Chapter 31
The chamber seemed to shudder as we ran.
The runes on the walls pulsed erratically, shifting like living things, curling into symbols I didn’t recognize, symbols that knew us. The echoes of the whisper—run before it takes you too—clawed at the back of my mind, repeating in a voice that didn’t belong to any of us but still rang in my bones as if it had always been there.
The passage twisted in on itself, narrowing and closing behind us as if the very walls of the Chamber of Secrets had decided we were intruders. The stale, damp air thickened, charged with the weight of centuries-old magic, and the cold bit deep into my skin.
We were not supposed to be here.
Something ancient—something buried—wanted us gone.
And yet, the dark presence we had awoken was not chasing us.
Not yet.
Because it didn’t need to.
It had already marked us.
I could feel it—heavy, lingering, curling around my magic like invisible chains.
We weren’t just escaping.
We were being allowed to leave.
The corridors twisted ahead, narrowing into shadows that swallowed the edges of our vision. The deeper we went, the more the air thickened—not with dust or dampness, but with something unseen, something watching.
A pulse of magic shuddered beneath my skin, warning me. We were being funneled, directed.
Solara flickered, her golden glow rippling like disturbed water, sensing the same unseen hand guiding our path. Draco’s gaze flicked toward me—just a glance, but enough. He felt it too.
Then, ahead, the darkness thinned. A breath of cold air, sharp and biting, whispered through the stone, a promise of open space beyond.
Freedom. Or a trap.
Harry didn’t slow. None of us did. We had no choice but to keep moving forward.
He ran ahead, leading the way with his stag Eidolon moving close at his side, their movements eerily in sync. Solara’s golden glow pulsed against my back, guiding me, her warmth the only thing keeping me grounded against the weight pressing in on my mind.
Ginny and Ron followed, their Eidolons tense and bristling, paws and talons scraping against stone as they maneuvered the uneven ground. Tenebris, sleek and silent, prowled beside Draco, shadows curling around his form as if he was feeding off the dark rather than avoiding it.
And Draco—
Draco was too quiet.
I could still see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed around his wand, the barely concealed tremor in his grip. His breath was too controlled, too measured, as though he was forcing himself to stay composed.
His reaction to the door had already shaken him—the revelation that he had no true Slytherin lineage, that whatever had granted him passage before had only been the remnants of his father’s servitude to Voldemort.
And then he had saved Harry’s life.
And now—now—we were running from something that should have killed us all.
I didn’t have to hear his thoughts to know that his mind was spiraling.
I wanted to reach for him—to pull him out of whatever storm was raging in his head—but the tunnel abruptly sloped downward, the stones slick and uneven beneath our feet.
“Keep moving!” Harry called, his voice tight. “I don’t know how long this place is going to hold.”
The breath in my lungs froze. That sound—deep, resonant, alive—wasn’t just stone giving way. It was something waking.
Draco stiffened beside me, Tenebris pressing closer to his side, ears flattened against the growing tremors. Solara’s light flared in warning, casting wild shadows against the jagged walls as the ground lurched beneath us.
Harry skidded to a halt, his gaze snapping toward the tunnel’s mouth, where the torchlight flickered like a heartbeat. Almost there.
We ran.
The tunnel twisted sharply, and suddenly, the dim glow of torchlight flickered at the end of the passage. I sucked in a sharp breath—the entrance. We were almost—
A low rumble echoed through the cavern.
Not behind us.
Ahead.
I barely had time to react before the walls shook violently, the stone cracking like something had struck it from the inside. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, the ground beneath us shifting, breaking.
And then—something moved.
Not from the shadows.
Not from the walls.
From the floor.
A dark, slithering mass of something—not smoke, not flesh, but a twisting in-between—began to rise. Limbs unfurled where there should have been none. A deep hunger rippled through the air.
And it was blocking the exit.
The torches flickered, their flames bending toward it, pulled by the force of whatever ancient, unfathomable magic had been buried beneath this place.
The shape rose higher, shifting like ink dissolving into water, a darkness that wasn’t just absence of light but something worse—something alive.
And it spoke.
“You woke me.”
The voice wasn’t a sound. It was a sensation, pressing into my skull, curling through my magic like it had always belonged there. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be.
It was everywhere.
A pressure that coiled like a serpent around my ribs.
Harry staggered back, his breath sharp, his hand going to his scar—a habit he had long outgrown.
It wasn’t burning.
But something was still there.
Lingering.
Watching.
Waiting.
Ginny grabbed his arm, her eyes wide. “Harry—”
The thing moved.
It lunged.
And Draco was the one to step forward.
His wand snapped up before anyone else could react.
“NOCTEM IMPETUS!”
The spell was violent. A streak of pure shadow erupted from his wand, colliding with the creature like a tidal wave of darkness slamming into darkness.
The chamber shook.
The thing screeched—a soundless, mind-crushing wail—and recoiled, momentarily folding in on itself, shifting and unraveling, as if it hadn’t been expecting Draco to attack first.
And neither had I.
I had never seen him cast that spell before. I had never even heard of it.
“Move!” Draco barked, his voice sharp, his stance unwavering.
None of us argued.
We sprinted.
The chamber behind us trembled as if it were alive, the very walls seeming to shudder in the wake of the creature’s agony. Magic crackled through the air, thick and volatile, warping the light, twisting the shadows. I felt the weight of it pressing against my skin, clawing at the edges of my mind, whispering, calling.
The ground beneath us felt unsteady, loose stone breaking underfoot as we ran. The path ahead was narrow, slick with moisture, the air thick with the scent of something ancient and wrong. Each step echoed, swallowed by the oppressive dark, but I didn’t dare slow down.
Behind us, the creature shifted, its shape stretching, reforming—an amorphous horror piecing itself back together. Its wail still rang in my skull, a discordant echo that made my magic flicker, uncertain.
We had seconds. Maybe less.
The exit was close—so close—but the darkness behind us wasn’t done.
I could hear it shifting, twisting, reforming. A nightmare piecing itself back together, its hunger undiminished, its rage multiplied.
Ron reached the entrance first, scrambling up the incline, his wolf-Eidolon bristling, snapping at the edges of the dark. Ginny followed, then Harry, their breaths ragged, the heat of magic still thick in the air.
Draco was just behind me.
Then—
The thing lashed out.
I barely had time to register the movement before Draco shoved me forward—hard—his arm snapping around my waist, throwing me toward the exit just as the darkness struck.
A solid, consuming force slammed into him.
I hit the stone floor with a gasp, scrambling onto my hands and knees, my heart stopping as I turned back—
Draco was on his knees, one hand braced against the ground, his entire body shaking.
The thing was wrapped around his wrist.
Draco gasped—a raw, choked sound—his free hand clenching against his chest. His magic flared—wild, unstable—before it buckled.
A tendril of pure dark magic, curling, pulling—taking.
His face contorted, his free hand clutching at his chest, his breath coming out in shattered, uneven gasps.
“No—NO—” I surged forward.
Harry was faster.
His wand cut through the air, a blinding burst of white-hot magic striking the shadow where it clung to Draco’s skin.
The thing shrieked.
And then—
It let go.
Draco collapsed against me, his weight knocking us both back. His breathing was erratic, his entire body trembling.
I grabbed his face, forcing him to look at me, my hands shaking.
“Draco—Draco, what did it do to you?”
His pupils were blown wide, his skin paler than usual, sweat dampening his brow.
For a terrifying moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer.
Then—
“I—” His voice was hoarse. Unsteady. “I don’t—I don’t know.”
His fingers curled weakly against my sleeve, his magic flickering around him, unstable, fractured.
Harry knelt beside us, his expression drawn, guilt pooling in his features like ink sinking into parchment.
Draco had saved him. Again.
And it had cost him something.
Something I didn’t understand yet.
Something he might not get back.
I clutched him tighter, pressing my forehead against his, desperate for something steady—something real.
His breath was shallow, but it was still there.
That was all that mattered.
Solara let out a soft, warning trill—but not at the creature.
She was looking at Draco.
And when I followed her gaze, my breath caught.
Something in his magic had changed.
I forced myself to focus, to push past the panic clawing at my ribs. The chamber still groaned around us, the very stones of Hogwarts pulsing with magic that had not yet settled. Dust and echoes of something far older than us lingered in the stale air, curling at the edges of my consciousness.
We were not supposed to be here.
We had pushed too far, opened something that had been waiting too long. And it had let us go.
For now.
A warm presence at my back—a flicker of light, a soft brush of feathers. Solara pressed against me, her golden glow subdued, flickering slightly. She trilled low in her throat, the sound not quite fear, not quite reassurance. I didn’t know what she was feeling. I didn’t know what I was feeling.
I only knew I couldn’t let go of Draco.
His weight was heavy against me, his body trembling slightly, but he hadn’t collapsed completely. He was still aware, still holding on. I tightened my grip around him, grounding both of us.
“We need to move,” Harry said, his voice clipped but steady.
I could hear the tension in his words—the unspoken worry, the way his breath still came faster than it should. He wasn’t just shaken. He was disturbed.
So was I.
Ginny was standing beside him, her knuckles white where she gripped her wand, her griffin Eidolon prowling restlessly behind her. Ron was nearby, looking deeply uncomfortable, his wolf-like Eidolon bristling in agitation.
I could feel it from all of them. The wrongness still lingered in the air, still clung to the edges of our magic like an imprint of something we weren’t meant to understand.
I swallowed hard and nodded, shifting slightly to help Draco upright. He let me, his breath still uneven but steadying.
I didn’t let go of him.
And he didn’t pull away.
Harry gave me a sharp look, his gaze flicking to Draco before returning to me. “Can he walk?”
Draco made a noise that was probably meant to be irritation but came out breathless and weak. “I’m not a bloody invalid, Potter.”
Harry arched a brow. “That’s debatable.”
Draco let out something that could have been a laugh—or a wince—but he pushed himself up properly, straightening with slow, deliberate movements.
I kept a hand on his arm, just in case.
He didn’t shake me off.
Ron exhaled. “Right. Now that Malfoy’s still breathing, can we please get the hell out of here before this place decides to kill us for real?”
No one argued.
The passage ahead still loomed dark and untrustworthy, but it was the only way out.
I felt the tension in Draco’s muscles as he moved beside me, his steps steady but slow. He wasn’t fine, no matter what he claimed, but he was functioning. That was enough for now.
We moved together, deeper into the tunnel, away from whatever had tried to take him.
And yet, even as we left the chamber behind, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we weren’t escaping.
We were being watched.
I tightened my grip on my wand as we pressed forward, each step carrying us deeper into the darkness. The tunnel walls felt closer now, the damp stone exhaling cold air against my skin. The silence wasn’t empty—it was filled with the weight of something unseen, something lingering just beyond the edge of perception.
Draco’s breath was controlled but uneven, a quiet rasp beneath the steady drip of water from the ceiling. I wanted to glance at him, to reassure myself that he was still upright, still moving, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the shadows stretching ahead of us.
The further we went, the more it felt like the tunnel wasn’t just leading us away from danger. It was drawing us in.
And then, at last, the oppressive weight began to ease—not entirely, but enough to make the air feel thinner, less suffocating.
The corridor widened, torches flickering to life as we passed.
The walk back through the corridors of the Chamber of Secrets was quiet.
Too quiet.
The further we got from the place where the entity had risen, the less oppressive the air felt, but it didn’t disappear completely. There was still something heavy lingering in the atmosphere, something unseen pressing at the edges of my thoughts.
Solara stayed close, her golden glow unwavering but cautious. Tenebris slinked beside Draco, his form shifting slightly in the dim torchlight, his movements slower than usual, more deliberate.
Harry led the way, his wand still raised, his eyes sharp and alert. He hadn’t spoken much since we left the chamber. Neither had Ginny.
Ron was the first to break the silence.
“So. Just to clarify—” his voice was too casual, too forced, “—we are telling McGonagall about this, right? Because I’d really love to not be obliviated when Hogwarts decides we’re a security risk.”
Ginny shot him a look. “What exactly do you think she’s going to do? Ground us?”
Ron made a face. “She could.”
Harry sighed. “We’ll tell her. But we don’t even know what we found. We don’t know what that thing was.”
His voice was edged with frustration, but beneath it, I heard something else. Something quieter.
Doubt.
I hesitated, glancing at him as we walked. His grip on his wand was still too tight, his jaw locked. Whatever had happened in that chamber—whatever that thing was—it had recognized him. Had spoken to him. Had known him.
And I could see it in his face.
He was afraid of what that meant.
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t about him—that this wasn’t some prophecy waiting to unfold, that this wasn’t the past repeating itself—but I didn’t know that for sure.
None of us did.
So I said nothing.
The tunnel finally widened into the familiar stone walls of the original Chamber of Secrets, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The entrance was just ahead, the way back to Hogwarts waiting for us like something out of place, something that didn’t belong in the nightmare we had just escaped.
Draco slowed slightly beside me, exhaling sharply, his hand flexing at his side.
I turned to him, watching the way his shoulders tensed, the way his silver eyes flickered in the torchlight. “Draco?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
His gaze was distant for a moment, somewhere else entirely. Then, after a second, he exhaled again, more controlled this time, and shook his head. “Nothing. Just ready to be done with this place.”
I wasn’t convinced.
But I didn’t push.
Not yet.
Harry reached the entrance first, pausing only briefly before looking back at us. “Let’s go.”
No one hesitated.
One by one, we climbed out, back into the world above.
The air in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom was staggeringly normal. Too normal. It didn’t match the weight still pressing into my ribs, didn’t fit with the ghosts of things I wasn’t ready to name.
We stepped out into the torchlight of Hogwarts corridors, leaving the Chamber behind.
And yet, as we walked, I felt it.
Something lingering.
Something unseen.
We had gotten out.
But we hadn’t left it behind.