"No, Harry, they can't. I think to anyone who can't do the same it'd come out completely indecipherable - all I heard was a harsh hissing a moment ago," she said quietly, her eyes darting around nervously. "It's not a very common gift and if what I've read is anything to go on, it's one that people really really don't like."
"Why? It's just talking to an animal, how can it be bad? And why should I care what they think anyway?" he asked, venting a little of the frustration he felt.
It felt better raging against some anonymous Them than against Hermione. Even if he didn't want to talk about this for some reason he didn't quite understand, he knew she was only doing it because she thought it important. He had pushed her and Ron about Snape and the Stone often enough last year though that the least he could do was hear her out.
"Because virtually all the Parselmouths we know about - all the ones Bagshot mentions, that is - have been very bad people in some way," Hermione explained. "Herpo the Foul with his basilisk breeding and fondness for magically made plagues, Salazar Slytherin with his Blood Purist nonsense and Chamber of Secrets; Paracelsus seems to be the only decent person to ever have it - but even then he had to sleep with a sword under his pillow every night, though that could have been because he was a noted Alchemist, and we've seen how people react to them," she said with a vexed look on her face.
"Even today that perception persists," she continued. "Some say it's the mark of a dark wizard because-," Hermione paused to strengthen her resolve, "because V-Voldemort was known for it."
She had said it; she said the word that focused his frustration into anger, even hate. Voldemort. The fact she said the name was an amazing feat in itself since no one ever did and would wince and cower whenever they heard it.
That was why he was so uncomfortable with all things Slytherin, he knew that now. Voldemort had been one of them. He had led a whole host of them on a murderous rampage only ending with his parents' deaths. And now Draco Malfoy, with his goons - Crabbe and Goyle - and probably their parents and all their friends were just the same, waiting for any excuse to start things up again.
Telling her he'd almost been put in Slytherin had been a private thing, and making a slight joke of it once had been somewhat uncomfortable. Even thinking his grandparents might possibly have been in the House was only grudgingly acceptable, since he couldn't change it if it was true, but being even the tiniest bit like Voldemort was repellent. And it was clear to see where she was going with this.
Thanks to those Indiana Potter stories Dumbledore had to have a hand in, people already had ridiculous notions about him. Lichfield had hinted that more of what his actual life had been like was sure to become public at some point, and if this came out too… How long would it be before 'Oh, what a troubled life he's had, ' became 'Kill him before he goes bad and kills us all!' ?
"He was nothing more than a murderer," Harry said bitterly. "I'm nothing like him."
"Of course you're not, Harry; I wouldn't be here if you were," Hermione said supportively. "How you choose to act says more about you than any ability you may have. That's something these wizards have refused to learn. Still," she added with a bit of a pained look on her face, "it's not necessarily something I'd go around talking about."
"That's rich, coming from you," Harry said, relaxing a bit as he gained a bit of a sardonic smile. "Miss 'Look-At-Me-I'm-A-Muggleborn-And-Best-At-Everything.'"
"People of non-magical heritage are much a more prevalent and visible segment of society," Hermione said primly, "or so I was led to believe. Someone has to put themselves forward and stop backing down to the discrimination or it will never change. I thought I'd get more support from the teachers though," she said with the vexed expression back on her face.
"They probably think it builds character," Harry said. "My cousin Dudley's school, Smeltings, gives everyone sticks to beat each other up with when no one's looking."
"That's barbaric. I wouldn't say I'm the best at everything though," she continued in the same stilted manner. "Parselmouths are supposed to be very good kissers - but I don't know if it's true."
Harry's brain suddenly stopped.
"You need your books," Hermione observed, placing the borrowed book back on the shelf and departing at once.
It took more than a moment for his brain to re-engage and by then she was long gone. Whether she meant it as a joke or not, he certainly wasn't going to find out standing where he was. He made his way towards the front of the shop again looking for her, all bad thoughts of being a Parselmouth having completely disappeared.
Harry found her again at the front counter, where she smiled and promptly handed him a bag containing his books. As much as he would have really enjoyed continuing their last conversation, he couldn't help but be distracted by two looks coming from Gilderoy Lockhart and his quill-carrying wife. She must've been in mid-dictation because this acid green quill was zooming around on a nearby parchment before she picked it up and gave Harry the most eager predatory look that put her husband's from yesterday to shame.
The look Lockhart himself was giving him wasn't nearly so pleasant. As he watched, Lockhart's peacock quill quickly became a bent and broken mass as the man's hands seemed to itch to get a hold of Harry's neck. Hermione noticed the looks too and promptly took his arm and walked quickly out of the shop. Maybe with all the negative publicity Lockhart would get sacked before the term even started, because he certainly didn't want to go the entire year with those kinds of looks boring into his back.