It started with a whisper.
Not the kind that traveled through mouths and corridors—but something colder, older. Something slithering through the gaps in Hogwarts' foundation. An echo no human throat could make.
And once again, Severus Snape heard it.
He stood still as a statue in the dark of his private chambers, wand alight at his side. The voice had returned. He couldn't make out the words—but the tone was unmistakable. Ancient. Malicious. Patient.
He didn't trust the walls anymore.
---
Elsewhere, Harry sat cross-legged on his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, staring down at a piece of parchment. He hadn't written anything—just drawn lines. Over and over again. Like if he scratched deep enough, it might reveal something beneath.
Ron was already asleep, one arm hanging off the bed. Hermione had long since gone to the library, probably to read Hogwarts: A History again in search of clues.
But Harry wasn't looking for clues anymore.
He was waiting for the feeling.
That strange tingle beneath the skin, the way the castle shifted when something was coming. A low pressure. A warning.
It hadn't come yet.
But he knew it would.
---
Down in the Potions classroom, Snape reviewed Draco's written account of the voice he'd heard. He had insisted Draco write it by hand. Describing it aloud had left too much unsaid. But even here, the boy's words danced around fear.
It sounded like a whisper. Not like words—more like… hissing. It didn't care I was listening. It didn't stop. It just… moved.
Snape rubbed his forehead. Parseltongue. He knew it. But Draco didn't.
Only one person in the castle did.
And it wasn't Voldemort.
He would have to speak with Potter again. Carefully.
---
The next morning, whispers began to swirl in the hallways again—this time about Filch's cat. Mrs. Norris, petrified in the corridor near the library.
Snape arrived at the scene before Dumbledore. The cat's body was stiff, but not lifeless. Cold as marble. The words scrawled on the wall above her were clear:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Students crowded the hallway. Some gasped. Others whispered. A few laughed nervously.
And at the center of the crowd stood Harry Potter.
Snape's eyes narrowed.
Not again.
---
Later, in Dumbledore's office, Snape crossed his arms while McGonagall explained the event. Filch wailed in a corner. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat nervously in their chairs.
"We found them at the scene," McGonagall said. "But they claim they saw the message moments after it appeared."
"They would say that," Filch snarled. "It was Potter—I know it!"
Dumbledore held up a hand. "Enough. No harm has come to the cat. Professor Sprout's Mandrakes will mature in time for a cure."
"But what about who did this?" Snape said, voice sharp. "We cannot afford to ignore the pattern, Albus. Another attack."
Dumbledore nodded. "We will increase patrols. Minerva, I trust you'll inform the staff."
"What about the students?" Snape pressed. "Surely, the castle isn't safe—"
Dumbledore's voice was firm. "Hogwarts is no less safe than it was yesterday."
Snape did not agree. But he said nothing more.
He watched Harry as he left. The boy was tense, wary—but not deceitful.
He was protecting something. Or someone.
---
That night, Snape stood at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, where the wind cut across the rooftop like a blade.
He wasn't looking at the stars.
He was listening.
And beneath the sky, beneath the stone and spellwork of the castle, something was speaking again.
The serpent was moving.
And this time, Severus Snape would be ready.