The castle was restless.
Whispers floated through the halls like cold drafts. Doors creaked without reason. Students jumped at shadows.
In the silence between classes, Harry caught snippets of fear—girls whispering about new protections, boys boasting bravely while their hands shook under the table.
And still, the voice hadn't returned.
But Harry knew it would.
He just didn't know when.
---
Potions Class
Snape's voice sliced through the heavy air. "Unless you enjoy scrubbing cauldrons with your eyebrows singed off, I suggest you pay attention."
The Gryffindors and Slytherins flinched in unison.
Harry stirred his potion carefully, eyes flicking across the room. Across from him, Draco was uncharacteristically quiet. He kept his gaze on the bubbling mixture in front of him but wasn't taking notes.
Snape paused behind them both. His gaze lingered.
"Potter. Malfoy. Eyes on your work."
Harry jolted.
Draco stiffened.
Neither of them responded, but Snape could feel it—the tension between them. Something unspoken, unresolved.
He moved on, cloak sweeping behind him.
But his mind remained on them.
---
Later – Defense Against the Dark Arts Corridor
Harry lingered after class, pretending to read the notice board.
He was waiting.
When the corridor emptied, Snape appeared at the end, as if summoned by thought.
"You're following the voice again, aren't you?" Snape asked without preamble.
Harry turned. "I haven't heard it since the other night. But… it's like I'm expecting it. I can't focus."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "The diary."
Harry nodded.
Snape stepped closer. "Has it shown you anything else?"
Harry hesitated. "Just the same memory. Riddle accusing Hagrid."
"Memories lie," Snape said flatly. "Especially the ones people want you to see."
Harry frowned. "You think Riddle made it up?"
"I think Riddle was already the kind of boy who knew how to twist truth into a weapon."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Snape added, "Do not show that diary to anyone else. Burn it if you can."
Harry's heart panged. "But what if it helps us stop this?"
Snape's expression darkened. "That's what makes it dangerous."
---
Meanwhile – Slytherin Dormitory
Draco sat on his bed, turning something over in his hands: a small carved snake, an old charm he'd found in a box of his mother's things. He didn't know why he kept it now.
Maybe because it felt like a piece of home.
Or maybe because it reminded him of everything he wasn't sure about anymore.
He lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes.
And dreamed of a voice hissing through pipes.
Of Harry, reaching for something he couldn't see.
Of himself, running toward the same darkness.
---
That Evening – Forbidden Corridor
Snape stood before a wall few students ever passed. He whispered a spell, and the bricks slid aside like water.
Behind it was a dark corridor, long-abandoned, dust thick on the floor.
He stepped through.
His wand cast eerie shadows across the stone. Old pipes lined the walls, silent and cold.
And then—
A whisper.
Not words.
But presence.
Snape turned sharply, wand raised.
Nothing.
But something had moved.
He lowered his wand slowly, face pale.
Whatever was down here was not only ancient—it was aware.
---
Gryffindor Dormitory
Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, the diary in his lap. He hadn't opened it in days, not since the night it spoke to him.
He didn't know why he hadn't destroyed it yet.
Maybe he wanted answers.
Maybe he wanted to understand why he could hear the voice.
Maybe, deep down, he wanted to talk to someone who understood what it meant to be haunted.
But when he opened the diary, the pages were blank again.
Harry didn't know whether to be relieved—or afraid.
---
Snape's Chambers
Snape returned late, the hem of his cloak damp from the tunnels.
He didn't light the lamps. He poured himself a small glass of firewhisky and sat at his desk, staring into the dark.
They were walking straight into it, those boys.
Draco with his fear disguised as arrogance. Harry with his loneliness wrapped in bravery.
And somehow, Snape had become the one standing between them and something he couldn't quite name.
He downed the whisky in a single motion.
And for the first time in years, he felt afraid.