HP: The Beast God

It was nearing the end of our second school year, and the atmosphere around the school had settled into a collective sigh of relief over the end of the Chamber. Draco, still unaware that Pansy was the perpetrator and that I had stopped her, spoke to us casually about the events.

"Shame… Part of me hoped all the mudbloods would run screaming so we could enjoy school without them."

I hid my disgust, remembering how horrible every part of the Chamber incident had been. Pansy seemed a bit off too, her gaze uncertain as she glanced at me.

I shrugged, readjusting myself on the black leather couch in our common room.

"That's what summer is for, is it not?" I asked with my usual snide grin.

Draco chuckled. "That's a good one!"

Pansy only nodded, her smile forced as she chuckled alongside us. After a while, she excused herself, saying she wanted to head to the library. Draco and I shrugged it off and continued our talk about potions and spells.

Pansy frowned in thought, Lucas' fake smile lingering in her mind. She had known both sides of him long enough to tell when he was lying. Usually, it was to maintain the arrogant facade most Slytherins wore. But this time, it was different—he was wearing that face while talking about mudbloods.

Entering the library, her gaze landed on the brown-haired mudblood girl, already seated beside her silver-haired friend.

Just looking at the girl made Pansy's chest squirm. The feelings from when Tom controlled and manipulated her resurfaced.

'Why…? Why do I hate her so much?' she wondered.

Other mudbloods were forgettable nuisances, but this one ignited a deeper anger in her. The way Lucas had so easily sacrificed the last unicorn memory for her, perhaps even cursing himself forever just to hold her hand, came to mind.

She hated that feeling. The thought of Lucas and this girl caring for each other made her stomach sink. Quietly, she moved to their table, her glare sharp. Both girls looked up at her in confusion.

"Stay away from Lucas…" Pansy hissed, her voice full of venom.

"I don't—" the mudblood started.

"No. Just stay away from him. If I see you near him, I will make things difficult for you…" Pansy leaned over the table, locking eyes with Hermione.

Hermione frowned. She already disliked and distrusted Pansy, especially knowing she was responsible for this year's attacks—attacks that had harmed one of her friends. But she couldn't speak of it. And now, this blood purist was threatening her?

It was clear Pansy was close to Lucas—perhaps one of his only close friends. Hermione realized that Pansy might be seeing that Lucas wasn't fully aligned with pure-blood ideologies, and maybe she blamed Hermione for that.

Hermione shrugged. "Sure… I wasn't planning on it anyway."

Pansy didn't believe her, but turned and left regardless, having declared her silent war.

"Are… Are you going to be okay?" Chiara whispered, leaning in.

Hermione frowned. She hated Pansy and didn't want to obey her threats. But if Lucas was seen with her, his life could be ruined. It might even bring up questions about his beliefs—questions that could expose his true blood status.

She sighed. "I'm not the one to be worried about…" she mumbled, eyes lingering on the retreating figure of Pansy.

Leaning against the wall near the library doors, Pansy let out a sigh.

'What am I doing? I'm supposed to be more sophisticated than her… and I'm resorting to threats.'

Through the fragmented memories of being under Tom's control, she recalled the reasons she had been given to petrify the silver-haired Hufflepuff.

'She's trying to cling to Lucas. If she's out of the picture, the mudblood will come to us. They're both getting in the way.'

She crossed her arms, the fear of losing Lucas gnawing at her. He had risked everything for that girl, and the other always seemed to catch his eye. Both were dangerous—but the mudblood worried her most.

Before, it had just been the nervous girl showing interest—someone Pansy could easily scare off. But now the mudblood was starting to look at Lucas with softer eyes. That girl never gave up, evident by the month she spent making a potion just to interrogate him.

'The further away they are from him, the better,' she thought, walking the halls, unwilling to lose Lucas again.

"I see you have worries over your war…"

A sudden, warm, elderly voice made her freeze.

Pansy looked up at the oiled painting—the same one she had fallen asleep beside with Lucas. She blushed, remembering how casually he had dabbed away her drool. That moment itched in her chest.

"What war?" she asked, staring at the old wizard in the painting, who sat rocking in a chair with a book in hand.

He chuckled, closing the book. She caught a sidelong glance and a saddening smile.

"You remind me of an old friend… if you care to listen," he said, turning his gaze toward a painted mountain range.

Pansy sat down on the bench, leaving space where Lucas had once been.

"She was… a magnificent witch. Smart, hardworking, headstrong… caring." He sighed. "She cared too much."

He stroked his beard. "People believe what they're taught. Even if what they're taught is wrong, they believe it. She lost much because of those who misunderstood wizarding culture, and in fighting back… she lost everything else too."

Pansy's chest tightened. His story felt eerily familiar.

"You wonder if the thing you're fighting over is changing… but maybe it's your beliefs that are wavering."

She frowned, remembering her last talk with Merlin.

"Lucas… Is he perhaps… not what I think?"

Merlin kept rocking.

"What do you think he is?" he asked.

Pansy hesitated. Images of Lucas' horrified face when he realized she was the attacker flashed through her mind. His distance afterward. His willingness to protect Hermione.

"Lucas… isn't a blood traitor, is he?"

Merlin looked straight through her, his eyes glowing faintly with an unspoken anger.

"I'll leave you with this question, Ms. Parkinson… Parselmouth—how did Salazar gain such an ability? Who gave him that power to talk to snakes?"

He turned his chair toward the mountains again. As he did, the crushing pressure Pansy felt suddenly vanished, and she gasped for air.

His question spun in her mind.

'It comes from lineage—Lucas is a descendant of Salazar, that's why he can speak Parseltongue. But who gave it to Salazar? Did it just… appear?'

She shut out the nagging idea. But a part of her persisted.

'Could other abilities appear too? Could we have appeared?'

Dizziness swept over her. Her breathing turned ragged, ears ringing, the walls closing in. Were any of them really pure-blooded?

If the oldest witches and wizards were born from Muggle-borns, then what did "pure" blood even mean?

Maybe… no one was.

'Is all we are just as random as my eye color?'

Eyes.

She remembered Lucas' changing eye color. She thought of his Parselmouth again. Maybe he had known all along… that everything Slytherin believed was a lie.