Chapter 28
Hogwarts had always been a place of comfort for me. Even in its darkest days, it had felt like home.
But standing in the Great Hall now, surrounded by old friends and unexpected allies, I realized that for Draco, it had never been the same.
His shoulders were tight, his posture stiff, and even though his expression was carefully composed, I could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. He wasn’t just on edge—he was bracing for something. A fight. A judgment. A reminder that he didn’t belong here, not in the way the rest of us did.
And yet, when he finally nodded at Harry, agreeing to work with them, something inside me unclenched.
Maybe he did belong here. Maybe this was how it started.
“Right,” Harry said, rolling his shoulders as if settling into old battle instincts. “We don’t have a lot of time. If the answer to countering the Revenants’ ritual is anywhere in Hogwarts, we need to find it before they strike again.”
I nodded. “McGonagall said the castle remembers all magic that’s passed through it. If there’s any record of someone trying to sever an Eidolon bond in history, it’ll be here.”
Ron made a face. “So, that means what? Hours of digging through old books?”
I gave him a look. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He groaned. “It is a bad thing.”
Ginny smirked, nudging him. “What, scared you’ll learn something, Ron?”
Before he could respond, Draco huffed. “Oh, by all means, let’s waste time debating Weasley’s lack of academic enthusiasm while people are literally losing their magic.”
Ron scowled. “Still a git, I see.”
Draco flashed him a cold smile. “Still an idiot, I see.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, inhaling deeply. “Honestly, both of you—can we try to behave like adults for five minutes?”
Harry cleared his throat, his eyes flicking between Draco and me, something calculating in his gaze. “Let’s split up. The castle is massive, and if we’re looking for something specific, we should cover as much ground as possible. Hermione, you have the best idea of where to start—where do you want us?”
I took a steadying breath, pushing away my irritation at Draco and Ron’s bickering. “There are a few places worth checking. The Restricted Section is obvious—it holds some of the oldest, most dangerous magical texts. There might be something there on dark rituals that affect Eidolons.”
Harry nodded. “I’ll take that.”
I turned to Ron and Ginny. “The Room of Requirement is another possibility. It adapts to the user’s needs, which means if anyone ever needed a place to hide or study forbidden Eidolon magic, there’s a chance the room has preserved it.”
Ron brightened slightly. “Finally, something not in a library.”
Ginny grinned. “We’ll take it.”
I hesitated before meeting Draco’s gaze. “And we—”
“I already know where we’re going,” he interrupted.
I frowned. “You do?”
His silver eyes flickered with something unreadable. “The Chamber of Secrets.”
A beat of silence.
Ron let out a noise of protest. “Absolutely not. That place is cursed.”
Draco arched a brow. “That place is ancient. It predates Hogwarts as we know it. If there’s any magic tied to the origins of Eidolons—or the corruption of them—it could be buried there.”
I pressed my lips together, considering.
The Chamber was one of the oldest parts of Hogwarts. It had been built by Salazar Slytherin himself, a place that had long been steeped in dark magic.
But returning there wasn’t exactly ideal.
Harry crossed his arms. “You know, most people don’t willingly go looking for basilisks.”
Draco’s smirk was humorless. “Most people aren’t trying to stop a war.”
I sighed. “It’s dangerous, but… he’s right. It’s worth a look.”
Ron groaned. “Of course you agree with him.”
Ginny elbowed him. “Come on, Ron. If we’re doing this, we need to trust each other.”
Draco scoffed under his breath. “Weasley trusting me? That’ll be the day.”
I shot him a look before turning back to the group. “We’ll check the Chamber. Meet back here in three hours?”
Harry nodded. “Be careful.”
With that, we parted ways, each heading toward a different part of the castle, toward the answers we desperately needed.
Draco was quiet as we made our way through the darkened halls of Hogwarts, Tenebris prowling silently beside him. I could feel the tension coiling in his shoulders, see the way his fingers twitched at his sides as if bracing for something unseen.
For the memories.
For the ghosts of the past that lived in these walls.
When we reached Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, he hesitated.
I stopped beside him, my fingers brushing his wrist. “Are you okay?”
His jaw tightened. “Fine.”
A lie.
I squeezed his wrist lightly, grounding him. “We don’t have to do this alone.”
As he raised his wand, he spoke, his voice quiet but edged with something unreadable. “Not alone, huh? No, of course not. You brought your merry band of Gryffindors.”
My jaw clenched. “Those are my friends, Draco. My family.” The words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t take them back. “The least you can do is try to get along with them. To actually see them. They’re more than just stubborn, reckless idiots.”
He gave a pointed look that all but said are they, though?
Frustration flared hot in my chest. “They’re good people. Brave, loyal, and willing to risk everything for what’s right. The same way I know you are—even if you refuse to admit it. I just—” I exhaled sharply, letting go of some of my anger, letting something gentler take its place. “I know they’d like you if they saw what I see in you. And I know you’d like them too, if you’d just let go of the past. You don’t have to hate them, Draco. You don’t have to make them hate you either.”
He stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then, with a quiet scoff, he turned toward the sinks, dragging a hand through his hair. “That’s optimistic of you, Granger.”
I huffed. “It’s called hope. You should try it sometime.”
His lips quirked, but he said nothing.
I squeezed his wrist again, a silent reassurance before he pulled away. “Let’s get this over with.” He glanced at me, something softer flashing in his eyes. Then, with a slow exhale, he pulled out his wand and stepped forward.
“Alohomora.”
The spell sparked against the porcelain sink, but nothing happened. The chamber remained sealed.
Draco scowled and tried again, more forceful this time. “Alohomora.”
Still nothing.
I stepped in front of him, placing a hand on the cool surface of the sink. “It doesn’t work like that,” I murmured.
His brow furrowed. “Then how—”
I exhaled and let my eyes flutter shut, the memory of a long-dead language rising unbidden to my lips. When I spoke, the words slithered into the air, foreign and unnatural.
The stone groaned. The sink shifted. And the passage revealed itself once more.
Draco stared at me, something unreadable in his gaze. “You can speak Parseltongue.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. “Ron learned a little, too. When Harry was still connected to Voldemort, he used to speak it in his sleep.”
Draco’s expression flickered, but he said nothing.
The rush of cold air spiraled upward, and despite myself, I shivered.
I had only ever been here once before.
I had fought wars, faced death, and stood against unspeakable darkness, but still… this place felt wrong.
Draco noticed my hesitation and smirked slightly. “Scared, Granger?”
I shot him a glare. “Of course not.”
He chuckled and hopped down into the tunnel. Tenebris followed, his dark form slipping into the shadows like he was part of them.
I took a breath.
Then I followed.
The slide was steep, and I landed with a sharp thud, dust swirling in the dim chamber. The walls were damp, covered in the residue of old magic, and the air smelled faintly of decay.
Draco flicked his wand, illuminating the space in eerie green light. His expression was unreadable as he took in the cavernous space.
The chamber stretched before us, vast and eerie, the weight of history pressing in from every side. The massive skeleton of the basilisk lay still and undisturbed, its ribcage arching like the remains of some long-forgotten cathedral. The skeleton of the basilisk still lay in the distance, its massive, empty eye sockets staring out at us like a warning. The damp air curled around me, heavy with the scent of old magic and decay.
I swallowed.
Draco’s gaze flicked to me, his usual sarcasm absent. “Still want to be here?”
I straightened. “Yes.”
His lips twitched. “Gryffindors.”
I rolled my eyes.
We had gathered everyone together for a trip back down to the Chamber of Secrets. The dim torchlight flickered against the cold stone walls as we gathered in front of the ancient door, the weight of expectation thick in the air. The Chamber of Secrets had always felt otherworldly—steeped in history, in legend, in things long buried. But tonight, it felt alive.
The energy surrounding the door pulsed against my skin, old magic pressing at the edges of my senses. It was waiting. Watching.
Harry stood closest, his fingers hovering just above the inscription carved into the surface. His jaw was tight, his green eyes flicking over the words again and again, deep in thought.
“The lost heir shall call me home.”
Ron paced behind him, looking deeply uncomfortable, his wolf-like Eidolon moving in perfect rhythm with his restless steps. “I don’t like this,” he muttered. “It’s giving me… bad memories.”
Ginny, who stood with her griffin perched beside her, shot him a sharp glance. “You don’t say?”
Draco was leaning against the nearest column, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Harry with an unreadable expression. Tenebris sat at his feet, his dark form shifting like living smoke, his golden eyes trained on the door.
I stood beside Harry, Solara’s warmth pulsing at my shoulder. “Do you recognize anything?” I asked softly.
Harry exhaled through his nose, his fingers curling into fists. “It’s Parseltongue, yeah. And I can read it. But I don’t know what it wants.” His gaze darkened. “If I still had Voldemort’s piece in me, I’d probably just… know.”
A heavy silence followed those words.
I reached out instinctively, touching his forearm. “That’s a good thing, Harry.”
His throat bobbed, but he nodded. “Yeah. Doesn’t help us now, though.”
Draco straightened, stepping toward us. “Try saying it aloud,” he suggested, his voice measured. “Maybe the door just needs to hear its own words.”
Harry gave him a look but didn’t argue. He inhaled sharply, then spoke, his voice slipping into the eerie, unnatural cadence of Parseltongue.
The words slithered from his lips, echoing in the chamber.
The air shuddered around us.
The torches flickered.
For a moment, I thought it had worked.
But then… nothing.
The door remained sealed.
Harry scowled, stepping back. “It’s not just about saying it.”
I frowned, turning my attention back to the inscription. “The lost heir…” My mind turned over the phrase, picking it apart. “It has to be referring to something specific.”
Draco was silent for a long moment before muttering, “Slytherin.”
Ron made a noise of protest. “Right, well, we don’t have any actual Slytherin heirs on hand, so what now?”
Draco’s expression was unreadable, but I caught the flicker of something beneath his cool exterior. “That’s debatable.”
I blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated. Just for a second. Then, carefully, he said, “The Malfoy family… has always claimed to be descendants of Slytherin. But that doesn’t mean I’d qualify as an heir.”
My breath caught.
It made sense. The Malfoys had deep ties to old bloodlines, to ancient legacies. And Draco… he had been marked by Hogwarts itself before, hadn’t he? The Dark Lord had chosen him once. Had deemed him worthy of something dark.
Perhaps this door was simply another test.
Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Great. So, how do we prove that?”
I turned to Draco, my heart racing. “Maybe you need to try speaking Parseltongue.”
His silver eyes snapped to mine. “Are you mad?”
I bit my lip. “I know you don’t speak it, but… you’ve heard it before. Try. Maybe it’s not about fluency. Maybe it’s about blood.”
Draco looked like he wanted to argue, but then his jaw clenched. He turned to face the door, his expression unreadable.
Ron muttered, “This is ridiculous.”
“Shut up, Weasley,” Draco shot back.
Harry stepped forward. “Look, I’ll say the words first. You just… mimic the sounds, Malfoy.” His voice was surprisingly even, not mocking—just instructing.
Draco hesitated, then nodded stiffly.
Harry took a breath and spoke, slow and deliberate, letting the Parseltongue slip from his lips once more.
Draco licked his lips, his throat working as he tried to force the same strange, sibilant cadence. His first attempt was rough, clumsy. The syllables twisted awkwardly, falling off his tongue like something foreign, something broken.
But the door stirred.
The carvings hissed, shifting like something alive beneath the surface.
Draco sucked in a breath, his fingers twitching.
“You almost had it,” Ginny encouraged. “The second part was close.”
Draco shot her a sharp look, but then his gaze flicked back to Harry. “Again,” he muttered.
Harry nodded and repeated the phrase, slightly slower this time.
Draco followed, his voice lower now, the sounds more fluid. The cadence, the strange elongation of certain syllables—it was starting to come together.
The door shuddered.
A deep, guttural grinding filled the chamber as the stone parted in slow, deliberate motion. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, the roots curling back, revealing a darkened passage beyond.
Harry swore under his breath. “Well. That worked.”
Draco stared at the open doorway, looking slightly shaken.
I reached for his hand without thinking, squeezing gently. “Draco—”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly.
But I wasn’t sure if I believed him.
The air that seeped from the open doorway was wrong.
Thick with something old, something that had been waiting too long.
Solara’s wings twitched.
Tenebris growled low.
Ron shifted uneasily. “I don’t like this.”
Ginny’s hand moved to her wand. “None of us do.”
Harry stepped forward, his shoulders tense. “Only one way to find out what’s inside.”
He was right.
We had come here for answers.
And whatever lay beyond this door—
It knew we were coming.