The rain had ceased by morning, but the castle's stone floors still felt damp underfoot. Harry walked the corridor leading to Snape's office with a strange sense of unease fluttering in his chest. He hadn't done anything wrong—not technically—but the way Snape had looked at him during Potions the day before had been different. Calculating. Curious, even.
He knocked. The door creaked open.
"Enter."
Harry stepped in. The office was the same: dimly lit, lined with jars of unsettling contents, and reeking faintly of wormwood. Snape sat behind his desk, quill poised over a parchment. He didn't look up.
"Close the door."
Harry obeyed.
Snape gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
Harry sat.
"You were seen outside the library last night. Past curfew. With Malfoy."
Harry's stomach flipped. "We weren't doing anything wrong. We were just talking."
Snape's eyes lifted slowly. "Talking."
Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."
A pause stretched between them.
"And yet," Snape said softly, "you both looked like you'd just escaped a duel."
Harry swallowed. "There was a cat. Mrs. Norris. Someone attacked her. We heard it happen."
Snape's posture stiffened.
"Explain."
So Harry did. He told him everything—the corridor, the writing on the wall, the sight of Mrs. Norris frozen like a statue. He left out the voice he had heard in the pipes, unsure how to explain it. When he finished, Snape steepled his fingers.
"Who else was present?"
"Ron, Hermione. And Draco."
Snape's brow lifted. "Mr. Malfoy?"
Harry nodded. "He... he followed me."
Snape's gaze sharpened. "I see."
There was something unreadable in his expression, something almost protective. But it was gone too quickly to grasp.
"If you recall anything further," Snape said at last, "you will tell me immediately. Dismissed."
Harry left, more confused than when he'd entered.
---
Down in the Slytherin common room, Draco paced in front of the fire.
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "You're going to wear a hole in the rug."
He didn't answer.
Blaise looked up from his book. "Still thinking about last night?"
Draco shot him a look. "Wouldn't you be? A cat frozen, red writing on the walls?"
"I'd be more worried about being seen with Potter after dark."
Draco didn't reply.
The truth was, he couldn't stop thinking about Harry's face when they had stared at the message together. The fear, the confusion—and the way Harry had stepped between him and the writing like he might shield him from it.
He hadn't slept since.
---
Later that evening, the trio and Draco sat in a quiet corner of the library, all of them speaking in hushed tones.
"It has to be the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione said, sliding a thick book across the table.
"That's a legend," Ron said. "Even the teachers think it's a myth."
"Some of the teachers," Hermione corrected. "But the timing matches. A student died fifty years ago."
Draco leaned over the page. "It says the heir of Slytherin can control a monster hidden in the Chamber."
Harry stiffened. "So whoever's attacking people... they're a Parselmouth."
Draco glanced at him, sharp. "You hear something last night, didn't you?"
Harry hesitated.
"Harry?" Hermione asked gently.
He nodded slowly. "A voice. But no one else heard it. It was speaking to me... inside the walls."
The group went quiet.
"That's not normal," Ron said flatly.
Hermione looked troubled. "That's... that's Parseltongue, Harry. Only Salazar Slytherin's bloodline was supposed to have it."
Draco leaned back, face unreadable.
"So what does that mean?" Harry asked. "That I'm the Heir of Slytherin?"
"No," Hermione said firmly. "It means we need to be careful. Someone's using fear to divide the houses. We can't fall for it."
Draco looked at her, surprised.
For once, he didn't argue.