While in class, you and your older brother, Mattheo, were exchanging thoughts in Parseltongue. Your hissing conversation was sharp and mocking, clearly aimed at the two Gryffindors seated a few feet away.

Ron furrowed his brow, glancing over at Harry. "What is she saying?" he asked, his frustration growing with every unintelligible word.

Mattheo looked at him with a bored expression. "Trust me, Weasley, you don't want to know."

Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes as if to dismiss the tension, but his irritation was evident. You leaned closer to Mattheo, whispering something that made him laugh under his breath.

Ron snapped back at you both, his voice tinged with anger. "The only reason you two speak in Parseltongue is because you're nothing but cowards."

Mattheo's eyes narrowed, but his voice was calm as he translated, "She said, 'If you don't like her, you can kiss her a—'"

"Oi!" Harry interrupted sharply, glaring at you. "There's no need for her to be rude."

You locked eyes with Harry, a sinister smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "Aww, why don't you tell that to your daddy," you mocked, your voice dripping with venom. "Oh wait...he's dead."

Harry’s face flushed with anger as your words hit him like a slap. His jaw tightened as he shot back, “At least my parents didn’t abandon me like yours did. Maybe they just couldn’t stand being around either of you.”

Mattheo’s expression darkened immediately, his eyes flashing with anger as he stood up, stepping closer to Harry. His voice was low and dangerous, “Watch what you say about my sister, Potter. You’re pushing your luck.”