Hogwarts – Empty Corridors, Past Midnight
The castle groaned around Harry as he ran.
The voice was clearer this time, more deliberate. Not just whispers, but speech. Purposeful. Harry's breath misted in the cold air as his footsteps echoed against the flagstone floor.
"Come to me... Let me taste…"
He pulled his cloak tighter and followed the sound, wand out, heart thudding.
He didn't know what he expected to find—another petrified student? A shadow? Something worse?
But whatever it was, he couldn't ignore it anymore.
---
Elsewhere – Snape's Office
Snape's wand-tip hovered over a map of Hogwarts magically enchanted with moving threads of light. Red lines showed his patrol routes. Silver lines represented known plumbing routes. A black dot pulsed in the direction of the second-floor corridor.
A warning.
He stood, grabbing a small satchel of potions and charms.
The shadows were deepening. And Potter was already moving.
---
Near the Trophy Room
Harry halted suddenly.
A shape lay sprawled across the corridor floor, arms outstretched, glasses broken beside her head.
Hermione.
"Hermione!" he whispered, falling to his knees.
But her eyes were wide and unseeing, her body stiff.
Petrified.
Beside her lay a mirror, cracked but intact. Harry reached for it, puzzled, when a voice called out behind him.
"Potter."
Snape.
The professor strode down the corridor, black robes billowing like a thundercloud.
"What are you doing here?" he barked, eyes scanning the scene.
"I—heard it," Harry said breathlessly. "The voice again. I followed it and found her like this."
Snape crouched beside Hermione, touching two fingers to her wrist. No pulse. Not that he expected one.
His jaw tightened.
"Go. Get McGonagall. Now."
Harry hesitated.
"Go!"
---
Slytherin Common Room
Draco's eyes snapped open.
He sat upright, heart racing. Something wasn't right. He couldn't explain it—just a hollow coldness in his chest like something had gone wrong.
He grabbed his wand and left the dormitory.
His feet carried him upward, against every warning and rule he'd ever been taught.
He didn't care.
---
Gryffindor Tower – A Few Hours Later
The common room was deathly silent. Students sat in small clusters, whispering in fear. No one laughed. No one studied. No one moved toward the windows where the morning sun tried to break through.
Hermione had been attacked.
Again.
This time, no one questioned the seriousness of it.
Ron sat on the arm of Harry's chair, both staring into the dead fire.
"She always said it would happen," Ron murmured. "She knew something was coming."
Harry nodded silently.
Across the room, Neville blew his nose loudly, face red.
Seamus was whispering that maybe Muggle-borns really were being targeted again.
And Harry was remembering the voice.
The voice that called to him. Not to anyone else.
---
Snape's Office
Snape slammed a jar shut.
"Too soon," he hissed to himself. "It's accelerating."
He opened a hidden drawer in his desk, revealing an old, folded page: handwritten Parseltongue phrases, roughly translated. Next to it lay a faded photograph—one he hadn't dared look at in years. A group of students. One of them was Lily.
He swallowed hard and closed the drawer again.
He had to keep Potter safe.
He had to make sure Draco didn't get caught in the storm forming around them.
He would not fail again.
---
Later That Day – Hospital Wing
Madam Pomfrey bustled between beds, face pale.
Hermione lay stiff and pale beneath a wool blanket. The mirror sat on the table beside her.
McGonagall stood near the doorway, arms folded. "Do you believe Potter?" she asked softly.
Snape didn't look at her. "I don't know."
"I do," said a voice behind them.
Draco.
They turned.
Draco looked exhausted but steady. "Potter's not making it up. I heard the voice too."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "You told me once. Why repeat it now?"
Draco glanced at Harry through the doorway, who was watching him in silence.
"Because… he's not the only one who's in danger."
He turned and left.
Snape and McGonagall exchanged a long look.
Something had changed.
---
That Night – Outside the Library
Draco waited by the window, arms crossed, the sound of rain pattering against the glass.
Harry approached slowly.
"I'm sorry," Harry said. "About earlier."
"For what?" Draco asked, not meeting his eyes.
"For not saying anything in the corridor. For letting Ron talk like that."
Draco finally turned. "I don't care about Weasley. I care about what's happening to the others. And what's happening to you."
Harry stared at him. "You believe me?"
"I heard it too."
They stood there, silent for a long moment, as thunder rumbled in the distance.
"Draco," Harry said quietly, "do you think we're being targeted?"
"I think we're being tested."
He reached into his robe and pulled out a folded parchment—Hermione's notes. "She left this. I… I think she was onto something."
Their fingers brushed as Harry took it.
And the moment held.
Neither of them pulled away.