Chapter 35
The fire crackled softly, filling the heavy silence between us with its quiet, rhythmic snaps. Shadows stretched long across the room, flickering against the old stone walls as if they had a mind of their own.
I should have been relieved to be back in a safe space.
I wasn’t.
Draco sat apart from the rest of us, his posture too still, his breathing too controlled. The flickering firelight cast sharp angles across his face, his silver eyes half-lidded, unreadable. He looked as if he were trying to be present, but I could tell—he wasn’t here.
Not really.
My fingers curled against the fabric of my robes as I studied him. His magic was still wrong. It wasn’t something I could see, but I could feel it—the way it moved in the space around him, the way it didn’t settle the way magic should. It was like a current running in the opposite direction, pulling in when it should push out, spiraling rather than flowing.
And he either didn’t know… or he didn’t want to know.
I wasn’t sure which was worse.
Solara stirred restlessly on my shoulder, her golden feathers ruffling in quiet discomfort. Across the room, Tenebris was still watching him. Not protectively. Not like an Eidolon standing guard.
Like he was studying him.
I swallowed against the unease curling in my throat. Eidolons were extensions of their witches and wizards, drawn from the soul, shaped by magic. If Tenebris was noticing something off, if he was reacting to Draco instead of the space around him…
That meant whatever was happening wasn’t just in my head.
I forced myself to look away, fixing my gaze on the others instead. Ginny had finally stopped pacing, her arms crossed, her jaw tight as she leaned against the wall. Ron had given up trying to feign normalcy and had slumped into one of the deep armchairs, his wolf-like Eidolon curled at his feet, golden eyes flicking between Draco and the doorway.
Harry was the only one still standing. He hadn’t moved from his spot near the fire, his gaze locked on the flames, shoulders tense, lost in thought.
I wanted to break the silence. To say something, anything to fill the unnatural weight in the air.
But I didn’t know where to start.
So I settled for the thing that was clawing at me the most.
“Something’s wrong,” I said finally.
Draco’s eyes flicked toward me, slow, deliberate. “Brilliant deduction, Granger.”
I ignored his sarcasm. “I’m serious.”
Harry turned slightly, his expression unreadable. Ron straightened, casting me a wary glance.
Ginny shifted against the wall. “We all know it,” she muttered. “But what are we supposed to do about it?”
She was right. There was no next step, no spell that could undo what had happened. We didn’t even know what had happened. Only that it had left a mark.
And Draco—he was still pretending like it hadn’t.
I inhaled slowly, steadying my voice. “Draco.” His name felt strange on my tongue, but I pushed past it. “Something feels—off. With your magic.”
His face didn’t change, but I saw it—the faintest flicker of something beneath the surface. Not surprise. Recognition.
He knew.
He’d known.
But instead of admitting it, instead of responding, his fingers twitched.
A small movement.
Barely there.
But I felt it.
His magic reacted.
It pulsed outward, a quick, sharp flicker against my skin—like static before a storm, like something moving in the air that shouldn’t be there. The firelight seemed to bend for a fraction of a second, the shadows dragging unnaturally before snapping back into place.
Tenebris flinched.
Draco inhaled sharply.
And then—he shut it down.
I felt him shove it back down, force his magic to go still, to settle into the shape it was supposed to be. Like he was controlling it instead of it responding naturally.
Like it wasn’t fully his anymore.
My breath caught.
Draco knew something was wrong.
But he was hiding it.
I took a step toward him before I even realized what I was doing. “Draco—”
“Enough.” His voice was sharp, clipped. His fingers curled into fists in his lap. “Just drop it.”
“No.” The word left me before I could stop it. “I won’t.”
He glared at me. “I said I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine!” I snapped, frustration breaking through. “And you know it!”
Silence.
Draco’s jaw clenched. His eyes burned with something fierce, something defensive—but there was something else there too. Something unsteady. Something afraid.
Harry was watching now, gaze sharp. Ron shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t interrupt. Ginny exhaled, her expression tight, expectant.
Draco looked at me then. Really looked at me.
And for the briefest moment, I saw it.
The truth.
He wasn’t just shaken. He wasn’t just tired.
He was struggling.
I had seen Draco Malfoy wear many faces—arrogance, indifference, cruelty, detachment.
I had never seen him like this.
Like he was losing control of something he didn’t understand.
Something he didn’t want to understand.
His fingers twitched again, and for a single, terrifying second, the edges of his magic felt wrong again. The shadows at his feet pulled the wrong way.
Then he exhaled sharply, forced it still again, and stood.
That was it.
The conversation was over.
I watched him as he straightened, his usual smirk twisting into place—not genuine, not real, just something to mask whatever had been flickering beneath the surface.
“Well, this has been delightful,” he drawled, voice back to its usual bored tone. “But if we’re done with the intervention, I’d rather get some actual sleep.”
He turned for the door.
Harry didn’t stop him.
Ginny didn’t stop him.
Even Tenebris hesitated before finally padding after him, his golden eyes lingering on mine for a split second before following his wizard out into the corridor.
The door shut behind them.
And I felt it the second he was gone.
The tension in the air didn’t ease.
If anything, it settled deeper.
Because now, there was no denying it.
Draco’s magic had changed.
And whatever was happening to him—
He was afraid to find out what it was.
The door shut behind Draco with a quiet finality.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The weight of the moment stretched between us, thick and stifling. The fire still flickered, casting shifting light across the room, but it no longer felt warm. Instead, the shadows seemed deeper, stretching unnaturally long in the corners.
Ginny let out a slow breath. “Well. That went well.”
Ron snorted, but there was no humor in it. He rubbed a hand over his face, then dropped it into his lap, his fingers tapping restlessly against the arm of the chair. “So, we’re all in agreement, yeah? Something’s up with Malfoy.”
Harry exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “We don’t know that for sure.”
I turned to him, my stomach twisting with frustration. “You felt it. Back in the Chamber. And just now—his magic wasn’t right.”
“I know,” he admitted, but his voice was careful, measured. “But we don’t know what it means.”
“It means that thing did something to him,” Ginny muttered. “Touched his magic, changed it, took something—”
“Or gave him something,” I whispered.
The words left my lips before I could stop them, and the room stilled.
The fire cracked sharply.
Ginny’s gaze snapped to mine, her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
I hesitated, my pulse thrumming painfully in my ears. My thoughts were already spiraling, each possibility worse than the last. I had spent years studying magic, learning how it flowed, how it could be warped. There were countless cases of corrupted magic, of ancient spells embedding themselves into wizards like parasites, twisting them into something other.
Draco’s magic hadn’t been broken.
It had been… altered.
Magic didn’t just feel different unless something had changed it.
I swallowed. “I don’t know yet. But whatever happened to him in the Chamber—it wasn’t just a failed attack. It wasn’t trying to kill him.”
Ron frowned. “You’re saying that thing meant to let him go?”
I shook my head, trying to put the feeling into words. “No. I’m saying it did something to him on purpose.”
Another silence.
Harry’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the fire. “And Malfoy knows it.”
That was the part that worried me the most.
Draco wasn’t just ignoring what had happened. He was actively suppressing it.
And if he was doing that, it meant he had felt the change.
And he was afraid of it.
I shifted uncomfortably, my fingers pressing against the sleeve of my robe. “We need to keep an eye on him.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Oh, he’s gonna love that.”
Ron let out a dry laugh. “Right. Because nothing says ‘trust us’ like a bunch of Gryffindors following him around Hogwarts like a pack of worried mother hens.”
Harry sighed, shaking his head. “We don’t need to stalk him.” His expression darkened slightly. “But we do need to be ready. If something is wrong… we can’t let him handle it alone.”
That was the problem, wasn’t it?
Draco wasn’t the type to ask for help. Even if his magic was unraveling, even if he could feel it turning into something unnatural, he would never admit it.
He would fight it on his own.
And that terrified me.
I forced myself to breathe, trying to push back the creeping unease curling in my chest.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure who I was trying to convince—Harry, the others, or myself. “We don’t have a choice.”
Ron groaned, slumping back in his chair. “Why is it always us?”
Ginny smirked slightly. “Because we’re the only ones dumb enough to get involved.”
I wished I could laugh. But I couldn’t.
Because something told me this wasn’t just a curse, or an aftershock of dark magic.
Something old had reached out in that Chamber.
And I had a horrible feeling it wasn’t done with us yet.