A heavy fog clung to the castle grounds the next morning, muting colors and dampening sound. The students moved quietly through the corridors, as if even their footsteps might provoke the thing now haunting Hogwarts.
The whispers hadn't returned—not to Harry's ears—but the weight of them lingered like a shadow in the corners of his thoughts.
He sat in Defense Against the Dark Arts, barely hearing Lockhart's self-congratulatory speech about how he once subdued a rogue banshee using nothing but a mirror and a smile. Ron had stuffed a quill in his ear. Hermione had long since stopped correcting him.
Harry's eyes, however, drifted sideways.
To Draco.
He sat two rows ahead, back straight, jaw tight, as if waiting for something to go wrong.
And then it did.
---
The Screaming Mirror
There was a loud shattering noise in the corridor just outside the classroom. Every student jumped. Lockhart dropped his wand dramatically.
Snape was there before the echo faded.
He entered silently from the side door, eyes scanning the classroom once—and then the hallway beyond.
"Everyone stay seated," he ordered, voice like a blade.
Harry rose anyway.
Snape's eyes snapped to him.
But Harry met them. "It might be another one."
Snape held his gaze for a second too long.
Then he nodded—just once.
Draco rose too.
Snape frowned but didn't stop him.
The three of them stepped into the corridor together.
Glass littered the stone floor. A cracked hand mirror lay in pieces, its charm still fizzing. And on the wall behind it, in jagged crimson:
"The Heir will speak again."
No body. No blood. But the writing glistened, fresh.
Harry turned to Snape. "It's taunting us."
Snape didn't speak. His eyes were on the cracks in the wall beneath the mirror.
Small. Thin. Like something had slithered through them.
"Go back to class," Snape said quietly. "Both of you."
"I can help—" Harry began.
But Snape's voice sharpened. "Not yet."
Harry didn't argue. Not because he agreed—but because Draco's hand brushed his sleeve.
He turned. Draco shook his head slightly, his face pale.
And together, they left.
---
Slytherin Common Room – Later
Draco paced like a caged thing, ignoring the chessboard Goyle had knocked over and the curious eyes of Pansy and Blaise. The writing… it was getting bolder. Closer. As if whoever—or whatever—was doing this wanted to be seen.
He couldn't stop thinking about Harry's face when they saw the mirror. The tight line of his jaw. The way he didn't flinch.
And Snape.
Snape had looked afraid.
That was what terrified Draco most.
He paused in front of the fireplace, clenching and unclenching his fists.
He couldn't stay here.
Not when the truth was slithering right beneath their feet.
---
Snape's Investigation
Snape walked the castle's forgotten halls with a growing sense of dread.
The message had confirmed what he feared: the heir—or its puppet—was active again.
But the spellwork was older than any second-year could wield. That mirror had been enchanted with layers of defensive charms. Breaking it wasn't a prank. It was a message.
Snape moved toward the plumbing chamber again—one he had examined days earlier.
A soft rustling sound stopped him.
He turned sharply, wand at the ready.
Silence.
Then a whisper. Like silk against stone.
Snape muttered a detection charm. Nothing.
Yet the chill down his spine remained.
He pressed his hand against the wall, just beside a cracked brick.
It was warm.
Alive.
And beneath it—movement.
---
That Evening – Gryffindor Tower
Harry sat with his knees tucked up beneath him near the fireplace, the flames flickering in his glasses. Hermione was reviewing Charms homework. Ron had gone to get more food.
The silence between them was comfortable.
Until Harry spoke.
"Do you think it's me?"
Hermione looked up sharply. "What?"
"The Heir," he said. "Everyone keeps looking at me. Whispers follow me everywhere. I hear voices no one else does."
Hermione closed her book slowly. "Harry, you're not—"
"I speak Parseltongue, Hermione."
She hesitated.
"You didn't do this," she said firmly. "I know you."
Harry gave a weak smile. "I'm not sure I know myself right now."
She reached over and squeezed his wrist. "Then let us remind you."
---
Elsewhere – The Moonlit Corridor
Draco crept past the third-floor corridor after hours, heart pounding. He had told himself he was just walking. Thinking.
But deep down, he hoped he'd run into him.
He paused near the window, moonlight filtering in across the floor.
A rustle behind him made him whirl around.
But it was just Harry.
They stared at each other.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Harry asked.
Draco let out a breath. "Apparently, we have that in common."
A long pause.
"I keep seeing it," Harry said softly. "The writing. The cracked stone. It's like it's everywhere."
Draco stepped closer. "Then maybe we should stop waiting."
Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… if this thing's hunting us—maybe it's time we start hunting it."
Harry considered this.
Then nodded.
Their shoulders brushed as they walked back down the corridor together, toward the dark stairwell that led toward the castle's heart.
Neither spoke again.
But something had changed.
They weren't alone anymore.
And whatever the secret of the Chamber was—it wasn't going to stay buried much longer.