The corridor outside the infirmary was silent. The kind of silence that sat heavy in the chest.
Hermione stood just inside the doorway, watching as Madam Pomfrey checked over Colin Creevey's frozen form, now draped in blankets, his camera still clutched in stiff hands.
Another victim. Another whisper through the halls. Another reminder that Hogwarts was no longer safe.
Harry stood beside her, arms crossed tightly, his expression unreadable.
"Do you think it was… the same voice again?" Hermione asked quietly.
Harry nodded. "I heard it. Just before it happened."
Ron shifted uncomfortably on the bench nearby. "So, what now? We just wait for the next one?"
"No," Harry said. "I'm going to figure this out. We all are."
Hermione opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a shadow swept past the glass door.
Snape.
He entered the infirmary without a word, his gaze flickering to Colin's still form, then to the trio.
"Potter. Weasley. Granger," he said smoothly. "Headmaster Dumbledore would like to see you."
They all exchanged wary glances. But they followed.
---
Dumbledore's Office
The phoenix, Fawkes, let out a quiet trill as the trio stepped inside. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, steepling his fingers. Snape stood to his left.
"Thank you for coming," Dumbledore said gently. "I understand this is a frightening time for you."
Harry nodded. Hermione and Ron remained silent.
"We've had three attacks now. One more than during the last time the Chamber of Secrets was believed to have opened," Dumbledore continued. "And I must ask, Harry… is there anything you've heard? Anything at all?"
Harry hesitated. His eyes flicked to Snape.
"I heard something. In the walls. A voice."
Snape's gaze darkened slightly. "Parseltongue."
Harry flinched. "I didn't mean to—"
"You understand it?" Dumbledore asked, tone calm but intent.
Harry nodded slowly.
Ron leaned forward. "That doesn't mean he did anything!"
Dumbledore raised a hand. "No one is accusing anyone of anything. But this ability… it may be a clue to what is being used to travel through the castle."
"The pipes," Hermione added quietly.
Snape gave her a brief look of approval. "Indeed. And the fact that Potter can hear the creature suggests he is a target. Or worse—"
"Professor," Dumbledore said, cutting him off.
Snape fell silent, but his stare lingered.
Dumbledore rose, folding his hands behind his back. "You're in danger, all of you. And I must ask you to be cautious. Watch each other. Report anything—no matter how small."
Harry glanced at Snape. There was something unspoken between them now. An understanding forged not in warmth, but necessity.
---
Later – Hogwarts Courtyard
Snow had begun to fall. Soft, fluttering flakes that dusted the stone pathways and clung to cloaks.
Draco stood alone near the frozen fountain, watching the white coat the statue of the winged boar.
He heard footsteps crunch behind him but didn't turn.
"I thought you were avoiding me," Harry said.
"I was."
Harry stepped beside him. "I don't care what Ron says. I want to know what you know."
Draco smirked faintly. "What makes you think I know anything?"
"You're too jumpy not to. You've heard it, haven't you? The voice."
Draco's jaw tightened. "Yes."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"Because I'm not like you," Draco snapped. "People already expect the worst from me. If I admit to hearing voices, I'll be the one they suspect."
Harry didn't respond for a moment.
Then he said, "I don't think you're the heir."
Draco looked at him sharply. "Why?"
Harry shrugged. "You've got too many feelings to be a proper villain."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Draco muttered, "You don't know anything about my feelings."
Harry just smiled faintly. "Don't I?"
For the first time in days, Draco didn't look away.
---
Snape's Office – That Night
Snape stood over a table littered with parchment—maps of the school's plumbing, sketches from the Restricted Section, fragments of translated Parseltongue phrases.
He barely noticed the knock at the door.
When he opened it, he was surprised to find not a student, but Filch.
"I found this in the East Wing," the caretaker said, holding up a tattered page. "Don't know how it got out of the archives."
Snape took it and scanned it quickly. His eyes narrowed.
It was an old document. A maintenance record from the late 1800s. And scrawled in the margins, faded but legible, was one phrase:
"The snake speaks where the walls are thin."
His hand tightened around the parchment.
He had a destination now.