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Malfoy's detention had finally come to an end.
And yet, ever since the attack, it felt as though something vital had been drained from him. Some hidden fire quietly extinguished.
When Lucius brought him back to the manor to rest, and later returned him to Hogwarts, the boy no longer carried the arrogant, flamboyant edge that had once defined his presence. In its place was a heavy, almost oppressive silence, cloaking him like a shadow that refused to lift.
He often sat alone in corners, withdrawn and distant, his words fewer by the day.
Crabbe and Goyle would whisper among themselves, wondering if he was still brooding over the whole basilisk incident.
But they were wrong.
What truly haunted Draco, what coiled around his heart like a cold-blooded serpent, was a secret he had stumbled upon by accident.
A secret he was never meant to overheard!
It had happened the night he returned home. The door to the study had been closed, but it had not been sealed against sound. Behind it, his father Lucius and his mother Narcissa were locked in a bitter argument. Their voices were muffled, but sharp-edged, and the tension between them was so thick it felt as if the air itself might break under its weight.
His mother's voice trembled with a rare mix of fury and fear, laced with something Draco could only describe as desperation. She was accusing Lucius, blaming one of his "stupid decisions" for nearly getting their son killed.
Draco hadn't caught the full details. The words had been too muffled, the specifics lost beneath the crackling fire and the heavy doors. But the implication had struck him like ice water down his spine.
Whatever they had argued about, and whatever reckless act his father had committed, it had nearly cost Draco his life. Even worse, it hinted at something far more disturbing. There was a terrifying possibility that Lucius had been involved in the Chamber of Secrets incident at Hogwarts.
"I wouldn't be going home for Christmas," Malfoy thought quietly, sealing the decision in his heart.
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At last, the midterm exams came to a close, wrapping up on the day before the holidays. A long-held breath seemed to escape the castle all at once. The heavy gloom that had hovered over Hogwarts for weeks now felt swept away by the timely arrival of snow, clean and cold and fresh enough to sting the lungs in the best possible way.
Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, falling in soft, sparkling waves. Before long, they had transformed Hogwarts into a grand silver-white palace, glistening under a pale winter sun.
Wrapped in thick scarves and tugging their hat brims low, young witches and wizards dashed across the courtyards like colorful snow sprites, giggling, shouting, and leaving trails of footprints in the powdery white.
Snowballs whooshed through the air, bursting in puffs of white against cloaks and capes. Snowmen with mismatched pebbles for eyes and crooked grins stood watch by the paths, each more lopsided and charming than the one before.
As usual, Sargeras had come by to help Hagrid decorate the towering Christmas trees in the Great Hall. He could've easily taken care of the entire thing with a single flick of his wand. The trees would be chopped, the branches trimmed, every ornament set in perfect place without lifting a finger. But Hagrid would have none of it. He reacted as if Sargeras were trying to rob him blind, flailing with wild-eyed indignation like a Niffler protecting a hoard of stolen treasure.
"No, absolutely not!"
He threw up his enormous hands, flailing like great fans, while his beard quivered with indignation. "This 'ere's my job, it always has been! Least I gotta do somethin', don't I? Otherwise what kind of gamekeeper would that make me, eh? Just a lump sittin' 'round all day, eatin' and doin' nothin'?"
He insisted on personally venturing into the Forbidden Forest to choose and fell each of the towering firs himself. It was an annual ritual he took as seriously as his title.
However, when Sargeras stepped into the warm, golden-lit Great Hall, he found that someone had already started helping Hagrid long before he arrived.
There, near one of the great trees, a small figure was moving busily back and forth. It was a girl with vivid red hair like streaks of fire, her scarf trailing behind her as she reached up on her tiptoes, trying her best to hook a string of golden foil stars onto the highest branch she could reach.
Sargeras's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her, a quiet understanding passing through his gaze. He could see what was on the witch's mind, clear as day.
Originally, he had planned to speak with her after Christmas. But now, seeing her here like this, he realized the moment might be just right.
"Hello there, Miss Weasley!"
The sudden voice startled her.
The young witch flinched at the unexpected greeting, and her hand trembled, nearly dropping the star she had been holding. She spun around like a frightened fawn, her eyes wide with alarm. And when she saw who it was, her face flushed bright crimson, so red it nearly matched her hair.
"You… you… Hello, Professor Greengrass," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers fidgeted with the tassels on her scarf, completely unaware she was doing it.
Just then, Hagrid came stomping in with an enormous bundle of holly slung over one shoulder, and his cheerful voice boomed across the hall as he cut in cheerfully, "Mornin', Professor Greengrass! Look at that… Miss Weasley came by all on her own to lend a hand! Ain't she a good girl, eh?"
His voice was brimming with hearty approval.
Ginny ducked her head even lower, cheeks burning, her face almost completely buried in the thick wool of her scarf.
"She certainly is enthusiastic," Sargeras replied with quiet composure, his gaze softening as it settled on Hagrid. "How many trees are we still missing, Hagrid?"
"Hmm… four more big ones!"
Hagrid said cheerfully, setting down the holly and brushing the snow from his shoulders with a few heavy pats. "I've already chopped 'em and left 'em by the edge o' the Forbidden forest. I'll go fetch 'em in now!"
With that, he turned and started off across the hall, his heavy boots thudding rhythmically against the stone floor. In just a few steps, his towering figure had disappeared through the Great Hall's doors, swallowed up by the wind and snow outside.
Sargeras gave a small nod and remained where he stood, quietly watching as Hagrid vanished into the storm.
Now, only the shimmering light refracted by the colorful baubles, the fresh scent of pine needles, and the flickering glow of lingering magic remained. Along with them stood the silent, uncertain presence of the red-haired girl before him.
"Miss Weasley," Sargeras spoke at last, his voice low and gentle, steady as calm water. "I've been meaning to speak with you."
Ginny stiffened visibly, her shoulders tensing, fingers curling tightly around the hem of her coat.
"Uh… P-Professor Greengrass," she stammered, clearly trying to keep her voice from trembling. "Is… is something wrong?"
"You came to help Hagrid because you wanted to make up for those…" He paused for a moment, deliberately choosing his words as he looked calmly into her eyes, "…for those unfortunate roosters that were killed, didn't you?"
The words fell like a thunderclap in utter silence.
Ginny's head jerked up, her eyes wide with shock, and in an instant, the color drained from her face, leaving her as pale as parchment.
He knew! He knew everything! Expulsion… Azkaban… The terrifying thoughts clawed their way into her fragile nerves one after another, each one wrapping around her like a net of ice.
Without warning, fat tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks, carving glistening paths down her already wind-chilled skin.
"I'm sorry, Professor… I'm so sorry…" Her voice cracked, barely holding together, each word broken by sobs of helpless guilt. Her shoulders trembled violently, as if the weight she had carried alone for so long had finally collapsed on top of her.
Sargeras let out a soft sigh.
There was no anger in his eyes. Only a faint, weary trace of resignation.
With a smooth, practiced motion, he drew his wand and tapped it lightly in the air before her.
An extremely warm, golden light bloomed at the tip, soft and gentle as sunlight through gauze. It swept over her like a breeze, wrapping around her body with a strange, calming power, like a quiet voice whispering through her mind, telling her it was alright.
The little witch's sobbing stopped. Just like that.
The tide of emotion, so overwhelming just moments ago, was now held back by some invisible dam. All that remained were the glistening droplets still clinging to her lashes, catching the light like tiny crystals.
She blinked, disoriented, looking up at the professor with wide, confused eyes, like someone waking from a dream.
"I heard," Sargeras continued evenly, "that lately, you've been going out of your way to sneak bits of dried fish or bowls of milk from the Great Hall, placing them quietly in the corners where Mrs. Norris likes to wander. Even though that proud lady doesn't seem all too appreciative, does she?"
His voice held no judgment. Only a calm, steady cadence, gentle and oddly reassuring.
Ginny nodded in shame, the motion small and slow. And though the tears had stopped, they were beginning to gather again, shimmering faintly in the corners of her eyes.
"You can rest easy, Miss Weasley," said Sargeras, his voice carrying that unmistakable kind of assurance that could gently calm even the most frightened heart. "As of now, this matter remains a secret."
He leaned in just slightly, his eyes soft as he looked into hers. "And from where I stand, I believe you've already drawn from this terrifying ordeal a lesson that is both heavy enough and deep enough. Wouldn't you agree?"
"P-Professor…" Ginny's voice came out small and fragile. "You mean… you're not… you're not going to report me?"
A flicker of hope sparked in her eyes, fragile but real.
"Of course not," Sargeras answered firmly, without hesitation. "You are merely a student, one who was bewitched and manipulated by an exceptionally powerful object of dark magic. And thankfully, it did not lead to a tragedy beyond repair. No innocent life was lost. Apart from those roosters… of course."
He held her gaze, eyes steady and direct, as though searching the very depths of her soul. "All of this began with that cursed diary. The fault lies with it, not with your heart."
"I'm sorry, Professor…"
The tears slipped down Ginny's cheeks once again. But this time, they were not only born of guilt. They shimmered with relief and quiet gratitude. "I… I was just so scared… Professor Lockhart, he… he must've been hurt because of the diary too, right? I didn't mean for any of it to happen… I'm sorry…"
Her words tumbled out in a rush of emotion, a jumbled mix of apology and confusion. They were spoken for herself, but perhaps also for that unfortunate professor caught in the aftermath.
"Miss Weasley," Sargeras said, his voice now taking on a clear, resolute tone, one that left no room for doubt, "it is not uncommon for students, especially young students, to fall under the influence of dark magic or cursed objects. That is precisely one of Hogwarts' duties: to teach you how to recognize and resist those dangers."
But then his voice changed. It sharpened, growing colder, with a firm edge of severity that sliced through the air.
"However, the same cannot be said for professors. A competent teacher should never lack the ability to detect such threats, let alone allow themselves to be so easily manipulated. Anyone who fails at that has no right to stand at the front of a classroom, for they endanger not only themselves but everyone around them. A title means nothing if it becomes a liability."
Ginny blinked, momentarily confused, unable to understand why he had suddenly shifted the blame onto Lockhart.
"So, let it go," Sargeras said, his voice softening once more, returning to that gentle cadence, like someone comforting a frightened bird with quiet words. "What you did under the diary's control was certainly wrong, but thank Merlin, it never spiraled out of control. And as for Professor Lockhart's… fate afterward…"
He shook his head slowly, the faintest trace of irony and sarcasm flashing in his eyes. "That wasn't your responsibility. To be perfectly honest, if that diary had fallen into the hands of anyone other than him, perhaps Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, or even Professor Snape, this entire crisis would have been dealt with swiftly before it ever had the chance to grow."
"So… Professor," Ginny mustered the last bit of courage left in her, forcing herself to speak the question that had haunted her every waking thought and sleepless night, "does that mean… I won't be expelled? And… I won't be sent to Azkaban?"
"Of course not," Sargeras replied without the slightest hesitation. His tone was unwavering. "But Miss Weasley, you do need to tell me one thing. Where exactly did you first get that diary?"
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[Chapter End's]
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