Chamber of Slytherin

Harry had forgotten to mention that when Hermione had taken the polyjuice potion, she turned into a cat. Lydia found out when classes started back up again. A fucking cat? HA she thought, that shit is hilarious. She wished she could see her. Since things were still a bit awkward with Harry, she resigned herself to the chamber or the common room. Because of her distance from Harry, she spent most of her time with Draco or in the chamber practicing her magic. He assumed she was with Harry when she would disappear. She was now able to levitate and throw objects with only her mind. Her greatest feat by far was apparating a few feet in front of her. At thirteen years old, she had to be the youngest person in history to apparate, even if it was only a few feet. 

Draco took the uninterrupted hours to ask her about Harry and their relationship. He was surprisingly amiable. 

“So,” he said, his voice deceptively casual. “Potter.”

Lydia looked up from her book. “What about him?”

Draco shrugged. “Just wondering how that happened.”

She hesitated, studying him for any sign of malice, but for once, he didn’t look like he was gearing up for an insult. There was no sneer, no sharp-edged remark poised on his tongue.

“It just did,” she said simply.

“You don’t think it’s a bit… complicated? You being a Slytherin, him being—”

“Gryffindor’s golden boy?” she finished for him. “Yes, I’m aware.”

He was quiet for a moment before nodding. “And you’re happy?”

The question caught her off guard.

“Yes,” she answered, her voice firm. She realized she was telling the truth, Harry did make her happy.

Draco exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Alright then.”

“Draco.” She looked at him thoughtfully.

“Yes?”

“Can I tell you something?”

She didn’t know what made her do it but she wanted to tell him about her lineage and the Chamber of Slytherin. She trusted him and knew he would keep her secret. It was still a risk though. What if he didn’t believe that she wasn’t the one petrifying people? Why did she trust Draco more than anyone else? The answer was, she didn’t trust a soul, except for him. It was absurd. Steeling herself she brought up the topic. 

“What’s up?” He asked.

“I’ve… found something,” she finally said. “Something important.”

He looked at her curiously. “Go on.”

“Come with me.”

Draco didn’t hesitate. He pushed himself off the couch and followed her without question. They walked in silence, down the dimly lit corridors. She stopped and turned to face him when they arrived at the entrance.

“I found a hidden chamber,” she admitted. “It’s tied to Slytherin’s magic, and it only responds to me.”

Draco’s expression shifted, the usual smug confidence giving way to something more serious. He studied her, trying to gauge if she was joking.

“You’re serious,” he finally said.

She nodded. “It’s not the Chamber of Secrets, but it’s connected to Salazar Slytherin. And it only opens to my blood.”

Draco exhaled, processing the weight of her words. “Your blood?”

“Yes.” 

She cut her palm open with the blade she was given by the wall the prior year. Placing her bloody palm on the wall she looked back at him. His expression was unreadable. She grabbed his arm and pulled him through with her. He gazed around the enormous library in awe. 

“This place is incredible.” He said.

“There’s something you should know. I’m a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. That’s why I can get in here. Only heirs can open it. And before you say anything else, I have absolutely nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets and the petrifications. I do know that the ‘monster’ inside is a basilisk though.” She stared at him nervously waiting for a response.

Draco turned sharply to face her, his stormy grey eyes wide. “A basilisk?” His voice hushed but urgent. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, crossing her arms. “I read it here. It all makes sense—the way people are being petrified. I’m surprised no one has died yet.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, his expression caught somewhere between fascination and unease. “That’s… That’s insane. A basilisk roaming the school.”

She sighed. “I know. And no one else knows—not even Harry. I can’t explain to him how I know. I’ve already hidden the fact I’m a parselmouth.”

Draco took a double take at parselmouth comment, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he stepped further into the library, ogling the thousands of books surrounding him. “And you’ve just been sitting on this? Not telling anyone?”

“Who am I supposed to tell? It’s not like I can go to teacher and say, ‘Hey, I happen to be the heir of Slytherin, but don’t worry, I’m not the one petrifying people.’”

Draco huffed a quiet laugh. “Fair point.” He looked at her carefully, “why did you tell me?”

She looked away, “I don’t know…I—I guess I trust you.” She furrowed her brow and scowled at the admission.

There was a beat of silence before he turned to face her fully. “So… this is why you’ve been so distracted. Why you’re suddenly a walking encyclopedia on Slytherin history? I thought you were just attached to Potter 24/7.”

She nodded, relaxing slightly. “I wanted to understand what I was, what this place means.”

Draco’s gaze softened, and for a moment, he looked almost… proud. “You really are something else, you know that?”

Lydia rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in her expression. “You sound surprised.”

Draco smirked, stepping towards her. “Not surprised. Just… impressed.”

“There’s more.”

“More? More than the largest library I’ve ever seen? And that’s saying a lot.”

She walked toward the door at the far end and beckoned him to come with her. First she showed him the drawing room. It held an air of effortless elegance, with dark green and silver tapestries adorning the walls. Shelves lined with expensive spirits and rare magical liqueurs sat behind the bar, alongside crystal goblets and intricately carved flasks. A single bookshelf near the fireplace contained accounts of Slytherin social traditions and strategies—how to manipulate, how to navigate pureblood politics, how to command a room with mere presence. 

Then she showed him the potions chamber. It was meticulously arranged. Rows of jars held rare and exotic ingredients, some she had only read about in books. A large cauldron sat in the center, polished and waiting. Books lined the shelves. 

Next, they explored the greenhouse. There were moon-blooming flowers, venomous vines, and whispering ferns whose leaves shuddered at her presence. A black marble pedestal stood in the center, with an ancient text detailing which plants could be used in rituals, curses, and blood magic. 

She brought him to the back, into the training room. It was vast, with dummies enchanted to move like real combatants. The walls held weapons—daggers, whips, and even spell-forged blades designed to channel magic. A book of dueling techniques lay on a stone bench, filled with strategies beyond what was taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Some of the spells were brutal, meant to end fights before they began. 

Moving back towards the library they stopped at the summoning chamber, it was circular, with a massive rune-inscribed floor. The walls were covered in protective enchantments, some flickering faintly as if sensing her presence. A pedestal in the center contained instructions on summoning spirits, lost knowledge, and even creatures bound by ancient pacts. 

Next was the altar room, at its heart stood an obsidian altar carved with serpentine imagery, its surface smooth. The walls had faded inscriptions of invocations and rites, most in Parseltongue. Silver daggers and ceremonial tools were arranged on one side, each humming with dormant energy. 

She decided not to show him the bedroom, but did show him where the main access bathroom across from the drawing room.

“Merlin, Lydia. This is the most breathtaking place I’ve ever seen.”

She stepped closer to him. Their faces only inches apart. “You’re not afraid?”

“No.” He whispered. His breath catching.

“Then there’s something else.”

“Something else?”

“Yes.” She breathed deeply and stepped away from him. “Come to me” she spoke in parseltongue.

His piercing gaze never left hers. Her serpent slithered over to her. Sliding up her body to rest on her shoulders. He stepped back, a look of apprehension, astonishment—and was that admiration? Her snake looked at him menacingly, protective of her master. “You will not hurt him, he is our friend.” She spoke in parseltongue. 

“Her name is Azrael. The angel of death.”

Draco exhaled slowly, his grip tightening at his sides as he watched the snake coil around her, responding to her voice like a loyal guardian. He had seen many things in his life—but nothing like this.

“You command it so easily,” he muttered, almost to himself. His voice was quieter now, filled with something unreadable.

The snake’s gleaming eyes flicked between him and Lydia before it slowly settled, lowering its head in acknowledgment.

“Do you want to read a little bit?” She asked Draco.

“Uh…yes.”

“We have things to do Azrael.” The snake tilted its head, flicking its tongue as if weighing her words, then slowly uncoiled itself, slithering back onto one of the carved pillars. It curled around the stone, its glowing eyes still locked onto her, watchful and loyal.

“I want to show you the first book I found. It’s where I learned about my family.”

Draco stepped closer, watching as she carefully flipped through the pages. She showed him the page with her family tree. He was shocked when he saw who her father was. Rodolphus Lestrange. 

“Do you know anything about him?” He asked her, looking nervous, he didn’t want to be the one to tell her his history.

“Yes, I know he was a death eater and is in Azkaban for torturing some Aurors. He’s married to some woman named Bellatrix who’s locked up with him.”

“Yeah I know who Bellatrix is.” He said grimly.

“Who is she?” Lydia questioned.

“My aunt, my mom’s sister, from what I’ve heard she’s bat shit insane.”

“Oh. I guess we both have insane relatives.” She chuckled with no humor.

“I’m not related to Salazar through him though, my grandmother had an affair with a man named Morfin Gaunt. I can’t find much on him. It says his sister had a child and he’s still alive. I don't know where he is.” She said sadly. “It’d be nice to meet someone from this side of my family.”

He told hold of her hand and squeezed. Giving her comfort in the small gesture.

“I’ve been learning magic here,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Occlumency, as you probably remember seeing the book I was reading.”

He nodded.

“And I’ve been practicing wandless magic.” She looked over to one of the green tinted lamps sitting on a wooden side table. Carefully she focused her mind, levitated the lamp and made it soar through the air towards him.”

Catching it, his jaw dropped. “What the hell. How—How??”

She gave a smug look. “I told you I’ve been practicing magic.” A moment later, she apparated to the other side of the room.

“No fucking way. We don’t even learn that until 6th year. I don’t know whether to praise you or be mad you’ve been holding out on me.”

She apparated back to his side.

He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze piercing through her. “You are the most incredible witch I’ve ever met.”

She couldn’t help but blush at the intimacy of the moment.

Still looking at her with his stormy grey eyes, he said, “teach me. Now,” in a deep captivating voice.

—

The next few months went by quickly. She tried her hardest to spend a decent amount of time with Harry. But it was hard because she was even more invested in discovering the secrets of the chamber. They would spend time together and she would give him her attention. In the back of her mind however were thoughts of Draco and the now shared secret they had together. Draco was insistent on learning from her, and she wanted to teach him. She would sit beside Harry, listening to him talk about Quidditch or Ron’s latest antics, nodding at the right moments, smiling when he made a joke. She felt guilty about it, about the way her thoughts wandered when she was with Harry. He was her boyfriend—she had started caring for him, deeply—but there was something all encompassing about the discoveries she was making. 

One afternoon, Lydia was reading in the drawing room when she gasped and turned to Draco. “Listen to this.” 

“Dreamwalking is a rare and poorly understood ability, allowing a witch or wizard to step into the dreams of another—not to invade their mind, but to create a bridge between two consciousnesses. Unlike standard dreams, these encounters feel real, as though both individuals have been transported to another plane of existence where time and distance hold no meaning. Through Dreamwalking, a connection can be forged that transcends the waking world. Those linked in this way may meet within dreams as if they were truly standing face to face, speaking, touching, experiencing the moment together. The stronger the bond between two people, the easier it becomes to reach them, even over great distances. While some legends speak of natural Dreamwalkers—those born with the ability—others claim it can be learned, but only through rigorous mental discipline.”

“I’m trying it tonight,” her eyes were alive with excitement.

“And who do you plan on connecting with?”

“You of course, you’re going to be my test subject.” She smiled at him sweetly.

He huffed, “of course I am. Don’t mess up my brain or anything.”

That night, Lydia sat cross-legged on her bed, the book open beside her. The dormitory was quiet, her fellow roommates were all asleep. She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes.

Focus.

The text had described Dreamwalking as an extension of magical awareness—a skill not learned through spells, but through sheer will. The mind had to open, stretch, and reach beyond itself, forging a connection with another consciousness. But nothing was happening. A few hours had passed.

Her breathing stayed steady, but frustration crept in. She pushed harder, trying to force something to happen—until she remembered what the book had said. It wasn’t about force. It was about alignment. So she let go. The world around her shifted.

There was a weightless sensation, like being pulled forward while standing still. A disorienting rush of movement—then suddenly, she was there. She had done it. A thrill shot through her, but she barely had time to savor it before she noticed movement ahead. Draco was standing in the middle of the chamber’s library, dressed in satin dark green pajamas, his feet bare. His expression shifted from confusion to alarm as he turned, eyes locking onto her.

“Lydia?” His voice was cautious, sharp with disbelief. “What the hell—?”

She smiled. “Took me long enough to find you.”

Draco frowned, scanning the chamber, taking in the massive stone serpent statues, the damp air, countless books. He turned back to her, realization dawning in his expression.

His voice was quieter now. “You actually did it.”

Lydia took a slow step forward, watching his reaction carefully. “It wasn’t easy. Took me ages to get here. But… yeah.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, his brows furrowed in something close to awe.

She glanced around, appreciating the eerie beauty of the chamber. “This is real. Well—not real real, but as close as you can get. You and I are here, together. We can talk, move, interact. When you wake up, you’ll remember everything.”

Draco let out a quiet breath, pacing a few steps away before turning back to her. “You’re a natural at this, aren’t you?”

Lydia smirked. “It seems that way.”

Draco’s gaze lingered on her, something thoughtful in his expression. “Why the Chamber of Slytherin?”

She shrugged, glancing up at the towering serpent carvings. “Seemed fitting, don’t you think?”

He huffed a laugh. “I suppose so.” Draco shook his head, still trying to process. “So… you can just pull me into dreams whenever you feel like it?”

Lydia tilted her head, considering. “I don’t know yet. I had to focus really hard to reach you this time. But if the book is right, it’ll get easier the more I do it.”

Draco exhaled, looking around again. “Well. Can’t say I expected to spend my night in a weird dream—not dream.”

Lydia grinned. “First time for everything. Now that I know it works I’m going to get some sleep. Goodnight Draco.”

Lydia and Draco slipped into the History of Magic classroom twenty minutes late, speaking in hushed tones as they took their seats in the back. They were incapable of ceasing their conversation of the dream. As expected, Professor Binns didn’t even pause in his droning lecture, floating lazily near the blackboard as he rambled on about some goblin rebellion. The classroom was dimly lit, the air thick with the warm haze of too many students zoning out. They kept talking in intense whispers the rest of class.

“We need to try again tonight,” she murmured, voice low enough that only he could hear.

Draco smirked, pretending to be interested in his notes. “Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

Lydia rolled her eyes, but there was an edge of amusement to it. “I need to see if I can reach you more easily. If I can do it without trying so hard, then the possibilities are endless.”

Hermione turned around and gave them a sharp glare to shut up. Draco flipped her off in response. She huffed and turned back around to face Professor Binns. Fuck, she thought. She had been so careful in keeping her distance from him in public, she had an image to uphold to the Gryffindor’s, to keep them in her pocket. How was she going to explain this?

—

She looked up to see Hermione standing across from her, arms crossed, expression unreadable but sharp enough to cut through the quiet of the library.

Lydia barely concealed a sigh. She wasn’t in the mood for this—not when she had bigger things to worry about.

“Hermione,” Lydia greeted smoothly, masking any irritation.

“Mind if I sit?” Hermione asked, though it wasn’t much of a request. She pulled out a chair before Lydia could answer and sat down, eyes locked onto her like she was analyzing an unsolved puzzle. Lydia knew where this was going. She could practically feel the judgment radiating off of Hermione.

“So,” Hermione started, lowering her voice, “I saw you with Malfoy in class today.”

Lydia feigned confusion, flipping a page in her book. “And?”

Hermione scoffed, leaning forward. “You were talking to him. Like… actually talking to him. I thought you tried to ignore him.”

Lydia exhaled through her nose, keeping her expression neutral. Of course Hermione would question her. “We were discussing something. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” Hermione repeated, eyebrows furrowing. “Lydia, he calls me a Mudblood every chance he gets. He’s awful to Harry and Ron—don’t tell me you’ve suddenly decided he’s worth your time.”

Lydia knew Hermione had every right to be upset, but this was bigger than petty school rivalries. She was walking a thin line, trying to balance her position among the Gryffindors while keeping her connection to Draco hidden. And honestly, she was getting sick of Hermione pushing her nose into things that weren’t her business.

“I know what he’s like,” Lydia said carefully. “I haven’t forgotten what he’s done.”

“Then why—”

“Because it’s not that simple,” Lydia cut in, voice hushed but firm.

Before Hermione could respond, the sound of familiar voices approaching made Lydia’s spine stiffen. She looked up to see Ron and Harry making their way toward them, Ron looking vaguely confused as always while Harry smiled at her. Instinct took over.

“Harry,” she said warmly, closing her book and flashing him a soft smile. “I missed you.”

“Ugh,” said Ron.

“Hey,” Harry greeted, sliding into the seat beside her, his hand brushing against hers absentmindedly. “What are you up to?”

Lydia tilted her head, acting perfectly at ease. “Just studying.”

Ron flopped into a chair next to Hermione, stretching out his arms. “Blimey, I don’t know how you do it. Studying, I mean. Feels like my brain shuts off the second I step in here.”

Lydia chuckled lightly, all while forcing herself to keep up the act. Everything was fine. Normal. Just another day. She wasn’t just inside of Draco Malfoy’s dream and learning advanced magic.

But Hermione, of course, wasn’t about to let it go. She turned to Harry and Ron, arms still folded. “She was talking to Malfoy earlier,” she stated flatly.

Ron wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

Lydia shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “It wasn’t anything important.”

Ron frowned. “Come on, Lydia. He’s a git. What could you possibly have to talk to him about?”

Hermione huffed, clearly exasperated. “They weren’t just talking,” she pressed. “While you two were asleep at your desks, they came into History of Magic twenty minutes late. Together. And then whispered to each other the entire time.”

Harry blinked in confusion. “What?”

Ron, however, looked more disgusted. “You came in late with Malfoy?”

Lydia clenched her jaw, barely restraining the urge to roll her eyes. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like? It seemed to be a pretty intense discussion.” Hermione challenged.

Lydia’s frustration burned hotter. She wasn’t about to sit here and get interrogated like a criminal. With a deep inhale, she snapped her book shut and rose to her feet, smoothing out her robes.

“You’re all being ridiculous,” she said, voice clipped. She turned to Harry, letting her annoyance fade just enough to put on the affectionate mask she knew he wouldn’t question. Leaning down, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you later.” Then, without another word, she strode out of the library, pulse thrumming with irritation. They were all so predictable. Hermione, with her self-righteous need to poke at things that didn’t concern her. Ron, who had no tact whatsoever. And even Harry, who, despite his blind trust in her, had still faltered for just a second. She couldn’t stand meddling Gryffindor’s.

—

In charms, Lydia sat with Harry since Flitwick wasn’t strict and they could spend time together. Harry seemed relieved that she was sitting with him. He gave her a small smile as she slid into the seat beside him, and for a moment, things almost felt normal. They practiced their spells, laughing at Ron’s miserable attempt.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” He told her. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”

“What's up?” She asked.

“I found this diary, it’s not a normal one. It showed me a memory. The last time the Chamber of Secrets was open.”

Her eyes went wide. “Really? What happened?”

“The diary belonged to someone named Tom Riddle. He was somehow enchanted to the diary. He showed me a memory of Hagrid being the one to open the chamber. Obviously I don’t believe it could be Hagrid. So now I’m just more confused.”

Her brain stopped working at the mention of Tom Riddle. What the actual fuck was going on? Once she pulled some brain cells together she did the math in her head, Tom Riddle was born in 1926, that would put him at Hogwarts when the chamber first opened. How did she not realize before? Harry waved his hand in her face, apparently she was quiet for too long.

“Are you alright?”

“Mmm yeah of course I am.” She said unconfidently. “Just surprised about Hagrid. Who is this Tom Riddle guy?”

“That's the thing, I don’t know. I can’t find anything on him.”

At that moment, Draco sauntered over. Merlin, this won’t be good.

“Potter,” he greeted, his tone condescending. “Still convinced you’re the best in class?”

“At least I don’t have to bribe my way to good marks.”

Draco let out a short laugh. “Bribe? Please, Potter, I don’t need to bribe anyone. Some of us are just naturally talented. Unlike some people who ride on their reputation.”

“Oh, right. Because you work so hard for everything, don’t you?” He shot Draco a look. “Must be exhausting, having Daddy pull all the strings for you.”

Draco’s smirk twitched. “You seem awfully obsessed with my father, Potter. Jealous? I know your side of the family tree isn’t much to brag about.”

Harry stiffened, his eyes darkening. “At least my family didn’t buy their way into respect. They earned it.”

Draco scoffed. “Oh yes, your Muggle mother certainly made a name for herself, didn’t she? What was she, again? A Mudblood?”

Lydia stared at Draco, her eyes telling him to stop.

Harry, however, was already reaching for his wand. “Shut your mouth, Malfoy.”

He ignored Harry. “Find me later Prewett,” he said as he turned around.

“In your dreams Malfoy.” She gave him a faked exasperated look. She would find him in his dreams.

“You’re just gonna let him talk like that?” His voice was low, but the anger in it was clear.

“I didn’t let him do anything.”

Harry let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “Right.”

She sighed. “Harry—”

“No, don’t bother.” He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, staring at her like he was seeing something he didn’t want to. “I don’t get you sometimes.”

She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Nothing. Forget it.”

—

Draco found Lydia as she was walking down the stairs of her dormitory. He leaned casually against the stone railing at the bottom, arms crossed over his chest.

“Took you long enough,” he drawled, pushing off the railing as she approached.

“Did you really have to say that to him? I don’t appreciate it when my best friend throws slurs at my boyfriend.” 

He stepped towards her with a grin on his face. “Best friend?”

“That's not what I meant.” She avoided looking directly in his eyes. “You’re—I don’t know.”

She pushed past him and started walking to the Great Hall. He caught up with her and they walked in silence. When they entered he grabbed her arm and whispered in ear. “You deserve someone that would fight the damn world for you” She blushed at his words. Looking up she saw Harry staring from the Gryffindor table. Ron shook his head at her. Why did Draco have to say these things to her? She was finally taking Harry seriously, even if at first she saw him as a way to serve her own desires. These conflicting feelings for Draco were confusing her. He always pushed her buttons and made her think about things she didn’t want to.

—

The end of the year came quickly. Harry fought and killed the basilisk. She was glad students wouldn’t be petrified anymore, but she also felt a pang in her chest that part of Salazar Slytherin's legacy was slaughtered. It was wrong to feel that way and she pushed it away. Wanting to see Harry sooner rather than later, she visited him in the hospital wing. She hesitated at the entrance, watching him from the doorway. He looked exhausted, bandaged and bruised, but alive. Relief flooded through her at the sight of him awake. She approached his bed quietly, not wanting to startle him.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Harry turned his head, blinking up at her before a tired smile spread across his face. “Hey.”

She sat down beside him “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got thrown down a chamber, bitten by a giant snake, and barely made it out alive,” he said dryly.

“I guess that sums it up.” She chuckled.

“I figured out who Tom Riddle is.” 

“Oh?”

“He’s Voldemort, I spoke with him. He used the diary to possess Ginny into opening the Chamber of Secrets.” He said, shivering at the thought.

“He’s—he’s You-Know-Who? She felt like she couldn’t breathe. She was related to him? That’s who Tom Riddle was? And Ginny? What in the world? Finding out another member of her family was a dark wizard tore at her. Trying her best to put on a masked expression, she told Harry she was really tired and had to go. She couldn’t sit there with him after this discovery. He looked disappointed but wished her goodnight. She ran back to the dungeons as fast as she could and frantically searched out Draco. She shoved open the entrance to the Slytherin common room, barely noticing the murmurs and curious glances that followed her. She didn’t care. She scanned the room, heart pounding.

Draco.

He was sitting on one of the emerald-green couches, flipping through a book, looking up just as she rushed toward him.

“Lyd—?”

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him up, dragging him toward the dormitories without a word. He didn’t resist, too startled by the urgency in her movements. They barely made it into his dorm before she let go, pacing back and forth, trying to collect her thoughts, to make sense of the storm inside her head.

Draco closed the door behind them, brows furrowing as he took her in. “What the hell is going on?”

She stopped, staring at him. How was she supposed to say this?

“I—” Her throat felt dry. She swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “I know who Tom Riddle is.”

Draco’s frown deepened. “What?”

She exhaled sharply. “He’s the Dark Lord.”

They stood there in silence while he stared at her in disbelief. “Bloody hell.” Draco’s face was unreadable He slowly sank onto his bed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.” Lydia sat down beside him, gripping her hands tightly together. “Harry—he spoke to him. The diary he found—it showed him a memory of when the Chamber was opened last time. It was him, Draco. Tom Riddle was just… his old name. Before he became what he is today.”

Draco didn’t speak right away. He just stared ahead, processing, jaw tight. “You’re related to him.” It was a statement, not a question.

Lydia nodded.

Draco exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Merlin, Lydia…” His tone wasn’t disgusted or accusatory, just… stunned.

“I don’t know what to do.” Her voice cracked. “I—I feel sick. Like there’s something wrong with me. Like—like it’s in my blood. Him and my father.”

Draco snapped his head toward her, his expression suddenly sharp. “Don’t say that.”

She looked away.

Draco grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Listen to me. You are not him. I don’t care if you share blood, I don’t care what’s written in some stupid old book. You are not him.”

She swallowed, feeling something tighten in her chest. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know you.” His voice was fierce and unwavering.

Lydia’s eyes burned with tears. She let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Draco didn’t hesitate. He pulled her into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around her like he was afraid she might slip away. The moment she felt his warmth, the strength in his hold, her walls cracked and crumbled. A sob broke from her throat, muffled against his shoulder, and she clung to him as if he were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly become unrecognizable. Her fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, her entire body shaking as the weight of it all pressed down on her. Her lineage, the expectations, the fear that she was doomed to be like them—it was too much. It made her feel like she was suffocating. But here, in his arms, she could breathe, just for a moment. He was grounding her, steadying her against the storm raging inside her mind. Draco didn’t say anything. He just held her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressing firmly against her back. He let her cry, let her fall apart in his arms, and never once did he pull away. Instead, he held her as though he could shield her from all the ugly truths that had come crashing down around her. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his breath warm against her temple. “I’ve got you, Lydia.” She squeezed her eyes shut, burying herself deeper into his embrace. It was the safest she had felt in weeks. For the first time since finding out the truth, she allowed herself to fall, trusting that he wouldn’t let her hit the ground.