Several months earlier...

Harry felt a tugging on the back of his robes.

“Come on,” said Ron’s voice in his ear. “Move — come on...”

Ron steered him out of the Great Hall, Hermione hurrying alongside them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. Unfortunately, they got no further, as Professor McGonagall was standing in the Entrance Hall, her hands clasped together in front of her and her mouth pursed.

“Mr Potter,” she said. “The Headmaster would like a word with you.” She looked at Ron and Hermione, and it was only then that Harry realised that she hadn’t actually been looking at him before. “Mr Weasley, Miss Granger. You are to go straight to your common room.”

His friends protested, but McGonagall was firm, and a few short minutes later, Harry was rushing to follow her along corridors and up stairs, until they came to a halt in front of a large, ugly gargoyle.

“Sherbet lemon,” McGonagall said, and the gargoyle obediently leapt aside. The wall behind it parted to show a circular staircase that was moving upwards almost like an escalator. Stepping gingerly onto it, Harry and McGonagall were borne upwards. The top of the staircase gave onto a short landing that ended in a plain wooden door. The only ornament was a golden doorknocker, in the shape of an eagle’s head.

McGonagall didn’t touch the doorknocker, but instead rapped her knuckles briskly on the door, before pushing it open. “Mr Potter, Headmaster,” she said, and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, urging him inside.

“Ah, yes,” came Dumbledore’s voice from somewhere further in the office. “Thank you, Minerva. Come, Harry.”

Looking back at McGonagall over his shoulder, Harry was not comforted by the fact that his Head of House refused to look at him. He still had no idea what the problem had been down in the Great Hall, but now he was getting really worried, since it appeared that he was in big trouble.

Wishing that his friends had been allowed to accompany him, Harry walked forward. The area around the doorway was dark and dim, but then it suddenly opened up and out, stretching into a two-storey tall room. The curved walls were covered in bookcases, only interrupted by windows. A large fireplace was to his left, with a tall perch beside it. A very tattered looking, grey bird huddled on the perch, looking more miserable than Harry had ever thought a bird could be. It gave a minor squawk at seeing him, which descended into a strange trilling cough.

“Never mind Fawkes,” Dumbledore said, from behind the large desk in the middle of room. “He’s not at his best at the moment; too close to a burning day.” He waved a hand, and an armchair popped up in front of the desk. “Please take a seat, Harry,” he said.

As he hurried to do so, Harry was distracted by a whirl of silver in his peripheral vision. Glancing that way, he could see dozens of small, silver instruments, tucked away on the bottom shelf of a bookcase. They all appeared to be doing different things – some were emitting bubbles, some were twirling slowly, some were spitting out sparks, some were flashing various colours, and one was pinging away sadly to itself.

“Harry, before we begin, do you know why you’ve been brought here?” Dumbledore asked, nudging a small bowl of sweets on his desk closer to Harry.

“Um, no, sir,” Harry admitted. “Is it something to do with what happened in the Great Hall?”

“Yes, my boy, I’m afraid it is.” Dumbledore folded his hands together, and gave Harry a vaguely disappointed look. “Now, I’m sure you didn’t mean to scare your classmate, but—”

Frustrated, Harry couldn’t help but interrupt. “But, sir, I don’t understand! I stopped the snake from attacking Justin. Why is that scary?”

There was a brief hiss from behind him, and Harry looked round to see McGonagall staring at him. He couldn’t quite tell what her expression was, but he hastily looked away again.

“Hmm.” Dumbledore peered over the top of his glasses at Harry, then flicked a glance at a silver instrument on his desk that Harry hadn’t spotted before. It was silently puffing out clouds of bright red smoke. “Tell me, Harry, what exactly happened?” he asked.

“Well, we were supposed to be learning how to block spells in the Duelling Club, and Snape—” Harry caught Dumbledore’s gaze “—um, Professor Snape picked me and Malfoy, but Malfoy conjured a snake, and when Lockhart . . .” No reprimanding gaze this time. “Tried to get rid of it, he just made it angry, and it looked as if it was going to attack Justin, so I stepped forward and told it to leave him alone.” Harry shrugged. “And it did.”

There was another choking sound from behind him. Harry just hunched his shoulders this time.

“I see. And have you spoken to many snakes before?” Dumbledore asked, making a gesture with his hand that Harry thought meant more to McGonagall than it did to him, as there came the sound of the door softly closing a moment later.

“Uh, no, just one.” Harry blushed, remembering the previous snake he’d spoken to. “I accidentally freed a boa constrictor from London Zoo. It wanted to go to Brazil.”

“I see,” repeated Dumbledore. He closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed. “Harry, I am afraid that not all wizards share your ability to talk to snakes. In fact, only one other has had the talent in the last fifty years, and he did not use it well.”

“Um . . .” Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that.

“Unfortunately, it means that being a Parselmouth, or being able to speak Parseltongue, the snake language, is classed as a Dark ability.” Dumbledore sighed again and shook his head. “I’m afraid it causes us a bit of a problem, Harry.”

“It does?” Harry twisted his fingers together, anxiously. He still didn’t quite see the problem with stopping Justin from being attacked.

“Yes, Mr Potter, it does,” said McGonagall’s voice from behind Harry, and he jumped, almost falling off the chair as he whirled around. He hadn’t realised she’d come back into the room. Professors Snape, Flitwick and Sprout were behind her. “You used a Dark talent against a classmate, however inadvertently, which means that you will have to share a House with them, until you’ve made it up to them.”

“But I was saving Justin from the snake!” Harry protested. “How am I supposed to make up for that?! And . . . wait. Share a House? What does that mean?”

“It means, Potter,” said McGonagall, heavily, “that from this moment, you are no longer a member of Gryffindor House.” Before Harry could protest again, she waved her wand over him, and the red trim and Gryffindor crest on his robes disappeared.

Did this mean he was being expelled? Harry felt his chest constrict with panic. The Dursleys would never let him live it down if he went home now, in complete failure. And he’d have to attend school with Dudley again. Dudley would never let him live it down!

Before he started to actually hyperventilate, Sprout waved her wand. “Until Mr Finch-Fletchley agrees that you have made reparations for using a Dark ability against him, you will be a member of Hufflepuff House,” she said.

Harry looked down to see the new crest and yellow trim on his robes, and felt as if he could cry.

“Here is a copy of your new timetable,” Sprout added, thrusting a piece of parchment in Harry’s direction. She did not look thrilled about the new addition to her House.

Harry’s hand was beginning to tremble as he took it from her, but if any of the professors noticed, they made no mention of it.

A small popping noise made Harry look at Dumbledore. The silver instrument on his desk was now contentedly puffing out yellow smoke. The Headmaster nodded at this, then looked up at the small group in front of his desk.

“I believe Harry may like to return to his new dormitory now,” he said. “Pomona, if you would . . . ?”

“Of course, Albus,” said Sprout. She gestured at Harry. “Come along, Potter. I’ll show you where to go and tell you the password.”

“Um, my things?” Harry started, but McGonagall interrupted.

“The castle has already relocated your belongings, Mr Potter,” she informed him, looking down her nose at him.

Harry felt his heart sink lower. That meant he wouldn’t have a chance to talk with Ron and Hermione tonight. He wouldn’t see them until breakfast tomorrow . . . and he wouldn’t be able to sit with them then, either, he realised. He’d have to wait until their first break, since Gryffindors only shared Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, and that wasn’t until Monday. What must his friends be thinking? What would they think, when they discovered that his things weren’t in the dorm anymore?

“Come along, Mr Potter.” Sprout chivvied him out of the Headmaster’s office and down the spiral staircase, all without actually touching him. It reminded him unpleasantly of Aunt Petunia, shooing him outside or into his cupboard, but not wanting to dirty her hands by touching him. He felt the burning pressure of approaching tears in his eyes, and swallowed heavily.

At first, Sprout seemed to be leading him towards the kitchens, but then she turned off just before the corridor with the painting. They then went on such a meandering route that Harry was sure he’d never find his way back – if he ever managed to find his way out again in the first place.

Eventually, they came to a halt in front of a large painting that had several badgers gambolling around in a grassy meadow. The largest one paused and looked out at them.

“A badger’s home is his sett,” said Sprout. The badger blinked, and the portrait swung open.

Harry’s first impression of the Hufflepuff common room was that it rather resembled a large bee. Alternating stripes of yellow and black decorated the walls, with the window frame – if a wall happened to have a window – painted in the opposite colour. Bookshelves were scattered around, but the primary feature appeared to be large puffy armchairs, along with a few beanbags, all of which were, again, either yellow or black.

Most of Hufflepuff seemed to be in the common room, and were all talking over each other. It wasn’t really that much louder than the Gryffindor common room, but it still seemed overwhelming to Harry. Justin seemed to be holding court in the middle of the room, sitting in a chair looking pale. A sandy-haired boy that Harry didn’t really know was standing at Justin’s shoulder, almost as if he thought he was a bodyguard. Two girls were sat on beanbags at Justin’s feet, looking very anxious.

Professor Sprout cleared her throat, and everyone leapt to attention. “It seems that we have gained a new Badger,” Sprout said. “Until he has made reparations to Justin, Mr Potter will be a member of Hufflepuff House.”

Hunching his shoulders again, Harry took a quick glance around the room. Reactions ranged from wariness from the upper years, to horror from the second years, to outright panic from the first years. Harry dropped his gaze to the floor. It was obvious that Sprout and the rest of the Hufflepuffs didn’t want him. Why had Professor McGonagall done this to him? Or perhaps it was the Headmaster’s idea and she’d just gone along with it.

The feeling of loneliness and betrayal rose in Harry’s throat until he thought he’d choke on it. Guess that’d solve everyone’s problem, he thought, rather hysterically.

“But, Professor—!” several people were chorusing. Sprout held up a hand.

“I know, I know,” she said. “Unfortunately, there was no choice. Mr Potter used a Dark talent against one of our House, and must make amends for it.”

Harry gulped. He really wished people would stop saying he’d used a Dark talent against someone. And how was he supposed to make amends for saving someone? It wasn’t the kind of thing that usually needed to be made up for!

“Remember,” said Sprout, “we are Badgers. If anyone feels the need to talk, you all know how to find me.”

What if I need to talk? Harry wondered, hopelessly.

Sprout was already making her way back through the portrait hole, leaving Harry standing in the entrance to the common room, with the entire House staring at him.