The following morning dawned grey and dim. Rain still pelted the windows, and the corridors of Hogwarts felt colder than usual—as if the very walls were listening.
Harry sat alone in the Great Hall, his plate untouched. He kept glancing down at the diary, now shut tight and tucked into the inner pocket of his robe. It hadn't done anything since last night, but he could still feel it. Like it was watching him from inside the cloth.
He felt off balance. Shaken. Tom Riddle had spoken to him. Had shown him a memory.
Or something like it.
And Harry wasn't sure how much of it he could trust.
---
Slytherin Common Room
Draco paced in front of the fireplace like a caged animal. He hadn't slept much either, and the weight of the last few days was beginning to twist into a knot of frustration and confusion in his chest.
Why couldn't he stop thinking about Potter?
Why couldn't he stop worrying?
He wasn't supposed to care. He was supposed to be focused on his family name, his status, on keeping distance.
And yet—
He found himself drifting toward him between classes. Noticing the slump in his shoulders, the way his eyes lingered on dark corners. The way he'd started flinching at nothing, like he was hearing something Draco couldn't.
Something's wrong.
He had to know what.
---
The Library
Hermione spread open another ancient volume with a grunt of frustration. "Everything points to the Chamber of Secrets," she said, "but there's no actual record of how it was opened last time."
Ron dropped into the seat beside her. "You'd think after a giant snake almost killed people, someone would've written it down."
Harry joined them, quieter than usual. His face was pale, and he kept his hand tucked protectively against his chest pocket.
"What's wrong with you?" Ron asked, frowning.
Harry hesitated. "I saw something last night. The diary—it let me see a memory. Tom Riddle. He blamed Hagrid."
Hermione leaned forward. "It showed you something?"
Harry nodded. "But it felt… I don't know. Like it was more than just a memory. Like he knew I was watching."
They were silent.
"Do you still have it?" Hermione asked softly.
Harry gave a tight nod.
Hermione bit her lip. "We need to be careful. Something about that diary isn't right."
"No kidding," Ron muttered. "Next thing you know, it'll be writing back."
Harry didn't tell them it already had.
---
Snape's Office
Snape stood before the Headmaster, his arms crossed. "He's been acting differently."
"Harry?" Dumbledore asked, hands folded calmly.
Snape nodded. "Distracted. Agitated. And there's something else—Malfoy has been watching him. Not with malice. With… concern."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
"I don't believe this is random," Snape went on. "The attacks. The diary. The sudden bond between two boys who couldn't stand each other last year. Something is weaving threads between them."
"You suspect a curse?"
"I suspect a design."
Dumbledore was quiet for a long time.
Then he said, "Keep watching them. Especially Draco."
Snape's jaw tightened. "I always do."
---
Empty Corridor – That Afternoon
Harry didn't mean to bump into Draco.
He turned a corner too fast, head full of worries and riddles—and collided shoulder-first into the Slytherin.
Draco stumbled back with a scowl, then hesitated when he saw Harry's face. "You look like you've been hexed."
"Thanks," Harry muttered, brushing off his robes.
Draco didn't leave.
"You're hearing it again, aren't you?"
Harry froze.
"The voice," Draco clarified. "You told me once, remember?"
Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah. I heard it last night."
Draco's expression shifted, serious now. "You think it's coming from the Chamber?"
"I think it's coming from the pipes," Harry said. "The voice travels. I'm the only one who hears it."
"Why you?"
Harry hesitated. "I don't know."
They stared at each other for a beat.
Then Draco asked, low, "Do you think it's me?"
"What?"
"The Heir. My family—"
"No," Harry said, sharper than he intended. "It's not you."
Draco looked away, unsure if he was relieved… or disappointed.
---
That Night – Gryffindor Dormitory
Harry dreamed of snakes.
Of stone hallways hissing with secrets. Of voices whispering his name in the dark. Of a diary bleeding ink like blood.
And when he woke, breathless and sweating—
He knew someone else was going to be attacked.
---
Snape's Patrol
Snape moved silently through the corridors, wand alight. He'd doubled his patrols, but the castle was too large, the shadows too clever.
Still, he searched. Because he knew what would come next. He'd seen the signs before.
A darkness building beneath the foundation of the school.
A child caught in its grasp.
And two others who would walk straight into its jaws if no one stopped them.
He would stop them.
Or die trying.