Charms the teacher seemed to know already that I cast a bit differently than I used to. Did my father, I mean, did Professor Snape tell you about that?"
He hadn't spoken quietly enough; someone behind him made a gagging noise at the word father. Harry felt his face heating but decided to ignore it.
McGonagall had evidently decided otherwise. In her most supercilious tones, she inquired, "Are you taking ill, Mr. Finnegan?"
"No, no ma'am."
"Then you'd best see to getting some flowers made, hadn't you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
McGonagall returned her attention to Harry, her gaze less icy than before. "I believe Professor Snape informed all your teachers, yes. So that we could be prepared in case other students needed reassurance. And so?" She gestured at the table he was sharing with Hermione. "Gantus Floramus, Mr. Potter, however you need to say it."
"That's just it." Harry lowered his voice to a bare whisper. "I don't know how to say it. I have to figure out each spell as it comes. My own wording, I mean. Sometimes the obvious thing doesn't work."
McGonagall replied in a voice loud enough to carry. "I suppose you shall have to simply muddle your way through, Potter. It's a pity that magic is more difficult for you than formerly, but that's no excuse to do poorly."
Harry glared up at her suspiciously, only to receive a bland look back, but that was enough. McGonagall had done that on purpose, and not to humiliate him, either. She was in the Order, after all. She might not know about his wandless magic or what happened when he used a wand, but either Snape or Dumbledore had told her it was in the Order's interests to spread the story that poor little Harry Potter would never be the same.
"Yes, ma'am," he said quietly, looking back down at the gloves as he began to wave his wand again. The ring was really perfect, he thought. He couldn't help but see it every time he cast. "Turn yourself into flower," he tried. Nothing, though it wasn't lost on him that the Hufflepuffs were backing away. Hannah Abbot even turned and ran for the door.
"You will return to your seat," McGonagall called over the general hum of alarmed noise. "There is no cause for concern. Unless you're seriously proposing that Potter here is a dark wizard?"
"No, ma'am," said Hannah in a shaky voice that implied the opposite.
"I rather think if he were a dark wizard then You-Know-Who wouldn't be trying so hard to kill him. You did read the papers this past November, I trust?"
"Yes, ma'am." Hannah walked back toward her place then.
"You mustn't let it bother you, Potter," McGonagall told him, her voice still loud enough to carry. "It's an old prejudice, this idea about Parseltongue. Well, keep trying."