Classes continued, but the air in Hogwarts was different now.
Nervous.
Students glanced over their shoulders in corridors. Murmured theories swirled between lessons. A few began to eye Muggle-borns with quiet suspicion. Even Slytherins weren't smirking as often anymore.
Harry felt it most in the hallways. How eyes followed him. Not just classmates—but portraits. Suits of armor. Shadows.
Even teachers had begun watching him more closely.
Especially Snape.
---
In Potions, Snape's presence loomed heavier than usual. He said little, but his eyes rarely left Harry—sharp, calculating.
Harry tried to focus on his ingredients. Hermione had already prepped half the potion. Ron was crushing shrivelfigs a bit too enthusiastically beside him.
Snape glided past their cauldron. "Stir counter-clockwise, Potter."
Harry's hand paused. "I thought it was clockwise—"
"For three turns. Then counter." Snape's voice was cold. "If you paid attention, you'd know."
Harry flushed and turned the spoon the other way.
Snape lingered for another second, then moved on. But his gaze lingered.
Draco watched from across the room, silent.
---
After class, Harry waited until Ron and Hermione had gone ahead, then turned toward Snape's office. He didn't know why he was doing this. Maybe it was impulse. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe it was something else entirely.
He knocked.
Snape's voice answered, sharp and flat. "Enter."
Harry stepped in.
Snape looked up from a stack of essays, his expression unreadable.
"This is unexpected," he said. "Most students avoid my office when not summoned."
"I… just wanted to ask if you think I had something to do with it," Harry blurted. "The cat. The writing on the wall."
Snape leaned back in his chair, studying him like a rare ingredient. "I think you were there. I think you know more than you're saying."
Harry frowned. "That's not an answer."
"No," Snape said quietly, "it isn't."
Silence stretched between them.
Snape steepled his fingers. "You are not your father, Potter."
Harry blinked. "I know that."
"I'm not sure you do."
Harry clenched his fists. "Then what do you want from me?"
"To be careful," Snape said, voice low. "There are forces in this school far older and darker than you imagine. And they are stirring. Again."
Harry swallowed. "Do you think… it's the Chamber of Secrets?"
Snape didn't answer. But his expression tightened.
Harry took a breath. "If something's happening, I want to help."
Snape's stare was long, cold, but something flickered behind it.
"Then stay alive," he said simply. "And keep your friends alive too."
---
Meanwhile
Draco stood alone in the library, hidden between two tall shelves. He wasn't reading. He wasn't even pretending to.
He kept remembering the way Potter had stood in class—tense, but calm. Not angry. Not mocking. Just trying.
And that made something inside Draco twist uncomfortably.
He hated this. This feeling. This aching confusion in his chest every time he saw Harry talking to someone else, smiling at Granger or defending Weasley.
You're Malfoy. You're not supposed to want his attention.
And yet…
He didn't look away when Harry passed the doorway that evening.
And Harry didn't look back.
---
Later That Night
Snape walked the halls past curfew. The whispering had stopped again—but he could feel something watching him.
A presence in the stone. A breath behind the breath.
He paused outside the second-floor corridor.
Water glistened beneath the bathroom door.
He pushed it open—
And found another puddle.
The taps were off.
The mirrors were cracked.
And the air was colder than it should've been.
Snape stood still, wand slowly rising.
Somewhere far below, the serpent slithered on.